October 3, 2025 • 42 mins
In the gilded court of Louis XIV, 17th Century France, manners are everything. Where to sit, how to eat, what to wear - any misstep is costly. No one knows this better than François Vatel, the greatest party planner in all of France. Tonight, Vatel must deliver the ultimate banquet, a chance for his master to rise through the ranks and win the king's favor. But where there is opportunity there is danger, and even one mistake could prove deadly.
WARNING: This episode discusses death by suicide. If you are suffering emotional distress or having suicidal thoughts, support is available - for example, from the 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline in the US, or the Samaritans in the UK on 116 123
For a full list of show notes go to timharford.com, and to join our new Patreon, go to patreon.com/cautionaryclub.
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Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
Speaker 1 (00:15):
Pushkin a warning before we start. This cautionary tale discusses
death by suicide. If you're suffering emotional distress or you're
having suicidal thoughts, support is available, for example, from the
nine eight eight Suicide and Crisis Lifeline in the US. France,
(00:40):
sixteen seventy one, at the Chateau de Chantagille, home to
the Prince of Conde, a party is underway, three whole
days of moonlit hunts, sumptuous feasts, and spectacular entertainment. This
(01:01):
fairy tale palace, with its shimmering moat and stately gardens,
is the perfect setting for a grand seller. The party
has been organized by the Great Prancois Vateel, as maitre d'hotel,
head of the household. He is a maestro of hospitality,
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famous among the great houses for his resourcefulness, efficiency and
excellent taste. Vattel is no ordinary servant, which is convenient
because this is no ordinary party. King Louis the fourteenth,
the formidable monarch who takes the very sun as his emblem,
(01:44):
is making his first visit to Chantague, and because Louis
likes to keep a close eye on the nobility, the
court has come with him two thousand guests have descended
on the fairy tale chateau, all demanding to be housed, entertained,
and fed. Tonight is the opening night of the festivities,
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and Vertel must make sure that his master impresses. He
feels this responsibility. Keenly, Conde led a fearsome rebellion early
in louis reign, and all these years later, the king
remains wary of him. The cousins are tenuously back on
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good terms for now, which means that the extravaganza at
Chanty must go off without a hitch. Fatell only recently
learned exactly how many guests the King would be bringing
with him and when he would arrive. What's more, the
king has a cruel streak. Fatell knows any missteps could
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be costly. I haven't had a wink of sleep for
twelve nights, he tells a friend. Preparation is everything, and
so Vertell has planned this event to the last detail,
ordering ornate view furniture of the King's apartments and stocking
the laders. The Baron of Gourville, the steward in charge
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of Conde's finances, has allowed the prince to spend a
staggering fifty thousand crowns on this party, or so the
guest's gossip. In the kitchens deep beneath the palace, Batel
has set the servants slicing and dicing, simmering and stirring.
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Every taste must be accommodated, every mouth satisfied. The elaborate
choreography of dinners, the swift and striking. So far all
has gone well. Upon arrival, the king took a turn
around the chateau gardens. The walk was pleasant, the april
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weather is fine, the daffodils in full bloom. Still Fortel
is on edge, exhausted. Later that night a magnificent cascade
of fireworks will dazzle the guests. But for now dinner
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is served. First come the potage dishes cooked in pots
like chickens stuffed with chickory and quail and crayfish soup
garnished with rome. Then the entrees, hashes of mushroom and artichoke,
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oiled meat, all manner of savory tarts, and finally, around these,
another painstaking formation is set down, a border of aud'eure,
quite literally outside the work of the main meal. These
are delicacies like fois gras, figs, and sausages. Only when
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their sovereign has begun to eat, may the guests feast
and make merry After this first carnival of delights, the
roasts are served, rare, game, lamb, and beef in rich
wheal are all favorites. No sooner has one dish been
finished than another replaces it. The table is never bare,
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and the placement of the dishes is always symmetrical. Fortell
notices everything conducting from afar dinner's service is a delicate
dance that what's this? Foretell realizes with horror that some
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unexpected guests have joined the party. They must be fed,
and it's far too late now to prepare more roasts.
Another table will have to go without the frayed for
Tell is distraught, he's failed in his duties. He begins
to panic. And while you or I might find that
(06:09):
an overreaction, Fortell knows the stakes These festivities will prove,
quite literally to be a matter of life and death.
I'm Tim Harford, and you're listening to cautionary tales. Francois
(06:51):
Votel was born in around sixteen thirty. His family had
worked the land, but Fortell went into service, entering a
world of luxurious luncheons, glittering soirees, and extraordinarily complicated social rules.
As maitre d'hotel, Fatell presided over the comfort and convenience
(07:14):
of all who entered his master's home. The guardian of
his master's honor in the realm of hospitality, he managed
enormous sums of money, designed menus, and was in charge
of all the servants. Fatell was renowned for his meticulous
attention to detail in his work, and he had even
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distinguished himself enough to be allowed to carry a sword,
a privilege reserved for a select view. Fatel could be
forgiven for being particularly anxious on that evening at Chantalie.
It was all too familiar. He had been embroiled in
a previous scheme to secure King Louis's favor through the
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sheer opulence of a banquet. He knew how easily things
could go awry and how serious the consequences could be.
A decade earlier, Vttel had been working for a different master,
the ambitious Nicola Fouquet, the scion of prosperous cloth merchants.
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Fiercely intelligent and a shrewd social operator, Fouquet had rapidly
climbed through government. By sixteen sixty one he was Superintendent
of Finances to the King. Fouquet was Bourgeois by origin,
but he now rubbed shoulders with royalty. He was bold
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and forward thinking, masterminding ventures with the Dutch and in
the Americas. He was also cunning. His mentor, the previous
First Minister, had taught him how to surreptitiously skim off
the state bankroll. As a result, Fouquet was fabulously wealthy.
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Fortell's fortunes rose with his masters, and he managed properties
for him in Paris and beyond. These homes were filled
with paintings and rare books. Fouquet loved the arts and
patronized poets and playwrights, but his favorite masterpiece was his
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palace at Volna Vicomte. Three villages had been obliterated to
make way for the palace, with at least nine hundred
laborers hauling stone and digging a canal. Fouquet founded his
own factory to furnish it, and hired Flemish weavers for
an enormous tapestry cycle and Alexander the Great. He installed
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soaring fountains and hired the very best landscape architect to
sculpt the lawns into careful geometric patterns. Figures from classical
mythology adorned the palace inside and out, as Caroline C.
