theatre became an ante-chamber or a dressing-room, and was no
longer important except in connection with the Cardinal de Bernis
and the Duc de Richelieu, or Madame de Pompadour and Madame
du Barry.

The monarchy had still a step to take towards its downfall. It
had already created the (Louis XV's seraglio),
but had not yet descended to the Parisian house of prostitution.
It made this descent leaning on the arm of Madame du Barry.
Madame du Barry was a moral sister to Manon Lescaut, but instead
of taking herself off to Louisiana to repent, she plunged into the
golden whirlpool at Versailles as a finish to her career. Could
the coaches of a King mean more than the ordinary carriage of an
abandoned girl?

Jeanne Vaubernier--known in the bagnios by the name of Mademoiselle
Lange--was born at Vaucouleurs, as was Jeanne d'Arc. Better still,
this later Jeanne said openly at Versailles--dared she say otherwise?--
that she was descended in a straight line from the illustrious,
the venerated, the august, sacred, national maid, Jeanne.* "Why did
Du Barry come to Paris?'" says Leon Gozlan in that account of the
Château de Lucienne which makes a brilliant and learned chapter in
the history of France. "Does one ever know precisely why things are
done? She obeyed the magnet which attracts to Paris all who in
themselves have a title to glory, to celebrity, or to misfortune.
Du Barry had a pretty, provincial face, bright and charming, a face
astonished at everything, hair soft and ash-colored, blue eyes,
veiled and half open, and a skin fair with rose tints. She was a
child of destiny. Who could have said, when she crossed the great
town in her basket cart, which rolled lazily along on its massive,