Chapter XI. The Chateau de Vaux-le-Vicomte.

by Alexandre Dumas

　　The chateau of Vaux-le-Vicomte, situated about a league from Melun, hadbeen built by Fouquet in 1655, at a time when there was a scarcity ofmoney in France; Mazarin had taken all that there was, and Fouquetexpended the remainder. However, as certain men have fertile, false, anduseful vices, Fouquet, in scattering broadcast millions of money in theconstruction of this palace, had found a means of gathering, as theresult of his generous profusion, three illustrious men together: Levau,the architect of the building; Lenotre, the designer of the gardens; andLebrun, the decorator of the apartments. If the Chateau de Vauxpossessed a single fault with which it could be reproached, it was itsgrand, pretentious character. It is even at the present day proverbialto calculate the number of acres of roofing, the restoration of whichwould, in our age, be the ruin of fortunes cramped and narrowed as theepoch itself. Vaux-le-Vicomte, when its magnificent gates, supported bycaryatides, have been passed through, has the principal front of the mainbuilding opening upon a vast, so-called, court of honor, inclosed by deepditches, bordered by a magnificent stone balustrade. Nothing could bemore noble in appearance than the central forecourt raised upon theflight of steps, like a king upon his throne, having around it fourpavilions at the angles, the immense Ionic columns of which rosemajestically to the whole height of the building. The friezes ornamentedwith arabesques, and the pediments which crowned the pilasters, conferredrichness and grace on every part of the building, while the domes whichsurmounted the whole added proportion and majesty. This mansion, builtby a subject, bore a far greater resemblance to those royal residenceswhich Wolsey fancied he was called upon to construct, in order to presentthem to his master form the fear of rendering him jealous. But ifmagnificence and splendor were displayed in any one particular part ofthis palace more than another, - if anything could be preferred to thewonderful arrangement of the interior, to the sumptuousness of thegilding, and to the profusion of the paintings and statues, it would bethe park and gardens of Vaux. The jets d'eau, which were regarded aswonderful in 1653, are still so, even at the present time; the cascadesawakened the admiration of kings and princes; and as for the famousgrotto, the theme of so many poetical effusions, the residence of thatillustrious nymph of Vaux, whom Pelisson made converse with La Fontaine,we must be spared the description of all its beauties. We will do asDespreaux did, - we will enter the park, the trees of which are of eightyears' growth only - that is to say, in their present position - andwhose summits even yet, as they proudly tower aloft, blushingly unfoldtheir leaves to the earliest rays of the rising sun. Lenotre hadhastened the pleasure of the Maecenas of his period; all the nursery-grounds had furnished trees whose growth had been accelerated by carefulculture and the richest plant-food. Every tree in the neighborhood whichpresented a fair appearance of beauty or stature had been taken up by itsroots and transplanted to the park. Fouquet could well afford topurchase trees to ornament his park, since he had bought up threevillages and their appurtenances (to use a legal word) to increase itsextent. M. de Scudery said of this palace, that, for the purpose ofkeeping the grounds and gardens well watered, M. Fouquet had divided ariver into a thousand fountains, and gathered the waters of a thousandfountains into torrents. This same Monsieur de Scudery said a great manyother things in his "Clelie," about this palace of Valterre, the charmsof which he describes most minutely. We should be far wiser to send ourcurious readers to Vaux to judge for themselves, than to refer them to"Clelie;" and yet there are as many leagues from Paris to Vaux, as thereare volumes of the "Clelie."This magnificent palace had been got ready for the reception of thegreatest reigning sovereign of the time. M. Fouquet's friends hadtransported thither, some their actors and their dresses, others theirtroops of sculptors and artists; not forgetting others with their ready-mended pens, - floods of impromptus were contemplated. The cascades,somewhat rebellious nymphs though they were, poured forth their watersbrighter and clearer than crystal: they scattered over the bronze tritonand nereids their waves of foam, which glistened like fire in the rays ofthe sun. An army of servants were hurrying to and fro in squadrons inthe courtyard and corridors; while Fouquet, who had only that morningarrived, walked all through the palace with a calm, observant glance, inorder to give his last orders, after his intendants had inspectedeverything.It was, as we have said, the 15th of August. The sun poured down itsburning rays upon the heathen deities of marble and bronze: it raised thetemperature of the water in the conch shells, and ripened, on the walls,those magnificent peaches, of which the king, fifty years later, spoke soregretfully, when, at Marly, on an occasion of a scarcity of the finersorts of peaches being complained of, in the beautiful gardens there -gardens which had cost France double the amount that had been expended onVaux - the great king observed to some one: "You are far too young tohave eaten any of M. Fouquet's peaches."Oh, fame! Oh, blazon of renown! Oh, glory of this earth! That very manwhose judgment was so sound and accurate where merit