Young has noted in her Book of Gold, in settings
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of silver carved satire heads flanked the wrought iron gates,
and elegant columns edged its glittering facade, each topped with
a reclining Greek deity. The vast ceilings were painted with
Apollo hercules, and the meuse cleo Vaux was a feast
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for eyes, a home fit not just for a finance minister,
but for a god. Trusty Vertel had supervised construction. He
had ensured there were a few practical innovations at Vaux, too,
like extra staircases connecting the kitchens with the grand salon
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to help food reach the table more efficiently. The palace
drew prying eyes, and Vertel caught the government minister to
Jean Baptiste Colbert, spying on the construction project. Colbert, whose
family crest was an undulating serpent, was Fouquet's arch nemesis.
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This could only spell trouble. King Louis was growing increasingly
suspicious of Fortel's master and his excessive expenditure. Fouquet claimed
his new palace was designed to glorify France, a display
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not just of his own prestige but of his loyalty
to the crown. But he had also taken care to
install friends and minions at every level of government, and
his tentacles of influence reached far across oceans. Colbert dripped
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poison in the King's ear. Fouquet was sent agents abroad,
dining superbly and acquiring friends of every kind. Worst of all,
the finance minister was stealing from the treasury. Because of him,
said Colbert, Louis was only receiving around forty percent of
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the value of state taxes. Colbert was in fact guilty
of similar misdeeds, as Fouquet well knew, but had managed
to cover his tracks by burning the incriminating accounts. In
the summer of sixteen sixty one, matters came to a head.
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Louis had a new mistress, blonde haired, blue eyed, Louise
de la Valliere. Ever on the lookout for allies, Fouquet
approached the young woman. If she needed anything at all,
he said he would be delighted to help her. Soon
a room Humer was flying through court. Fouquet had sent
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a close friend to offer the Madamiselle de Valliere twenty
thousand gold coins. Some said this was mere flattery. Gifts
were not so unusual after all, but others were certain
that this was unabashed flirtation, that Fouquet wanted the young
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lady for himself. When Louis learned of Fouquet's overtures to
his mistress, he was enraged. Fouquet knew he had incurred
the king's wrath that unless he could regain his favor
and fast, he was done for. Feverishly, he alighted on
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a plan. He would invite Louis to a party, a
glorious soiree in his honor. It was an outlandish idea,
to be sure, but the magnificent palace at Vaux, with
its boring fountains and lavish ceilings, was fit for a god.
It could not fail to enchant a king. Fouquet would
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have to walk the finest of lines, impressing the monarch
without threatening him, but he was in safe hands. He'd
entrusted the entire operation to the most diligent and gifted
Maitre d'hotel in the land Francois Vattel cautionary tales will return.
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Life at Louis the fourteenth Court was governed by elaborate
ritual from the first light of dawn until the very
last servant crawled into bed exhausted from the day's labors.
Each morning began with the grand getting up ceremony the
levee at eight thirty a m. Louis was washed, shaved, combed,
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and bewigged before an audience of around a hundred spectators.
Only those with particular privileges could attend the levee. Rank
and favour determined when a subject could enter and the
door he could pass through. The playwright Moliere, who began
his career as valet of the king's bedchamber, recalled how
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the throng of men present at the levee would jostle
to reach the front of the audience. Attendance was coveted
because it offered physical proximity to the King and so
the opportunity to bend his ear and petition for this
or that. Louis imposed a body of tacit rules on
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his courtiers that controlled every aspect of their lives. Days
in court were strictly timetabled, the regime could be exacting.
As the King's sister in law explained in a letter
to her aunt, we were kept busy all day. We
hunted from morning until three in the afternoon. Then we
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went up to play, remaining there until seven in the evening.
Then we went to the theater, which did not finish
until half past ten. After theater, we took supper. After supper,
it was time for the mall, which went almost all
three in the morning, and only then did we retire
to bed. A complex web of etiquette governed who could
approach whom and when. Subtle rules controlled manners of speech,
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body language, and even the right to use a stool,
chair or armchair. According to the Duke of Saint Simon,
nothing slipt past the King, Not one of his courtiers
escaped him, even those who hoped to remain unnoticed. Nowhere
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were the rules more intricate or more treacherous than in
the royal dining room. Hundreds of officers from these services
of the King's Mouth prepared and served the king's meals
on gold and silver dishes. Lewis was said to be
able to conquer four full plates of soup, a whole pheasant,
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a partridge, a big dish of salad, two big slices
of ham, some mutton, a plate of pastry, and then
fruit and hard boiled eggs, all in one sitting. Meal
times were important to the king. Ceremonial public meals, in particular,
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gave him the opportunity to entrench a strict court pecking order.
Seating was hierarchical. Men were to remove their hats while
grace or toasts were being said, then immediately replaced them.
Napkins could be used, but only once the individual of
highest rank had first opened theirs, and while discreete napkin
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usage was permitted for the hands, cleaning one's face or
teeth was uncouth. Wiping one's nose unforgivably vulgar. Placing one's
elbows on the table was also a grave breach of decorum.
Diners could signal their needs to servants, but only in
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hushed tones, and even then it was bad manners to
do this too often. A guest should never be the
first to place his spoon into a dish unless he
wished to serve another, and each time a man served
a higher ranking woman, he was expected to tip his hat.
Olives were to be lifted from their dish with a spoon,
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never a fork, but walnuts could be taken with the
hand touching fish. The knife was forbidden unless that fish
was baked in a pie. In short, there were traps everywhere.
As a courtier called Madame de Torsi discovered the palace
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had decamped the king's estate at marley. At dinner, Madame
de Torsi seated herself at the table. A moment later,
the Duchess of Durras arrived. He took a space that
was free. Unfortunately, she was now seated below Madame de Torsi.
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This was a problem because Madame de Torsi lacked the title.
She offered to correct her mistake, but the moment had passed,
and besides, the Duchess wasn't too irk by the error.
Sancimond described what happened next. The king entered. As soon
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as he sat down, he saw the place Madame de
Torsi had taken, and fixed such a serious and surprised
look upon her that she again offered to give up
her place to the duchess. The offer was again declined.
