CHAPTER 58
Epicureans
As Fouquet was giving, or appearing to give, all his
attention to the brilliant illuminations, the languishing
music of the violins and hautboys, the sparkling sheaves of
the artificial fires, which, inflaming the heavens with
glowing reflections, marked behind the trees the dark
profile of the donjon of Vincennes; as, we say, the
superintendent was smiling on the ladies and the poets the
fete was every whit as gay as usual; and Vatel, whose
restless, even jealous look, earnestly consulted the aspect
of Fouquet, did not appear dissatisfied with the welcome
given to the ordering of the evening's entertainment. The
fireworks over, the company dispersed about the gardens and
beneath the marble porticoes with the delightful liberty
which reveals in the master of the house so much
forgetfulness of greatness, so much courteous hospitality,
so much magnificent carelessness. The poets wandered about,
arm in arm, through the groves; some reclined upon beds of
moss, to the great damage of velvet clothes and curled
heads, into which little dried leaves and blades of grass
insinuated themselves. The ladies, in small numbers,
listened to the songs of the singers and the verses of the
poets; others listened to the prose, spoken with much art,
by men who were neither actors nor poets, but to whom youth
and solitude gave an unaccustomed eloquence, which appeared
to them better than everything else in the world. "Why,"
said La Fontaine, "does not our master Epicurus descend into
the garden? Epicurus never abandoned his pupils, the master
is wrong."
"Monsieur," said Conrart, "you yourself are in the wrong
persisting in decorating yourself with the name of an
Epicurean; indeed, nothing here reminds me of the doctrine
of the philosopher of Gargetta."
"Bah!" said La Fontaine, "is it not written that Epicurus
purchased a large garden and lived in it tranquilly with his
friends?"
"That is true."
"Well, has not M. Fouquet purchased a large garden at
Saint-Mande, and do we not live here very tranquilly with
him and his friends?"
"Yes, without doubt; unfortunately it is neither the garden
nor the friends which constitute the resemblance. Now, what
likeness is there between the doctrine of Epicurus and that
of M. Fouquet?"
"This -- pleasure gives happiness."
"Next?"
"Well, I do not think we ought to consider ourselves
unfortunate, for my part, at least. A good repast -- vin de
Foigny, which they have the delicacy to go and fetch for me
from my favorite cabaret -- not one impertinence heard
during a supper an hour long, in spite of the presence of
ten millionaires and twenty poets."
"I stop you there. You mentioned vin de Foigny, and a good
repast, do you persist in that?"
"I persist, -- anteco, as they say at Port Royal."
"Then please to recollect that the great Epicurus lived, and
made his pupils live, upon bread, vegetables, and water."
"That is not certain," said La Fontaine; "and you appear to
me to be confounding Epicurus with Pythagoras, my dear
Conrart."
"Remember, likewise, that the ancient philosopher was rather
a bad friend of the gods and the magistrates."
"Oh! that is what I will not admit," replied La Fontaine.
"Epicurus was like M. Fouquet."
"Do not compare him to monsieur le surintendant," said
Conrart, in an agitated voice, "or you would accredit the
reports which are circulated concerning him and us."
"What reports?"
"That we are bad Frenchmen, lukewarm with regard to the
king, deaf to the law."
"I return, then, to my text," said La Fontaine. "Listen,
Conrart, this is the morality of Epicurus, whom, besides, I
consider, if I must tell you so, as a myth. Antiquity is
mostly mythical. Jupiter, if we give a little attention to
it, is life. Alcides is strength. The words are there to
bear me out; Zeus, that is, zen, to live. Alcides, that is,
alce, vigor. Well, Epicurus, that is mild watchfulness, that
is protection; now who watches better over the state, or who
protects individuals better than M. Fouquet does?"
"You talk etymology and not morality; I say that we modern
Epicureans are indifferent citizens."
"Oh!" cried La Fontaine, "if we become bad citizens, it is
not through following the maxims of our master. Listen to
one of his principal aphorisms."
"I -- will."
"Pray for good leaders."
"Well?"
"Well! what does M. Fouquet say to us every day? `When shall
we be governed?' Does he say so? Come, Conrart, be frank."
"He says so, that is true."
"Well, that is a doctrine of Epicurus."
"Yes; but that is a little seditious, observe."
