well known for Moliere's domestic comfort) and
declaims verses written by Pellisson for the occasion. Here is a part of
this prologue in commonplace prose; Pellisson's verses are of a kind
which loses little by translation. The flattery is heavy, but Louis XIV.
was not dainty; he liked it strong, and probably swallowed more of it
with pleasure and comfort during fifty years than any other man.

"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 descri