The king seethed all through dinner. After the meal, he
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told the princesses that he had just borne witness to
an act of incredible insolence, and, enraged, had been unable
to eat a single mouthful. A tirade on bourgeois genealogy
of the Detorsius followed. A lengthy discourse on the dignity
of dukes came after that. Finally, the king charged the
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princesses with telling Madame de Torci exactly what he thought
of her. The princesses looked at each other. They didn't
like this idea at all, which made the king even
more angry. News of his fury soon spread through the court.
The next day, he could talk of nothing but Madame
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de Torsi's infraction. The king broke out again with even
more bitterness than before, said San Simont. Eventually, poor Belagan
Monsieur de Torsi wrote the king a letter apologizing for
his wife's impertinence, and finally the king was calm. The
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violation of courtly etiquette had been remedied. Where did this
complex system of manners and etiquette come from? The sociologist
Norbert Elias had a theory. Louis the fourteenth ruled absolutely
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and aimed to centralize the French government more than ever before.
By the mid sixteen hundreds, France had developed a highly
disciplined and well resourced army, a central force paid for
by state taxes, which meant that the state now had
the monopoly on legitimate physical violence. The nobility could no
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longer prove its power with physical might and battles and
the provinces. It was the king's favor that bestowed prestige
as well as honor, that is, membership of good society.
Maintaining appearances became essential. A duke who did not appear
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to live as a duke was hardly a duke. The
appearance of rank was rank. Of course, the cost of
maintaining appearances, of having the right carriage, the right house keeping,
Swiss guards, or at least men dressed like Swiss guards,
could be ruinous. As the king had the power to
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dispense wealth, the nobility was all the more dependent on
his favor, and one way to secure that favor was
the flous display of courtly etiquette. Rules and etiquette in
Louis's hands were an instrument of power. They pacified the nobility.
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Ceremony and ritual like the levee or strict seating hierarchies
showed who was in and who was out. How well
as subject danced, the dance of courtly etiquette proved whether
or not that subject really belonged. The result suggested elias
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was a kind of human stock exchange, where the value
of individuals went up and down. It was dangerous to
be discourteous to a person whose stock was rising, but
it was equally dangerous to be friendly with someone whose
stock was falling. Courtiers had to constantly calculate their own
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worth alongside the worth of those around them, and adjust
their behavior accordingly. The requirement to analyze and perform was unrelenting.
Far from offering a life of untroubled luxury, the court
of Louis the fourteenth was a gilded cage. The party
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at Vaux, the magnificent home of Nicola Fouquet, was just
three weeks away. Undaunted, the great master of the household,
Francois Vatel, sprang into action, though still wasn't fully decorated.
The monumental tapestry of Alexander the Great wouldn't be finished
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for years. Silvertail borrowed and rented wall hangings from other residences,
as well as furniture and silver. He prepared apartments for
the king and commissioned an Italian set designer known as
iligrand Stregone the Great Wizard to direct a brilliant fireworks display.
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He also planned the all important banquet. From his office
in the bowels of the palace, he took inventory of
the wines, linens, and silver. He filled the stores to
bursting and made sure the cooking ranges were ablaze, the
rotating spits ready for their roasts. Under Vttel's direction, the
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whole palace labored furiously decorating, polishing, rehearsing. Fortell's master Fouquet
had been in bed with a terrible fever, but this
party was itself a matter of life or death, and
so he roused himself to check each detail. Finally, the
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stage was set. The day of the party arrived at
six pm. The King's gilded carriage rolled up to the
raw iron gates at the cautionary tales will be back
at a moment. That day, a shocking rumor had flown
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through court. Louis had been threatening to have Fouquet arrested
at the soiree. Apparently his mother, Anne of Austria, had
managed to dissuade him, But to everyone's surprise, the evening
began well. The older statesman hid his raging fever and
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greeted the young king with open arms. By some accounts,
there were three thousand guests at Vaux that evening. Others
said there were six thousand, and that only the king's
pregnant wife and First Minister Colbert did not attend. When
the last of the carriages had arrived, Fouquet led the
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party on a tour of the chateau garden. The guests
were astonished by the fountains with their thirty five foot
jets of water. They gasped at the masterfully carved sculptures
that decorated the lawns, and that row upon row of
expensive tulips a nod to Fouquet's business ties with the
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Dutch Republic. They reveled in the scent of orange blossom
on the summer air, and rode in painted gondolas across
a canal adorned with a statue of Neptune. This was
like no garden they had ever visited before. Then came
the tour of the chateau itself. Vertell had triumphed. The
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rooms were opulent and luxurious cove ceilings glorified Fouquet through symbolism.
In one he was a star rising to the heavens.
In another he was Hercules, the chariot of gold. Of course,
nothing slipped past the king. Finally it was time for dinner.
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The party reached the Grand Salon, a magnificent oval room
that stretched the full height of the palace. Fouquet escorted
the king to his seat, and Rattel gave the word
for the intricate choreography of dinner. To begin the potage,
entrees and ord'eure were set down in their customary symmetry.
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Then came the second service, stylish beasts and ragous plus pheasants, ltelaans,
quails and partridges. Two carvers sliced the meats in perfect synchronicity.
All the while the wine flowed and twenty four violins
serenaded the diners. At last, their tights indulged, the guests
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passed into the gardens for the evening's entertainment, the premiere
of playwright Moliere's Les Facheon, which had had all of
fifteen days to write. For the grand finale, a surge
of fireworks lit the canal in colorful bursts. It was
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an exquisite evening, and Vettel must have had one eye
firmly on the king. Was the plan working. Observers thought
that Louis was wide eyed with wander, amazed by the
incomparable luxury at Vaux, and perhaps jealous of it too.
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At two a m. The party drew to a close.
Louis gave the signal that he would not make use
of the royal bedroom. In fact, he wished to leave it.
Vatel managed the guest's departure, and as the King's carriage
sped away, the fevered Fouquet felt his disquiet return. He
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asked his friend, the Baron of Gourville, what everyone was saying.
One group thinks you will be declared first Minister Gourville
told him, the other that they will form a great
cabal to destroy you. Fouquet had played the game well
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for a time. He'd risen high in the human stock exchange.
But where there are ladders, there may also be snakes.
