“Go to Paris, then, Pellisson,” said Fouquet, “and bring
hither the two victims; to-morrow we shall see.”
Gourville gave Pellisson the five hundred thousand livres.”
Take care the wind does not carry you away,” said the abbe;
“what a responsibility. Peste! Let me help you a little.”
“Silence!” said Fouquet, “somebody is coming. Ah! the
fireworks are producing a magical effect.” At this moment a
shower of sparks fell rustling among the branches of the
neighboring trees. Pellisson and Gourville went out together
by the door of the gallery; Fouquet descended to the garden
with the five last plotters.
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.”
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Dumas, Alexandre – Ten Years Later
“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