was concerned - hewho had swept into his coffers the inheritance of Nicholas Fouquet, whohad robbed him of Lenotre and Lebrun, and had sent him to rot for theremainder of his life in one of the state prisons - merely remembered thepeaches of that vanquished, crushed, forgotten enemy! It was to littlepurpose that Fouquet had squandered thirty millions of francs in thefountains of his gardens, in the crucibles of his sculptors, in thewriting-desks of his literary friends, in the portfolios of his painters;vainly had he fancied that thereby he might be remembered. A peach - ablushing, rich-flavored fruit, nestling in the trellis work on the garden-wall, hidden beneath its long, green leaves, - this little vegetableproduction, that a dormouse would nibble up without a thought, wassufficient to recall to the memory of this great monarch the mournfulshade of the last surintendant of France.With a perfect reliance that Aramis had made arrangements fairly todistribute the vast number of guests throughout the palace, and that hehad not omitted to attend to any of the internal regulations for theircomfort, Fouquet devoted his entire attention to the ensemble alone.In one direction Gourville showed him the preparations which had beenmade for the fireworks; in another, Moliere led him over the theater; atlast, after he had visited the chapel, the salons, and the galleries,and was again going downstairs, exhausted with fatigue, Fouquet sawAramis on the staircase. The prelate beckoned to him. The surintendantjoined his friend, and, with him, paused before a large picture scarcelyfinished. Applying himself, heart and soul, to his work, the painterLebrun, covered with perspiration, stained with paint, pale from fatigueand the inspiration of genius, was putting the last finishing toucheswith his rapid brush. It was the portrait of the king, whom they wereexpecting, dressed in the court suit which Percerin had condescended toshow beforehand to the bishop of Vannes. Fouquet placed himself beforethis portrait, which seemed to live, as one might say, in the coolfreshness of its flesh, and in its warmth of color. He gazed upon itlong and fixedly, estimated the prodigious labor that had been bestowedupon it, and, not being able to find any recompense sufficiently greatfor this Herculean effort, he passed his arm round the painter's neck andembraced him. The surintendant, by this action, had utterly ruined asuit of clothes worth a thousand pistoles, but he had satisfied, morethan satisfied, Lebrun. It was a happy moment for the artist; it was anunhappy moment for M. Percerin, who was walking behind Fouquet, and wasengaged in admiring, in Lebrun's painting, the suit that he had made forhis majesty, a perfect objet d'art, as he called it, which was not tobe matched except in the wardrobe of the surintendant. His distress andhis exclamations were interrupted by a signal which had been given fromthe summit of the mansion. In the direction of Melun, in the stillempty, open plain, the sentinels of Vaux had just perceived the advancingprocession of the king and the queens. His majesty was entering Melunwith his long train of carriages and cavaliers."In an hour - " said Aramis to Fouquet."In an hour!" replied the latter, sighing."And the people who ask one another what is the good of these royalfetes!" continued the bishop of Vannes, laughing, with his false smile."Alas! I, too, who am not the people, ask myself the same thing.""I will answer you in four and twenty hours, monseigneur. Assume acheerful countenance, for it should be a day of true rejoicing.""Well, believe me or not, as you like, D'Herblay," said the surintendant,with a swelling heart, pointing at the cortege of Louis, visible in thehorizon, "he certainly loves me but very little, and I do not care muchmore for him; but I cannot tell you how it is, that since he isapproaching my house - ""Well, what?""Well, since I know he is on his way here, as my guest, he is more sacredthan ever for me; he is my acknowledged sovereign, and as such is verydear to me.""Dear? yes," said Aramis, playing upon the word, as the Abbe Terray did,at a later period, with Louis XV."Do not laugh, D'Herblay; I feel that, if he really seemed to wish it, Icould love that young man.""You should not say that to me," returned Aramis, "but rather to M.Colbert.""To M. Colbert!" exclaimed Fouquet. "Why so?""Because he would allow you a pension out of the king's privy purse, assoon as he becomes surintendant," said Aramis, preparing to leave as soonas he had dealt this last blow."Where are you going?" returned Fouquet, with a gloomy look."To my own apartment, in order to change my costume, monseigneur.""Whereabouts are you lodging, D'Herblay?""In the blue room on the second story.""The room immediately over the king's room?""Precisely.""You will be subject to very great restraint there. What an idea tocondemn yourself to a room where you cannot stir or move about!""During the night, monseigneur, I sleep or read in my bed.""And your servants?""I have but one attendant with me. I find my reader quite sufficient.Adieu, monseigneur; do not overfatigue yourself; keep yourself fresh forthe arrival of the king.""We shall see you by and by, I suppose, and shall see your friend DuVallon also?""He is lodging next to me, and is at this moment dressing."And Fouquet, bowing, with a smile, passed on like a commander-in-chiefwho pays the different outposts a visit after the enemy has been signaledin sight.Transcriber's note: In the five-volume edition, Volume 4 ends here. - JB