A few weeks later he was arrested by the king's
steadfast musketeer d'Artagnan. According to the Duke of San Simon,
Louis was a man with a distaste for all intelligence,
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all intendants of character. In others, Fouquet had shown himself
to be creative and forward thinking. He was very intelligent
and very independent, but had reached too high. The opulence
and beauty of the party at Vaux now seemed proof
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of his dissolution his corruption. Fouquet was charged with embezzlement
from the French treasury and treason. Musketeers overseen by Colbert,
combed his homes for evidence against him. At trial, Fouquet
defended himself well. Though he was found guilty, he was
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sentenced to banishment rather than prison or death. Unusually, Louis
used his royal judicial powers to change the sentence. Fouquet
would spend the rest of his life in solitary confinement
at the chilling Penurole prison. He could not take any exercise,
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and only after thirteen years was he permitted to exchange
any letters with his wife. He would never be released
and died at Pigenirol. As for Vertel, with his master disgraced,
he was forced into exile abroad. Louis began stripping Vaux
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for parts. He sees the precious furniture that Vertell had selected.
The tapestries and sculptures. He even took the trees, shrubs,
and orange blossom topiaris. They would all make perfect additions
to the magnificent palace he was building for himself at Versailles.
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The Court of Louis the fourteenth revolved around the elaborate
performance of respect and friendship, but that decency was superficial,
a thin veneer of civility, manners, and etiquette masked cold
indifference and unfathomable cruelty. Have we really left that world behind?
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On the surface, the intricate rituals and complex social rules
of Louis the fourteenth Court seem archaic, even fantastical, But
I think we still codify and ritualize our behavior. Instead
of at the dining table. It's online. Complicated, often unwritten
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rules govern how to frame posts on social media. Who
to tag alike can be a genuine display of appreciation,
but it can equally be purely for show a signal
to the wider social media audience that one user is
loyal to another and alike is not at all the
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same as a thumbs up to people over the age
of thirty. The thumbs up is generally positive, but I've
discovered that gen Z can interpret the thumbs up as sarcastic,
even passive aggressive. The rules are inconsistent. There are traps everywhere.
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Online life, too, is precarious. Social media forms a kind
of human stock exchange. It encourages us to surveil and
moderate each other, but it also invites hyper awareness about
how we present ourselves and unremitting performance. Missteps can result
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in social exile. Ten years pass, Francois Vatel is back
in France with a new master, the Prince of Conde.
Two thousand guests are attending the Chateau de Chantalie at
a party in honor of King Louis the fourteenth. This
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is the celebration to mark the Prince of Conde's return
to royal favor, and to his horror, Vatel has just
realized that he's a few roasts. Short history doesn't record
exactly when Vertel made his way back to France or
what the journey was like for him, but after the
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squelching of his former master, this opportunity to enter the
service of Conde must have felt like a lifeline. Perhaps
the Baron of Gourville is the link he was friends
with the ill fated Nicola Fouquet, but like Vatel, he
now works for Conde. Vatel turns to they cannot bear
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this disgrace. He laments the maitre d'hotel is a repository
of his master's honor. His mission was to sate the
appetite of every guest at Chantay that evening, and he
has failed. Gourville does what he can to comfort Fortel.
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After all, the evening has been spectacular so far. There's
no reasoning with him, So Gourville approaches Conde and explains
the situation. In fact, the Prince is very happy, and
he tells vatelso everything is extremely well conducted. Nothing could
be more admirable than his Majesty's supper. Do not perplex
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yourself and all will be well. There's still the fireworks
displayed to impress the guests, and more feasts and entertainment
to come. Perhaps everyone will forget all about the shortfall
of this dinner. But then, calamity of calamities. The dazzling
and expensive display of fireworks for Tell has planned is
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a flock. They go off as intended, but are shrouded
in thick cloud. No one can see them by Now
the matred hotel is a nervous wreck. He barely sleeps.
At four o'clock the next morning, for Tell is pacing
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the hallways and goes to take delivery of that evening's dinner.
It's a Friday, so the party will eat fish that
The supplier has just two loads with him. What is
this all? For Tell is aghast. Two loads isn't nearly
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enough to feed two thousand hungry courtiers. Yes, sir, says
the baffled supplier, unaware that Vatel has ordered fish from
several different seaports. Verttel waits a little ever more distraught.
A maitre d'hotel who does not feed his guests is
hardly a matre'hotel. No more fish materialize. I cannot outlive
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this disgrace, he tells Gourville. The Baron is perplexed and
merely laughs. Time passes, and fortunately several more loads of
fish arrive at Chantagaue. Dinner is saved. But where is Vattel.
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He must receive the order take inventory of these delicacies,
but he's nowhere to be found. Bettel's colleagues search high
and low. One of them knocks on the door to
his apartments. Now answer. There's no sign of him elsewhere,
so they break the door down. Vertell is lying in
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a pool of his own blood, unable to face yet
more failure. He's taken his sword, that tribute to his honor,
steadied it against his door frame, and run himself through
with it. Word tears through the palace. Vatel has taken
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his own life. The message is dispatched to Conde, who
falls into despair and then relays the whole sad tale
to the King. Louis apparently regrets bringing quite so many
courtiers with him. The consensus is that this terrible affair
is the consequence of too nice a sense of honor.
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Some blame Vattel, but others praise his courage. Still, that's
little time to linger on the death of the poor
Matre d'hotel. The show must go on. Gourville fills in
for his friend as best he can as master of
the weekends festivities, and by all accounts, the party is
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arousing success. The guests stroll among the daffodils, hunt by moonlight,
and dine in splendor. This script relied on Carolyn C.
(41:08):
Young's book Bok Apples of Gold in Settings of Silver,
Stories of Dinner as a work of art. For a
full list of sources, see the show notes at Timharford
dot com. If you're suffering from emotional distress or having
suicidal thoughts, support is available, for example, from the nine
(41:30):
eight eight Suicide and Crisis Lifeline in the US and
from Samaritans in the UK. You'll find details in the
episode description. Cautionary Tales is written by me Tim Harford
with Andrew Wright, Alice Fines, and Ryan Dilly. It's produced
by Georgia Mills and Marilyn Rust. The sound design and
original music are the work of Pascal Wise. Additional sound
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design is by Carlos San Juan at Brain Audio. Bend
ad Afhaffrey edited the scripts. The show also wouldn't have
been possible without the work of Jacob Weisberg, Greta Cohne,
Sarah Nix, Eric Sandler, Christina Sullivan, Kira Posey, and Owen Miller.
