He felt happy to be there because he had seen so many people from the window of his apartments that day. They were all watching the château, and they had seemed to him unbearably ugly. Here in the great Galerie he was alone with Madame de Ventadour, and everything he could see (for miles and miles, he told himself), was bright and beautiful. He felt a great desire to run from one length of the Galerie to the other, and was about to do so when he felt his governess’ restraining hand on his shoulder, and was aware that several people were coming towards him.
At their head was his uncle Orléans; Louis liked his uncle, who was always ready for a joke and excited him because he was supposed to be very wicked. There were also the Duc du Maine and the Comte de Toulouse, the Duc de Bourbon and the Duc de Villeroi. This was indeed an important occasion.
As always Louis turned to Maman Ventadour to see what her reaction was to this intrusion. She was standing very still, almost at attention like a soldier and, as her eyes met his, Louis knew she was very anxious that he should behave in such a way that she would be proud of him. And because he loved her so much and always wanted to please her, provided it was not too difficult, he also stood still, waiting.
His uncle of Orléans came to him first and, instead of lifting him high and placing him on his shoulder as he usually did, he knelt and taking the boy’s hand kissed it.
‘As the first of your subjects, Sire,’ he said, ‘I come to offer my homage and my services to Your Majesty.’
Louis understood. His great-grandfather had gone away, as he had heard it whispered that he would, and he himself was King. His fluttering thoughts were halted; he did not attempt to seize his uncle’s sword or to pull at the gold tassels of his coat; he was absorbed by one thought only: He was the King. From now on he would be called ‘Sire’ and ‘Your Majesty’; men would bow before him and he would one day sleep in the great state bed.
Thus, as one by one these men came and knelt before him and swore their allegiance, he stood erect, his eyes shining, so that those who saw him asked themselves: Is it possible that one so young can understand so much? And Madame de Ventadour stood by, her pride in her loved one apparent.
In the next few days young Louis discovered that there were disadvantages in being a King. He wanted to say: ‘That’s enough. No more kings!’ as he did when playing. It was disconcerting to discover that this was not a game but would go on all his life.
He must attend certain solemn occasions, be still for long at a time and say what he was told to say. It could be wearying.
Madame de Ventadour was dressing him in new clothes which he did not like. They were black and violet, and he must wear a hideous black crêpe cap.
‘I do not like them, Maman,’ he protested.
‘But just once we will wear them.’
‘But I do not want to wear them even once.’
‘You must be obedient, my darling.’
‘Am I not the King, Maman? Must Kings wear ugly clothes? Great-grandfather did not.’
‘He would have done so if the people had expected him to. Kings must do what the people expect them to.’
‘Then what is the good of being King?’ demanded Louis.
‘That you will discover,’ answered Madame de Ventadour beguilingly. And he was silent, eager to make that discovery.
But the waiting was so long and tedious. He was to go to Paris and there attend a lit de justice at which the Duc d’Orléans would be formally proclaimed Regent.
It was an exciting moment when he was taken into the Grande Chambre. There were crowds of people everywhere, it seemed, and as he entered all stood up and took off their hats. He looked at them with shy curiosity, and someone cried ‘Vive le Roi!’ That meant himself, and he would have run towards the man who had shouted that, had he not felt a restraining hand upon him. Madame de Ventadour was close beside him. He would go nowhere without her, he had declared, and although she shook her head and said he would have to grow up quickly and learn to be without her, he knew she was pleased; so it was safe to insist; he would stamp his foot if necessary and tell them all . . . every one of them . . . that he would go nowhere without his dear Maman.
He was lifted in a pair of strong arms which he knew belonged to the Duc de Tresmes who was the Grand Chamberlain. All was well, though, because Maman walked very close to the side of the Duc.
At one end of the Grande Chambre was a throne, and on this had been placed a velvet cushion. The Duc de Tresmes set Louis on the cushion, and Madame de Ventadour said in loud ringing tones: ‘Messieurs, the King has called you here to make his wishes known. His Chamberlain will explain them to you.’
Louis looked intently at his governess. His wishes? He wondered what they were. Was it a surprise? Something he had told her he had wanted . . . as he did on fête days?
But he could not understand what they were talking about and he was so tired of sitting on the velvet cushion, so he tried to catch his governess’ eye. ‘Let us go now,’ he wanted to whisper. But when he was about to speak she looked away quickly and he was afraid to shout.
He stared at the blue velvet with the golden lilies embroidered on it. Then he noticed the wonderful red hat which was worn by the Archbishop of Paris. He had never before seen such a hat. He knew now what he wanted. He wanted that red hat because he hated his own black crêpe cap so much. He was the King and he could have what he wanted, for what was the use of being King if he could not?
The Archbishop knelt at his feet and the hat was very near. Louis’ little hands darted out to seize it; and he would have had it had not the ever watchful Madame de Ventadour restrained him in time.
‘I want the red hat,’ he whispered urgently.
‘Hush, my darling.’
Monsieur de Villeroi bent over him. ‘Sire, it is necessary that you attend to what is being said,’ he murmured.
‘I want the red hat,’ whispered Louis.
Monsieur de Villeroi looked helpless and there was a faint ripple of laughter among those who stood near the throne.
‘You cannot have the red hat . . . now,’ said Madame de Ventadour out of the corner of her mouth.
Louis was amused; ‘I am the King,’ he said out of the corner of his.
‘You must attend,’ hissed Monsieur de Villeroi, looking very fierce.
Louis scowled at him. Under his breath he said: ‘You go away.’
Immediately he was tired and feeling fretful, but he kept his eyes on the Archbishop’s hat.
He was asked if he approved of the ceremony which had just taken place appointing the Duc d’Orléans Regent of the Kingdom. Louis stared blankly at the Duc de Villeroi.
‘Say yes,’ he was told.
He put his lips tightly together and continued to stare at Monsieur de Villeroi, who looked helplessly at Madame de Ventadour.
‘Say yes,’ she urged. ‘Say it loudly; shout it . . . so that all may hear.’
But no, thought Louis. He had been refused the red hat; he would refuse to say yes. On either side of him Madame de Ventadour and the Duc de Villeroi continued to urge him; he stared at them with those beautiful dark blue eyes with their fringe of long lashes, his lips pressed tightly together; he would not speak.
‘Take off your hat,’ said Madame de Ventadour.
Louis smiled then. He was ready to take off the black crêpe thing; and still keeping his eyes on the red one of the Archbishop, he did so.
‘The King has given us the sign of his assent,’ said Villeroi; and the meeting was over.