--Gutenberg editor
When Jeanne left the provinces to come to Paris, she found her
native country. She was granted the freedom of the city, and
expanded in her joy like a delicate plant transplanted into a
hothouse. She found herself at home for the first time; and felt
that she could rule as a despot over all frequenters of the
streets. She learned fashion and love at one and the same time.
Gourdan had a hat made for her, and, as a reward, initiated her
into the customs. But she was called to other destinies.
One day, when she was walking in the Tuileries, a lunatic--and
lunatics have second sight--asked her favor when she should
become queen. Du Barry said to herself: "This man is mad." But
then she thought of the Pompadour, blushed--it was the only time--
and turned her eyes towards Versailles.
But Versailles was an unhoped-for shore to such a girl as this,
a girl known to all Paris. Would the King care to be the lover of
one who had ruled all his courtesans? Who could say? The King
often wearied of what he had. Had not a poet already been found
who compared her to Venus:
O Jeanne, thy beauty seduces
And charms the whole world;
In vain does the duchess redden
And the princess growl;
They know that Venus rides proudly
The foam of the wave.
The poet, while not Voltaire, was no less a man than Bouffiers.
While the King was seeking a mistress--a nocturnal reverse of
Diogenes, fleeing from the lanterns of the wise--he found Jeanne
Vaubernier.
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