You can support Cautionary Tales by joining my Cautionary Club
(42:16):
at patreon dot com slash Cautionary Club for exclusive bonus episodes, newsletters,
add free listening, and other exciting perks. Alternatively, you can
join pushkin Plus on our Apple show page for continued
benefits from our show and others across the Pushkin Network.
Pushkin a warning before we start. This cautionary tale discusses
death by suicide. If you're suffering emotional distress or you're
having suicidal thoughts, support is available, for example, from the
nine eight eight Suicide and Crisis Lifeline in the US. France,
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sixteen seventy one, at the Chateau de Chantagille, home to
the Prince of Conde, a party is underway, three whole
days of moonlit hunts, sumptuous feasts, and spectacular entertainment. This
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fairy tale palace, with its shimmering moat and stately gardens,
is the perfect setting for a grand seller. The party
has been organized by the Great Prancois Vateel, as maitre d'hotel,
head of the household. He is a maestro of hospitality,
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famous among the great houses for his resourcefulness, efficiency and
excellent taste. Vattel is no ordinary servant, which is convenient
because this is no ordinary party. King Louis the fourteenth,
the formidable monarch who takes the very sun as his emblem,
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is making his first visit to Chantague, and because Louis
likes to keep a close eye on the nobility, the
court has come with him two thousand guests have descended
on the fairy tale chateau, all demanding to be housed, entertained,
and fed. Tonight is the opening night of the festivities,
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and Vertel must make sure that his master impresses. He
feels this responsibility. Keenly, Conde led a fearsome rebellion early
in louis reign, and all these years later, the king
remains wary of him. The cousins are tenuously back on
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good terms for now, which means that the extravaganza at
Chanty must go off without a hitch. Fatell only recently
learned exactly how many guests the King would be bringing
with him and when he would arrive. What's more, the
king has a cruel streak. Fatell knows any missteps could
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be costly. I haven't had a wink of sleep for
twelve nights, he tells a friend. Preparation is everything, and
so Vertell has planned this event to the last detail,
ordering ornate view furniture of the King's apartments and stocking
the laders. The Baron of Gourville, the steward in charge
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of Conde's finances, has allowed the prince to spend a
staggering fifty thousand crowns on this party, or so the
guest's gossip. In the kitchens deep beneath the palace, Batel
has set the servants slicing and dicing, simmering and stirring.
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Every taste must be accommodated, every mouth satisfied. The elaborate
choreography of dinners, the swift and striking. So far all
has gone well. Upon arrival, the king took a turn
around the chateau gardens. The walk was pleasant, the april
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weather is fine, the daffodils in full bloom. Still Fortel
is on edge, exhausted. Later that night a magnificent cascade
of fireworks will dazzle the guests. But for now dinner
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is served. First come the potage dishes cooked in pots
like chickens stuffed with chickory and quail and crayfish soup
garnished with rome. Then the entrees, hashes of mushroom and artichoke,
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oiled meat, all manner of savory tarts, and finally, around these,
another painstaking formation is set down, a border of aud'eure,
quite literally outside the work of the main meal. These
are delicacies like fois gras, figs, and sausages. Only when
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their sovereign has begun to eat, may the guests feast
and make merry After this first carnival of delights, the
roasts are served, rare, game, lamb, and beef in rich
wheal are all favorites. No sooner has one dish been
finished than another replaces it. The table is never bare,
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and the placement of the dishes is always symmetrical. Fortell
notices everything conducting from afar dinner's service is a delicate
dance that what's this? Foretell realizes with horror that some
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unexpected guests have joined the party. They must be fed,
and it's far too late now to prepare more roasts.
Another table will have to go without the frayed for
Tell is distraught, he's failed in his duties. He begins
to panic. And while you or I might find that
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an overreaction, Fortell knows the stakes These festivities will prove,
quite literally to be a matter of life and death.
I'm Tim Harford, and you're listening to cautionary tales. Francois
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Votel was born in around sixteen thirty. His family had
worked the land, but Fortell went into service, entering a
world of luxurious luncheons, glittering soirees, and extraordinarily complicated social rules.
As maitre d'hotel, Fatell presided over the comfort and convenience
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of all who entered his master's home. The guardian of
his master's honor in the realm of hospitality, he managed
enormous sums of money, designed menus, and was in charge
of all the servants. Fatell was renowned for his meticulous
attention to detail in his work, and he had even
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distinguished himself enough to be allowed to carry a sword,
a privilege reserved for a select view. Fatel could be
forgiven for being particularly anxious on that evening at Chantalie.
It was all too familiar. He had been embroiled in
a previous scheme to secure King Louis's favor through the
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sheer opulence of a banquet. He knew how easily things
could go awry and how serious the consequences could be.
A decade earlier, Vttel had been working for a different master,
the ambitious Nicola Fouquet, the scion of prosperous cloth merchants.
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Fiercely intelligent and a shrewd social operator, Fouquet had rapidly
climbed through government. By sixteen sixty one he was Superintendent
of Finances to the King. Fouquet was Bourgeois by origin,
but he now rubbed shoulders with royalty. He was bold
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and forward thinking, masterminding ventures with the Dutch and in
the Americas. He was also cunning. His mentor, the previous
First Minister, had taught him how to surreptitiously skim off
the state bankroll. As a result, Fouquet was fabulously wealthy.
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Fortell's fortunes rose with his masters, and he managed properties
for him in Paris and beyond. These homes were filled
with paintings and rare books. Fouquet loved the arts and
patronized poets and playwrights, but his favorite masterpiece was his
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palace at Volna Vicomte. Three villages had been obliterated to
make way for the palace, with at least nine hundred
laborers hauling stone and digging a canal. Fouquet founded his
own factory to furnish it, and hired Flemish weavers for
an enormous tapestry cycle and Alexander the Great. He installed
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soaring fountains and hired the very best landscape architect to
sculpt the lawns into careful geometric patterns. Figures from classical
mythology adorned the palace inside and out, as Caroline C.
