Louis the Well-Beloved Read Online Free Page A

you,’ Madame de Ventadour told him; and he saw some of the birds which were sent out from the four corners of Paris. ‘They mean that liberty is reborn,’ she told him. And when he asked: ‘What is liberty, Maman ? And what is reborn?’ she answered: ‘It means that they are glad that you are the King.’
    ‘Where are we going?’ he asked.
    ‘To Vincennes,’ she answered him, ‘and there we shall be by ourselves again as we used to be.’
    ‘Even though I am the King?’ he wanted to know.
    ‘Even though you are the King you are but a little boy yet. We shall play our old games and do our lessons together. There will be no more sitting on velvet cushions wearing a crêpe hat for a while.’
    ‘Oh,’ said Louis reflectively. Then he laughed. Being a King was not what he had thought. He had believed Kings had all they wanted, but that was false, for the red hats of Archbishops were denied to them.

  Chapter II  
    THE YOUNG KING
    I t was a late September morning a year or so after the death of Louis XIV, and the mother of Philippe of Orléans, the aged Madame of the Court, had come to call upon her son at Palais Royal.
    When Madame de Ventadour had taken the little King to Vincennes the Court had moved from Versailles and had its being in the Palais Royal, the home of the Regent.
    The Duc d’Orléans was not displeased with life. He visited his little nephew frequently and assured himself that Madame de Ventadour was the best possible guardian for the boy at the moment; but he made sure that young Louis lost none of his affection for his uncle. Meanwhile it was very pleasant to take on the role of King in the boy’s place.
    Madame embraced him warmly and he immediately dismissed all his attendants that they might be entirely alone; and when they were, he looked at her with affection and said: ‘You have come to remonstrate with your wicked son, Madame. Is that not so?’
    She laughed lightly. ‘My dear Philippe,’ she said, ‘your reputation grows worse every day.’
    ‘I know it,’ he admitted gleefully.
    ‘My dear, it was all very well when you were merely Duc d’Orléans, but do you not think that now you have attained the dignity of Regent of France you should mend your ways?’
    ‘It is too late, Maman . I am set in my ways.’
    ‘Is it necessary to hold a supper party at the Palais Royal every night and a masked ball at the Opéra once a week?’
    ‘Very necessary to my pleasure and that of my friends.’
    ‘They are calling them your band of roués.’
    ‘The description is adequate.’
    Madame clicked her tongue, but the look of reproach which she gave her son only thinly disguised the great affection she had for him. It was no use, she thought, feigning to disapprove of him; he was much less wicked than he pretended to be; he was so affectionate to her, and their daily visits meant as much to him as they did to her. Any mother would have been proud of such a son, and a woman would be unnatural not to adore him. He was so amusing – no one made her laugh as he did; moreover he really cared about the country and worked very hard to improve conditions. But he had been brought up to a life of debauchery. She should never have approved of his father’s choice of a tutor. The Abbé Dubois, who was his evil genius, had introduced him to lechery at an early age and Philippe was soon on such terms with it as could only mean a lifelong devotion. He was méchant , this son of hers, but how dearly she loved him!
    ‘Nevertheless, my dear,’ she said, ‘it is time you employed a little moderation.’
    ‘But Maman , moderation and I could never agree . . . particularly in this matter which you are pleased to call “morals”.’
    ‘You have so many mistresses.’
    He snapped his fingers. ‘What matters that, so long as I keep faithful to one doctrine? You know I remain adamant in this: I never allow them to interfere with politics. While I am wise enough for that, what matters it how many