lestins, where is his family-vault. About a week ago we happened to
see the grave digging, as we went to see the church, which is old and
small, but fuller of fine ancient monuments than any, except St. Denis,
which we saw on the road, and excels Westminster; for the windows are
all painted in mosaic, and the tombs as fresh and well preserved as if
they were of yesterday. In the Celestins' church is a votive column to
Francis II., which says, that it is one assurance of his being
immortalized, to have had the martyr Mary Stuart for his wife. After
this long digression, I return to the burial, which was a most vile
thing. A long procession of flambeaux and friars; no plumes, trophies,
banners, led horses, scutcheons, or open chariots; nothing but

friars,
White, black, and grey, with all their trumpery.

This godly ceremony began at nine at night, and did not finish till
three this morning; for, each church they passed, they stopped for a
hymn and holy water. By the bye, some of these choice monks, who watched
the body while it lay in state, fell asleep one night, and let the
tapers catch fire of the rich velvet mantle lined with ermine and
powdered with gold flower-de-luces, which melted the lead coffin, and
burnt off the feet of the deceased before it wakened them. The French
love show; but there is a meanness reigns through it all. At the house
where I stood to see this procession, the room was hung with crimson
damask and gold, and the windows were mended in ten or a dozen places
with paper. At dinner they give you three courses; but a third of the
dishes is patched up with salads, butter, puff-paste, or some such
miscarriage of a dish. None, but Germans, wear fine clothes; but their
coaches are tawdry enough for the wedding of Cupid and Psyche. You would
laugh extremely at their signs: some live at the Y grec, some at Venus's
toilette, and some at the sucking cat. You would not easily guess their
notions of honour: I'll tell you one: it is very dishonourable for any
gentleman not to be in the army, or in the king's service as they call
it, and it is no dishonour to keep public gaming-houses: there are at
least a hundred and fifty people of the first quality in Paris who live
by it. You may go into their houses at all hours of the night, and find
hazard, pharaoh, &c. The men who keep the hazard-table at the Duke de
Gesvres' pay him twelve guineas each night for the privilege. Even the
pri