Young has noted in her Book of Gold, in settings
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of silver carved satire heads flanked the wrought iron gates,
and elegant columns edged its glittering facade, each topped with
a reclining Greek deity. The vast ceilings were painted with
Apollo hercules, and the meuse cleo Vaux was a feast
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for eyes, a home fit not just for a finance minister,
but for a god. Trusty Vertel had supervised construction. He
had ensured there were a few practical innovations at Vaux, too,
like extra staircases connecting the kitchens with the grand salon
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to help food reach the table more efficiently. The palace
drew prying eyes, and Vertel caught the government minister to
Jean Baptiste Colbert, spying on the construction project. Colbert, whose
family crest was an undulating serpent, was Fouquet's arch nemesis.
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This could only spell trouble. King Louis was growing increasingly
suspicious of Fortel's master and his excessive expenditure. Fouquet claimed
his new palace was designed to glorify France, a display
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not just of his own prestige but of his loyalty
to the crown. But he had also taken care to
install friends and minions at every level of government, and
his tentacles of influence reached far across oceans. Colbert dripped
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poison in the King's ear. Fouquet was sent agents abroad,
dining superbly and acquiring friends of every kind. Worst of all,
the finance minister was stealing from the treasury. Because of him,
said Colbert, Louis was only receiving around forty percent of
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the value of state taxes. Colbert was in fact guilty
of similar misdeeds, as Fouquet well knew, but had managed
to cover his tracks by burning the incriminating accounts. In
the summer of sixteen sixty one, matters came to a head.
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Louis had a new mistress, blonde haired, blue eyed, Louise
de la Valliere. Ever on the lookout for allies, Fouquet
approached the young woman. If she needed anything at all,
he said he would be delighted to help her. Soon
a room Humer was flying through court. Fouquet had sent
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a close friend to offer the Madamiselle de Valliere twenty
thousand gold coins. Some said this was mere flattery. Gifts
were not so unusual after all, but others were certain
that this was unabashed flirtation, that Fouquet wanted the young
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lady for himself. When Louis learned of Fouquet's overtures to
his mistress, he was enraged. Fouquet knew he had incurred
the king's wrath that unless he could regain his favor
and fast, he was done for. Feverishly, he alighted on
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a plan. He would invite Louis to a party, a
glorious soiree in his honor. It was an outlandish idea,
to be sure, but the magnificent palace at Vaux, with
its boring fountains and lavish ceilings, was fit for a god.
It could not fail to enchant a king. Fouquet would
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have to walk the finest of lines, impressing the monarch
without threatening him, but he was in safe hands. He'd
entrusted the entire operation to the most diligent and gifted
Maitre d'hotel in the land Francois Vattel cautionary tales will return.
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Life at Louis the fourteenth Court was governed by elaborate
ritual from the first light of dawn until the very
last servant crawled into bed exhausted from the day's labors.
Each morning began with the grand getting up ceremony the
levee at eight thirty a m. Louis was washed, shaved, combed,
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and bewigged before an audience of around a hundred spectators.
Only those with particular privileges could attend the levee. Rank
and favour determined when a subject could enter and the
door he could pass through. The playwright Moliere, who began
his career as valet of the king's bedchamber, recalled how
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the throng of men present at the levee would jostle
to reach the front of the audience. Attendance was coveted
because it offered physical proximity to the King and so
the opportunity to bend his ear and petition for this
or that. Louis imposed a body of tacit rules on
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his courtiers that controlled every aspect of their lives. Days
in court were strictly timetabled, the regime could be exacting.
As the King's sister in law explained in a letter
to her aunt, we were kept busy all day. We
hunted from morning until three in the afternoon. Then we
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went up to play, remaining there until seven in the evening.
Then we went to the theater, which did not finish
until half past ten. After theater, we took supper. After supper,
it was time for the mall, which went almost all
three in the morning, and only then did we retire
to bed. A complex web of etiquette governed who could
approach whom and when. Subtle rules controlled manners of speech,
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body language, and even the right to use a stool,
chair or armchair. According to the Duke of Saint Simon,
nothing slipt past the King, Not one of his courtiers
escaped him, even those who hoped to remain unnoticed. Nowhere
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were the rules more intricate or more treacherous than in
the royal dining room. Hundreds of officers from these services
of the King's Mouth prepared and served the king's meals
on gold and silver dishes. Lewis was said to be
able to conquer four full plates of soup, a whole pheasant,
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a partridge, a big dish of salad, two big slices
of ham, some mutton, a plate of pastry, and then
fruit and hard boiled eggs, all in one sitting. Meal
times were important to the king. Ceremonial public meals, in particular,
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gave him the opportunity to entrench a strict court pecking order.
Seating was hierarchical. Men were to remove their hats while
grace or toasts were being said, then immediately replaced them.
Napkins could be used, but only once the individual of
highest rank had first opened theirs, and while discreete napkin
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usage was permitted for the hands, cleaning one's face or
teeth was uncouth. Wiping one's nose unforgivably vulgar. Placing one's
elbows on the table was also a grave breach of decorum.
Diners could signal their needs to servants, but only in
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hushed tones, and even then it was bad manners to
do this too often. A guest should never be the
first to place his spoon into a dish unless he
wished to serve another, and each time a man served
a higher ranking woman, he was expected to tip his hat.
Olives were to be lifted from their dish with a spoon,
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never a fork, but walnuts could be taken with the
hand touching fish. The knife was forbidden unless that fish
was baked in a pie. In short, there were traps everywhere.
As a courtier called Madame de Torsi discovered the palace
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had decamped the king's estate at marley. At dinner, Madame
de Torsi seated herself at the table. A moment later,
the Duchess of Durras arrived. He took a space that
was free. Unfortunately, she was now seated below Madame de Torsi.
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This was a problem because Madame de Torsi lacked the title.
She offered to correct her mistake, but the moment had passed,
and besides, the Duchess wasn't too irk by the error.
Sancimond described what happened next. The king entered. As soon
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as he sat down, he saw the place Madame de
Torsi had taken, and fixed such a serious and surprised
look upon her that she again offered to give up
her place to the duchess. The offer was again declined.
The king seethed all through dinner. After the meal, he
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told the princesses that he had just borne witness to
an act of incredible insolence, and, enraged, had been unable
to eat a single mouthful. A tirade on bourgeois genealogy
of the Detorsius followed. A lengthy discourse on the dignity
of dukes came after that. Finally, the king charged the
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princesses with telling Madame de Torci exactly what he thought
of her. The princesses looked at each other. They didn't
like this idea at all, which made the king even
more angry. News of his fury soon spread through the court.