"What! seditious to wish to be governed by good heads or
leaders?"
"Certainly, when those who govern are bad."
"Patience, I have a reply for all."
"Even for what I have just said to you?"
"Listen! would you submit to those who govern ill? Oh! it is
written: Cacos politeuousi. You grant me the text?"
"Pardieu! I think so. Do you know, you speak Greek as well
as AEsop did, my dear La Fontaine."
"Is there any wickedness in that, my dear Conrart?"
"God forbid I should say so."
"Then let us return to M. Fouquet. What did he repeat to us
all the day? Was it not this? `What a cuistre is that
Mazarin! what an ass! what a leech! We must, however, submit
to the fellow.' Now, Conrart, did he say so, or did he not?"
"I confess that he said it, and even perhaps too often."
"Like Epicurus, my friend, still like Epicurus; I repeat, we
are Epicureans, and that is very amusing."
"Yes, but I am afraid there will rise up, by the side of us,
a sect like that of Epictetus, you know him well; the
philosopher of Hieropolis, he who called bread luxury,
vegetables prodigality, and clear water drunkenness; he who,
being beaten by his master, said to him, grumbling a little
it is true, but without being angry, `I will lay a wager you
have broken my leg!' -- and who won his wager."
"He was a goose, that fellow Epictetus."
"Granted, but he might easily become the fashion by only
changing his name into that of Colbert."
"Bah!" replied La Fontaine, "that is impossible. Never will
you find Colbert in Epictetus."
"You are right, I shall find -- Coluber there, at the most."
"Ah! you are beaten, Conrart; you are reduced to a play upon
words. M. Arnaud pretends that I have no logic; I have more
than M. Nicolle."
"Yes," replied Conrart, "you have logic, but you are a
Jansenist."
This peroration was hailed with a boisterous shout of
laughter; by degrees the promenaders had been attracted by
the exclamations of the two disputants around the arbor
under which they were arguing. The discussion had been
religiously listened to, and Fouquet himself, scarcely able
to suppress his laughter, had given an example of
moderation. But with the denouement of the scene he threw
off all restraint, and laughed aloud. Everybody laughed as
he did, and the two philosophers were saluted with unanimous
felicitations. La Fontaine, however, was declared conqueror,
on account of his profound erudition and his irrefragable
logic. Conrart obtained the compensation due to an
unsuccessful combatant; he was praised for the loyalty of
his intentions, and the purity of his conscience.
At the moment when this jollity was manifesting itself by
the most lively demonstrations, when the ladies were
reproaching the two adversaries with not having admitted
women into the system of Epicurean happiness, Gourville was
seen hastening from the other end of the garden, approaching
Fouquet, and detaching him, by his presence alone, from the
group. The superintendent preserved on his face the smile
and character of carelessness; but scarcely was he out of
sight than he threw off the mask.
"Well!" said he, eagerly, "where is Pellisson! What is he
doing?"
"Pellisson has returned from Paris."
"Has he brought back the prisoners?"
"He has not even seen the concierge of the prison."
"What! did he not tell him he came from me?"
"He told him so, but the concierge sent him this reply: `If
any one came to me from M. Fouquet, he would have a letter
from M. Fouquet.'"
"Oh!" cried the latter, "if a letter is all he wants ---- "
"It is useless, monsieur!" said Pellisson, showing himself
at the corner of the little wood, "useless! Go yourself, and
speak in your own name."
"You are right. I will go in, as if to work; let the horses
remain harnessed, Pellisson. Entertain my friends,
Gourville."
"One last word of advice, monseigneur," replied the latter.
"Speak, Gourville."
"Do not go to the concierge save at the last minute; it is
brave, but it is not wise. Excuse me, Monsieur Pellisson, if
I am not of the same opinion as you; but take my advice,
monseigneur, send again a message to this concierge, -- he
is a worthy man, but do not carry it yourself."
"I will think of it," said Fouquet; "besides, we have all
the night before us."
"Do not reckon too much on time; were the hours we have
twice as many as they are, they would not be too much,"
replied Pellisson; "it is never a fault to arrive too soon."
"Adieu!" said the superintendent; "come with me, Pellisson.
Gourville, I commend my guests to your care." And he set
off. The Epicureans did not perceive that the head of the
school had left them; the violins continued playing all
night long.
