Father Girard’s Adventure calls to my Mind a great Scandal of this Nature, that happen’d in the fourth Century, on Occasion of a Lady’s Confession to a Deacon; which obliged the Patriarch Nectarius to abolish Auricular Confession throughout the East; as may be seen in the fourth Tome of Fleuri’s Ecclesiastical History. This Author, in his Sixteenth Tome, says, that in the twelfth Century there were Abbesses in Spain, who preach’d, gave Blessings, and confessed Persons of both Sexes. If this Practice was re-establish’d, there would be no Room to fear such Disorders and Scandals as have happen’d in Provence.
The second Topic, which takes up a great deal of the Parisians Conversation, is the pretended Miracles of the Sieur Paris, to whose Tomb People flock as much as they could be suppos’d to do to the Holy Sepulchre itself. Curiosity drew me thither as well as others; and I found such a vast Crowd of People, that ’twas with much ado I could get to the Stone which covers the Saint of the Populace. While I was looking at this Tombstone, I heard ’em cry behind, Stand by, make Room there; so that I thought some Prince of the Blood was coming; but ’twas no more than a mean-looking Fellow, who, with a very contrite Air, went and stretch’d himself on the Tomb; where he had not lain many Moments, but I saw him turn up the Whites of his Eyes, grind his Teeth, foam at the Mouth, and twist his Body into such Postures, that he look’d more like one that had the Devil in him, than the Favourite of a Saint. These Agitations lasted as long as the
Man had any Strength; after which he was carry’d off, and I assure you, that when he was taken from the Tomb, he had a much more sickly Look than when he came to it. Nevertheless the People bawl’d out, A Miracle! and I even heard it said, Who can doubt one Moment, after so manifest a Cure as this, that Paris is a Saint!
Such Miracles, as this that I have now related to you, are work’d here every Day: One can’t set a Foot into a House, without being entertain’d with some new Story plac’d to the Accompt of the Abbé Paris; yet I protest, that not one single Miracle has been prov’d: and M. Herault, the Lieutenant-General of the Police, to whom all these Miracles are reported, said, in my Hearing, that there was not one of them true; that ’twas a palpable Delusion; and that ’twas only tolerated, the better to trace it up to its Source, and to undeceive the Populace; which, I believe, will be no easy Matter, they are so much prepossess’d in Favour of their Saint. The only Way would be for the Pope to canonise the Sieur Paris, and then I am persuaded, that all the Devotees of this new Saint wou’d abandon him, rather than be in the Holy Father’s Mess. But here I leave both Father Girard and the Abbé Paris, though perhaps I shall find an Opportunity of discovering all that I may hear of them to you, when I think it worthy of your Regard; but I shall be far from troubling you with every impertinent Tale that is reread about them; for I verily believe, that all the Songs and Verses that are made upon them wou’d form several Volumes: And it must be expected this Humour will last, till something new starts up to drown both these Subjects of present Conversation. I own to you, that I am very much in Pain to think what the French can have to amuse them after this is over; for their Genius is such, that it must have something
to work upon, tho’ ’tis happy for them that a mere Nothing suffices, and that such Nothing is always treated by them as a serious Affair, and proves to them an inexhaustible Fund of Something.
You ask me, how I employ my Time here? which is a Question that is not very soon answer’d. My Amusements are of such various Kinds, that, to be plain with you, I find myself at a loss to account for them. I should often be very much puzzled to prove an alibi of two Days. This Country is my Centre, and Paris is to me the Spring of Youth. Never was any Reflection more mortifying to me, than the Thought that I am not in a Condition to fix my Habitation here; for tho’ I find Faults in the French, as well as in all other Nations, yet I acknowledge they have a thousand good Qualities; and I think them much more amiable at home than they are abroad, where, be a Man ever so much prepossess’d in their Favour upon other Accounts, he is surfeited with their eternal Criticisms, and to hear them incessantly remarking, They don’t do so at Paris. You don’t see this in France. Here they are polite, good-natur’d, humane, civil and engaging; and a Foreigner, who can bring himself ever so little into their Way of Thinking, Acting, and Speaking, will always be sorry to leave them.
But I am not about giving you the Character of the French; what I am now to acquaint you with is, how I live with them. In a very irregular Course of Life, I aim at a certain Regularity: I rise very late, because I don’t go to Bed till Two or Three o’Clock in the Morning: When I am dress’d, I go to some Cabinet of Curiosities, some Library, or to some Structure or other, which, tho’ I have seen perhaps an hundred times, I revisit with Pleasure, because I always find some new Beauty in it. Such are the Hôtel or Hospital of the Invalids,
founded and built by Lewis XIV. Val de Grace, the Church which is the Repositary of the Hearts and Bowels of the Kings and Princes of the Royal Family, and was founded by Anne of Austria, Mother to Lewis XIV. the Choir of Notre Dame, adorn’d with Marble and Brass by Lewis XIV. to fulfill a Vow made by King Lewis XIII. his Father; the Louvre, with all the Beauties it contains; and, in fine, a Number of other stately Fabrics, which I don’t mention or describe to you, because a thousand Authors have already given a better Account of them, than I am able to do. After having thus saunter’d away two or three Hours, I return home to Dinner; for I rarely dine abroad: When I have din’d, if I am alone, I read for an Hour or two; after which I go out, either to make Visits, or else to take the Air. I often go to their Plays, not only because I have a Taste that way, but to avoid Gaming; for you can’t go into a House, but they bring out the Cards. After the Comedy is over, which I am forc’d, whether I will or not, to prefer to the Opera, I go to some House, where there’s no saying nay, but I must make one at Quadrille, to ease me of my Money; for I know not what ’tis to win. I am entertain’d with a good Supper, and then I join in a second Party at Quadrille, and sometimes in a third; and go home at three o’Clock in the Morning, with an empty Pocket.
This Itch for Gaming, which has infected the Generality of the French, is look’d upon as one of the Plagues of the Nation. I can’t imagine how ’tis possible for People, who can scarce stay a Quarter of an Hour in one Place, but are generally restless where-ever they are, to sit five or six Hours together in cutting and shuffling the Cards. ’Tis however a necessary Evil, especially for a Foreigner, who must otherwise make a very silly
Figure, till he is quite initiated in the Customs of the Country. The Ladies say of a Man who does not play, that he is a useless Piece of Lumber; and the most flaming Lovers cease to make Love, as soon as Cards are brought upon the Carpet.