The next day, he could talk of nothing but Madame
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de Torsi's infraction. The king broke out again with even
more bitterness than before, said San Simont. Eventually, poor Belagan
Monsieur de Torsi wrote the king a letter apologizing for
his wife's impertinence, and finally the king was calm. The
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violation of courtly etiquette had been remedied. Where did this
complex system of manners and etiquette come from? The sociologist
Norbert Elias had a theory. Louis the fourteenth ruled absolutely
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and aimed to centralize the French government more than ever before.
By the mid sixteen hundreds, France had developed a highly
disciplined and well resourced army, a central force paid for
by state taxes, which meant that the state now had
the monopoly on legitimate physical violence. The nobility could no
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longer prove its power with physical might and battles and
the provinces. It was the king's favor that bestowed prestige
as well as honor, that is, membership of good society.
Maintaining appearances became essential. A duke who did not appear
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to live as a duke was hardly a duke. The
appearance of rank was rank. Of course, the cost of
maintaining appearances, of having the right carriage, the right house keeping,
Swiss guards, or at least men dressed like Swiss guards,
could be ruinous. As the king had the power to
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dispense wealth, the nobility was all the more dependent on
his favor, and one way to secure that favor was
the flous display of courtly etiquette. Rules and etiquette in
Louis's hands were an instrument of power. They pacified the nobility.
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Ceremony and ritual like the levee or strict seating hierarchies
showed who was in and who was out. How well
as subject danced, the dance of courtly etiquette proved whether
or not that subject really belonged. The result suggested elias
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was a kind of human stock exchange, where the value
of individuals went up and down. It was dangerous to
be discourteous to a person whose stock was rising, but
it was equally dangerous to be friendly with someone whose
stock was falling. Courtiers had to constantly calculate their own
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worth alongside the worth of those around them, and adjust
their behavior accordingly. The requirement to analyze and perform was unrelenting.
Far from offering a life of untroubled luxury, the court
of Louis the fourteenth was a gilded cage. The party
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at Vaux, the magnificent home of Nicola Fouquet, was just
three weeks away. Undaunted, the great master of the household,
Francois Vatel, sprang into action, though still wasn't fully decorated.
The monumental tapestry of Alexander the Great wouldn't be finished
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for years. Silvertail borrowed and rented wall hangings from other residences,
as well as furniture and silver. He prepared apartments for
the king and commissioned an Italian set designer known as
iligrand Stregone the Great Wizard to direct a brilliant fireworks display.
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He also planned the all important banquet. From his office
in the bowels of the palace, he took inventory of
the wines, linens, and silver. He filled the stores to
bursting and made sure the cooking ranges were ablaze, the
rotating spits ready for their roasts. Under Vttel's direction, the
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whole palace labored furiously decorating, polishing, rehearsing. Fortell's master Fouquet
had been in bed with a terrible fever, but this
party was itself a matter of life or death, and
so he roused himself to check each detail. Finally, the
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stage was set. The day of the party arrived at
six pm. The King's gilded carriage rolled up to the
raw iron gates at the cautionary tales will be back
at a moment. That day, a shocking rumor had flown
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through court. Louis had been threatening to have Fouquet arrested
at the soiree. Apparently his mother, Anne of Austria, had
managed to dissuade him, But to everyone's surprise, the evening
began well. The older statesman hid his raging fever and
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greeted the young king with open arms. By some accounts,
there were three thousand guests at Vaux that evening. Others
said there were six thousand, and that only the king's
pregnant wife and First Minister Colbert did not attend. When
the last of the carriages had arrived, Fouquet led the
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party on a tour of the chateau garden. The guests
were astonished by the fountains with their thirty five foot
jets of water. They gasped at the masterfully carved sculptures
that decorated the lawns, and that row upon row of
expensive tulips a nod to Fouquet's business ties with the
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Dutch Republic. They reveled in the scent of orange blossom
on the summer air, and rode in painted gondolas across
a canal adorned with a statue of Neptune. This was
like no garden they had ever visited before. Then came
the tour of the chateau itself. Vertell had triumphed. The
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rooms were opulent and luxurious cove ceilings glorified Fouquet through symbolism.
In one he was a star rising to the heavens.
In another he was Hercules, the chariot of gold. Of course,
nothing slipped past the king. Finally it was time for dinner.
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The party reached the Grand Salon, a magnificent oval room
that stretched the full height of the palace. Fouquet escorted
the king to his seat, and Rattel gave the word
for the intricate choreography of dinner. To begin the potage,
entrees and ord'eure were set down in their customary symmetry.
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Then came the second service, stylish beasts and ragous plus pheasants, ltelaans,
quails and partridges. Two carvers sliced the meats in perfect synchronicity.
All the while the wine flowed and twenty four violins
serenaded the diners. At last, their tights indulged, the guests
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passed into the gardens for the evening's entertainment, the premiere
of playwright Moliere's Les Facheon, which had had all of
fifteen days to write. For the grand finale, a surge
of fireworks lit the canal in colorful bursts. It was
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an exquisite evening, and Vettel must have had one eye
firmly on the king. Was the plan working. Observers thought
that Louis was wide eyed with wander, amazed by the
incomparable luxury at Vaux, and perhaps jealous of it too.
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At two a m. The party drew to a close.
Louis gave the signal that he would not make use
of the royal bedroom. In fact, he wished to leave it.
Vatel managed the guest's departure, and as the King's carriage
sped away, the fevered Fouquet felt his disquiet return. He
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asked his friend, the Baron of Gourville, what everyone was saying.
One group thinks you will be declared first Minister Gourville
told him, the other that they will form a great
cabal to destroy you. Fouquet had played the game well
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for a time. He'd risen high in the human stock exchange.
But where there are ladders, there may also be snakes.
A few weeks later he was arrested by the king's
steadfast musketeer d'Artagnan. According to the Duke of San Simon,
Louis was a man with a distaste for all intelligence,
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all intendants of character. In others, Fouquet had shown himself
to be creative and forward thinking. He was very intelligent
and very independent, but had reached too high. The opulence
and beauty of the party at Vaux now seemed proof
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of his dissolution his corruption. Fouquet was charged with embezzlement
from the French treasury and treason. Musketeers overseen by Colbert,
combed his homes for evidence against him. At trial, Fouquet
defended himself well. Though he was found guilty, he was
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sentenced to banishment rather than prison or death. Unusually, Louis
used his royal judicial powers to change the sentence. Fouquet
would spend the rest of his life in solitary confinement
at the chilling Penurole prison. He could not take any exercise,
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and only after thirteen years was he permitted to exchange
any letters with his wife. He would never be released
and died at Pigenirol. As for Vertel, with his master disgraced,
he was forced into exile abroad. Louis began stripping Vaux
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for parts. He sees the precious furniture that Vertell had selected.
