The Man in the Iron Mask
Nectar and Ambrosia.
M. Fouquet the of the king, who, having dismounted, most graciously, and more still out his hand to him, which Fouquet, in of a on the king’s part, to his lips. The king to wait in the for the of the carriages, had he long to wait, for the had been put into excellent order by the superintendent, and a would have been of the size of an egg the whole way from Melun to Vaux; so that the carriages, along as though on a carpet, the ladies to Vaux, without or fatigue, by eight o’clock. They were by Madame Fouquet, and at the moment they their appearance, a light as as day from every quarter, trees, vases, and marble statues. This of until their had retired into the palace. All these and which the has up, or embalmed, in his recital, at the of the brain-born of romancers; these night and nature corrected, together with every and luxury for the of all the senses, as well as the imagination, Fouquet did in truth offer to his in that of which no at that time of an equal. We do not to the banquet, at which the guests were present, the concerts, the fairy-like and more than magic and metamorphoses; it will be for our purpose to the the king assumed, which, from being gay, soon a very gloomy, constrained, and expression. He his own residence, though it was, and the and of luxury that there, which but little more than what was useful for the wants, without being his own personal property. The large of the Louvre, the older and plate of Henry II., of Francis I., and of Louis XI., were but of days; nothing but of art, the of his predecessors; while with Fouquet, the value of the article was as much in the as in the article itself. Fouquet ate from a gold service, which in his own had modeled and for him alone. Fouquet of which the king of France did not know the name, and them out of each more valuable than the entire cellar.
What, too, was to be said of the apartments, the hangings, the pictures, the and officers, of every description, of his household? What of the mode of service in which was replaced by order; by personal, comfort; the and of the guest the law of all who the host? The perfect of moving about noiselessly; the of guests,—who were, however, less than the who waited on them,—the of prepared dishes, of gold and vases; the of light, the of unknown flowers of which the hot-houses had been despoiled, with of and beauty; the perfect of the surroundings, which, indeed, was no more than the of the promised fete, all who were there; and they their over and over again, not by voice or gesture, but by and attention, those two of the which the hand of no master powerful to them.
As for the king, his with tears; he not look at the queen. Anne of Austria, was to that of any breathing, her by the with which she to her. The queen, kind-hearted by nature and by disposition, Fouquet, ate with an good appetite, and asked the names of the fruits as they were upon the table. Fouquet that he was not aware of their names. The fruits came from his own stores; he had often them himself, having an with the of fruits and plants. The king and the of the replies, but was only the more humiliated; he the queen a little too familiar in her manners, and that Anne of Austria Juno a little too much, in being too proud and haughty; his anxiety, however, was himself, that he might cold and in his behavior, the limits of or admiration.
But Fouquet had all this; he was, in fact, one of those men who everything. The king had that, so long as he under Fouquet’s roof, he did not wish his own different to be in with the etiquette, and that he would, consequently, with the of society; but by the attention of the surintendant, the king’s dinner was up separately, if one may so it, in the middle of the table; the dinner, in every respect, from the of which was composed, the king liked and to anything else. Louis had no excuse—he, indeed, who had the in his kingdom—for saying that he was not hungry. Nay, M. Fouquet did still; he certainly, in to the king’s desire, seated himself at the table, but as soon as the were served, he and personally waited on the king, while Madame Fouquet the queen-mother’s armchair. The of Juno and the of of Jupiter not this of and attention. The queen ate a biscuit in a of San-Lucar wine; and the king ate of everything, saying to M. Fouquet: “It is impossible, le surintendant, to anywhere.” Whereupon the whole began, on all sides, to the spread them with such that it looked as though a cloud of Egyptian was settling on green and crops.
As soon, however, as his was appeased, the king and again; the more so in to the he he had manifested, and particularly on account of the manner which his had Fouquet. D’Artagnan, who ate a good and but little, without it to be noticed, did not a single opportunity, but a great number of which he to good profit.
When the supper was finished, the king a wish not to the promenade. The park was illuminated; the moon, too, as if she had herself at the orders of the lord of Vaux, the trees and with her own and quasi-phosphorescent light. The air was soft and balmy; the shell-gravelled walks through the set to the feet. The was complete in every respect, for the king, having met La Valliere in one of the paths of the wood, was able to press her hand and say, “I love you,” without any one him M. d’Artagnan, who followed, and M. Fouquet, who him.
The night of on. The king having to be to his room, there was a movement in every direction. The passed to their own apartments, by them music of and lutes; the king his him on the of steps, for M. Fouquet had them on from Melun and had them to supper. D’Artagnan’s at once disappeared. He was weary, he had well, and wished, for once in his life, to a by a man who was in every of the word a king. “M. Fouquet,” he said, “is the man for me.”
The king was with the to the of Morpheus, of which we some to our readers. It was the and largest in the palace. Lebrun had painted on the the happy as well as the which Morpheus on kings as well as on other men. Everything that sleep birth to that is lovely, its scenes, its flowers and nectar, the wild or of the senses, had the painter on his frescoes. It was a as soft and in one part as dark and and terrible in another. The chalice, the over the of the sleeper; and with masks, those half-dim more than the approach of fire or the of midnight, these, and such as these, he had the of his more pictures. No sooner had the king entered his room than a cold to pass through him, and on Fouquet asking him the of it, the king replied, as as death:
“I am sleepy, that is all.”
“Does your wish for your at once?”
“No; I have to talk with a first,” said the king. “Will you have the to tell M. Colbert I wish to see him.”
Fouquet and left the room.
