But this falsification of accounts was his least cause of offence to his Sovereign. Fouquet had presumed to imitate the Olympian tastes of the Grand Monarque. If Louis was a god, his Superintendent was at least a demi-god, and claimed a demi-god's privilege of "loving the daughters of men." Unfortunately, too, he dared to raise his eyes to those particular idols worshipped by the King. His disgrace was therefore certain. Some indistinct rumours of the danger that threatened him reached his ears. He was moved, but not alarmed. He racked his fertile brain how best to recover favour, and he determined to give so magnificent a fête in honour of the King at his country-seat, Vaux, near Mélun, as should remove all suspicion of his loyalty. Such were the customs of the age. Having for years systematically robbed the State, Fouquet was to reinstate himself in favour by a still more public theft!
Before Versailles arose on the sand-hills lying between Saint-Cyr and the wooded uplands of Saint-Cloud, Vaux was the most splendid palace in France. The architect was Le Vau, celebrated by Boileau. The corps de logis was surmounted by a dome supported by sixteen marble arches, resting on pillars; two immense pavilions formed the wings. The gardens, designed by Le Nôtre, were decorated with statues, and ballustraded terraces bordering canals, and water-works, in the Italian fashion—"surprises," as they were called. All was formal and symmetrical; the very plants and shrubs were only permitted to grow to order. Nature was banished to the distant woods, which spread in verdant folds about the rising ground behind the château, and decked the greensward of the park, ere it reached the waters of the Seine flowing below.
The fête was fixed for the 17th of August. It was a splendid day; the sky was unclouded, and the golden sunshine lighted up the deepest recesses of the forest, when Louis started in the morning from Fontainebleau, where the Court was then staying. He was escorted by D'Artagnan and a regiment of musketeers.
There was a goodly company; the King drove La Vallière and the Comtesse de Guiche in his calèche; the Queen-mother came in her coach; other ladies were in litters. The Queen, who was in an interesting state of health, stayed at home. Fouquet stood ready, at the grand entrance of his palace. He received the King kneeling, and presented to him the golden keys of Vaux. Louis touched them with his fingers, raised Fouquet from the ground, and in a few gracious words assured him of his favour and protection; with what truth we shall see. The same ceremony was repeated by Madame Fouquet to the Queen mother, with a like result.
On entering the vestibule, even the Gallic Jupiter was amazed at the magnificence of all he saw. The suite of rooms were arranged in allegorical order, each named after a god or goddess; the ceilings and walls painted to represent their attributes and the events of their lives. The sun and moon, the planets and fixed stars, also formed an important feature in the decorations. The seasons added their attributes, and together with the winds lent themselves gracefully to the necessities of the general arrangements. His Majesty was invited to repose in the billiard-room, dedicated to Hercules, who by a happy invention prefigured himself. From the billiard-room he entered the grand saloon, where the sun, in gorgeous colours of saffron, crimson, and scarlet, covered the entire ceiling. Louis smiled a smile of gratification; the sun was his acknowledged emblem. Was it possible, he thought, that Fouquet might be forgiven? The Superintendent advanced. He bowed to the ground, and asked leave to explain the legend.
"The sun—the centre of the universe, the creator of light, heat, and life—is your Majesty. Deprived of your gracious presence, we sink into darkness and death. That star beside the sun is myself, Sire, receiving light from your Majesty's benignant rays."
Louis frowned, and bit his lip. It seemed to him that the star was dangerously near the sun; it displeased him. He changed his mind, and now decided that that too assertative star must be extinguished.
From the saloon, Louis passed into a retiring-room, dedicated to the Muses and the Virtues, all with open mouths, grouped round a figure of Fidelity, whose praises they sang.
"Who is represented by fidelity?" asked Louis, turning to the Duc de Saint-Aignan, in attendance on him.
"I have just been told that Fidelity represents Fouquet himself, your Majesty."