The tapestries and sculptures. He even took the trees, shrubs,
and orange blossom topiaris. They would all make perfect additions
to the magnificent palace he was building for himself at Versailles.
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The Court of Louis the fourteenth revolved around the elaborate
performance of respect and friendship, but that decency was superficial,
a thin veneer of civility, manners, and etiquette masked cold
indifference and unfathomable cruelty. Have we really left that world behind?
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On the surface, the intricate rituals and complex social rules
of Louis the fourteenth Court seem archaic, even fantastical, But
I think we still codify and ritualize our behavior. Instead
of at the dining table. It's online. Complicated, often unwritten
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rules govern how to frame posts on social media. Who
to tag alike can be a genuine display of appreciation,
but it can equally be purely for show a signal
to the wider social media audience that one user is
loyal to another and alike is not at all the
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same as a thumbs up to people over the age
of thirty. The thumbs up is generally positive, but I've
discovered that gen Z can interpret the thumbs up as sarcastic,
even passive aggressive. The rules are inconsistent. There are traps everywhere.
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Online life, too, is precarious. Social media forms a kind
of human stock exchange. It encourages us to surveil and
moderate each other, but it also invites hyper awareness about
how we present ourselves and unremitting performance. Missteps can result
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in social exile. Ten years pass, Francois Vatel is back
in France with a new master, the Prince of Conde.
Two thousand guests are attending the Chateau de Chantalie at
a party in honor of King Louis the fourteenth. This
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is the celebration to mark the Prince of Conde's return
to royal favor, and to his horror, Vatel has just
realized that he's a few roasts. Short history doesn't record
exactly when Vertel made his way back to France or
what the journey was like for him, but after the
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squelching of his former master, this opportunity to enter the
service of Conde must have felt like a lifeline. Perhaps
the Baron of Gourville is the link he was friends
with the ill fated Nicola Fouquet, but like Vatel, he
now works for Conde. Vatel turns to they cannot bear
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this disgrace. He laments the maitre d'hotel is a repository
of his master's honor. His mission was to sate the
appetite of every guest at Chantay that evening, and he
has failed. Gourville does what he can to comfort Fortel.
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After all, the evening has been spectacular so far. There's
no reasoning with him, So Gourville approaches Conde and explains
the situation. In fact, the Prince is very happy, and
he tells vatelso everything is extremely well conducted. Nothing could
be more admirable than his Majesty's supper. Do not perplex
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yourself and all will be well. There's still the fireworks
displayed to impress the guests, and more feasts and entertainment
to come. Perhaps everyone will forget all about the shortfall
of this dinner. But then, calamity of calamities. The dazzling
and expensive display of fireworks for Tell has planned is
(37:24):
a flock. They go off as intended, but are shrouded
in thick cloud. No one can see them by Now
the matred hotel is a nervous wreck. He barely sleeps.
At four o'clock the next morning, for Tell is pacing
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the hallways and goes to take delivery of that evening's dinner.
It's a Friday, so the party will eat fish that
The supplier has just two loads with him. What is
this all? For Tell is aghast. Two loads isn't nearly
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enough to feed two thousand hungry courtiers. Yes, sir, says
the baffled supplier, unaware that Vatel has ordered fish from
several different seaports. Verttel waits a little ever more distraught.
A maitre d'hotel who does not feed his guests is
hardly a matre'hotel. No more fish materialize. I cannot outlive
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this disgrace, he tells Gourville. The Baron is perplexed and
merely laughs. Time passes, and fortunately several more loads of
fish arrive at Chantagaue. Dinner is saved. But where is Vattel.
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He must receive the order take inventory of these delicacies,
but he's nowhere to be found. Bettel's colleagues search high
and low. One of them knocks on the door to
his apartments. Now answer. There's no sign of him elsewhere,
so they break the door down. Vertell is lying in
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a pool of his own blood, unable to face yet
more failure. He's taken his sword, that tribute to his honor,
steadied it against his door frame, and run himself through
with it. Word tears through the palace. Vatel has taken
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his own life. The message is dispatched to Conde, who
falls into despair and then relays the whole sad tale
to the King. Louis apparently regrets bringing quite so many
courtiers with him. The consensus is that this terrible affair
is the consequence of too nice a sense of honor.
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Some blame Vattel, but others praise his courage. Still, that's
little time to linger on the death of the poor
Matre d'hotel. The show must go on. Gourville fills in
for his friend as best he can as master of
the weekends festivities, and by all accounts, the party is
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arousing success. The guests stroll among the daffodils, hunt by moonlight,
and dine in splendor. This script relied on Carolyn C.
(41:08):
Young's book Bok Apples of Gold in Settings of Silver,
Stories of Dinner as a work of art. For a
full list of sources, see the show notes at Timharford
dot com. If you're suffering from emotional distress or having
suicidal thoughts, support is available, for example, from the nine
(41:30):
eight eight Suicide and Crisis Lifeline in the US and
from Samaritans in the UK. You'll find details in the
episode description. Cautionary Tales is written by me Tim Harford
with Andrew Wright, Alice Fines, and Ryan Dilly. It's produced
by Georgia Mills and Marilyn Rust. The sound design and
original music are the work of Pascal Wise. Additional sound
(41:53):
design is by Carlos San Juan at Brain Audio. Bend
ad Afhaffrey edited the scripts. The show also wouldn't have
been possible without the work of Jacob Weisberg, Greta Cohne,
Sarah Nix, Eric Sandler, Christina Sullivan, Kira Posey, and Owen Miller.
You can support Cautionary Tales by joining my Cautionary Club
(42:16):
at patreon dot com slash Cautionary Club for exclusive bonus episodes, newsletters,
add free listening, and other exciting perks. Alternatively, you can
join pushkin Plus on our Apple show page for continued
benefits from our show and others across the Pushkin Network.
Host
Tim Harford
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