“Mortals,” said la Bejart, “I come from my grotto to look upon the greatest king in the world.  Shall the land or the water furnish a new spectacle for his amusement?  He has only to speak,—­to wish; nothing is impossible to him.  Is he not himself a miracle?  And has he not the right to demand miracles of Nature?  He is young, victorious, wise, valiant, and dignified,—­as benevolent and just as he is powerful.  He governs his desires as well as his subjects; he unites labor and pleasure; always busy, never at fault, seeing all, hearing all.  To such a prince Heaven can refuse nothing.  If Louis commands, these Termini shall walk from their places, these trees shall speak better than the oaks of Dodona.  Come forth, then, all of you!  Louis commands it.  Come forth to amuse him, and transform yourselves upon this novel stage!” Trees and Termini fly open.  Dryads, Fauns, and Satyrs skip out.  Then the Naiad invokes Care, the goddess whose hand rests heavily upon monarchs, and implores her to grant the great King an hour’s respite from the business of State and from his anxiety for his people.  “Let him give his great heart up to pleasure.  To-morrow, with strength renewed, he will take up his burden, sacrifice his own rest to give repose to mankind and maintain peace throughout the universe.  But to-night let all facheux stand back, except those who can make themselves agreeable to him.”  The Naiad vanishes.  The Fauns dance to the violins and hautboys, until the play begins.

After the comedy, the spectators walked slowly to the chateau.  A feu d’artifice, ending in a bouquet of a thousand rockets from the dome, lighted them on their way back.  Another repast followed, which lasted until the drums of the royal mousquetaires, the King’s escort, were heard in the courtyard.  This was the signal for breaking up.

The Surintendant seemed to be on the highest pinnacle of prosperity, beyond the reach of Fate.  There was at Rome a Sire de Maucroix, sent thither by Fouquet on his private business.  To him his friend La Fontaine wrote a full description of the day, and of the effect Vaux had produced upon the fashionable world.  “You would think that Fame [la Renommee] was made only for him, he gives her so much to do at once.

  ’Plein d’eclat, plein de gloire, adore des mortels,
  Il recoit des honneurs qu’on ne doit qu’aux autels.’”

A few days later, the Surintendant arrived at Angers, on his way to Nantes.  Arnauld writes, that the Bishop of Angers and himself waited upon the great man to pay their respects.  “From the height upon which he stood, all others seemed so far removed from him that he could not recognize them.  He scarcely looked at us, and Madame, his wife, seemed neither less frigid nor more civil.”  On the fifth of September, nineteen days after the fete, the thunderbolt fell upon him.