Many of them use the lancet and even the scalpel； the Marquise de Voyer attends at dissections， and the young Comtesse de Coigny dissects with her own hands. The current infidelity finds fresh support on this foundation， which is that of the prevailing philosophy. Towards the end of the century[23] "we see young persons who have been in society six or seven years openly pluming themselves on their irreligion， thinking that impiety makes up for wit， and that to be an atheist is to be a philosopher." There are， undoubtedly， a good many deists， especially after Rousseau appeared， but I question whether， out of a hundred persons， there were in Paris at this time ten Christian men or women. "The fashionable world for ten years past，" says Mercier[24] in 1783， "has not attended mass. People go only on Sundays so as not to scandalize their lackeys， while the lackeys well know that it is on their account." The Duc de Coigny，[25]
on his estate near Amiens， refuses to be prayed for and threatens his curate if he takes that liberty to have him cast out of his pulpit；his son becomes ill and he prohibits the administering of the sacraments； the son dies and he opposes the usual obsequies， burying the body in his garden； becoming ill himself he closes his door against the bishop of Amiens， who comes to see him twelve times， and dies as he had lived. A scandal of this kind is doubtless notorious and， therefore， rare. Almost everybody， male and female， "ally with freedom of ideas a proper observance of forms."[26] When a maid appears and says to her mistress， "Madame la Duchesse， the Host (le bon Dieu) is outside， will you allow him to enter？ He desires to have the honor of administering to you，" appearances are kept up. The troublesome individual is admitted and he is politely received. If they slip away from him it is under a decent pretext； but if he is humored it is only out of a sense of decorum. "At Sura when a man dies， he holds a cow's tail in his hand." Society was never more detached from Christianity. In its eyes a positive religion is only a popular superstition， good enough for children and innocents but not for "sensible people" and the great. It is your duty to raise your hat to the Host as it passes， but your duty is only to raise your hat.
The last and gravest sign of all！ If the curates who work and who are of the people hold the people's ideas， the prelates who talk， and who are of society hold the opinions of society. And I do not allude merely to the abbés of the drawing-room， the domestic courtiers， bearers of news， and writers of light verse， those who fawn in boudoirs， and who， when in company， answer like an echo， and who， between one drawing room and another， serve as megaphone； an echo， a megaphone only repeats the phrase， whether skeptical or not， with which it is charged. I refer to the dignitaries， and， on this point， the witnesses all concur. In the month of August， 1767， the AbbéBassinet， grand vicar of Cahors， on pronouncing the panegyric of St.
Louis in the Louvre chapel，[27] "suppressed the sign of the cross， making no quotation from Scripture and never uttering a word about Christ and the Saints. He considered Louis IX merely on the side of his political， moral and military virtues. He animadverted on the Crusades， setting forth their absurdity， cruelty and even injustice.
He struck openly and without caution at the see of Rome." Others "avoid the name of Christ in the pulpit and merely allude to him as a Christian legislator."[28] In the code which the prevailing opinions and social decency impose on the clergy a delicate observer[29] thus specifies distinctions in rank with their proper shades of behavior：
"A plain priest， a curate， must have a little faith， otherwise he would be found a hypocrite； at the same time， he must not be too well satisfied， for he would be found intolerant. On the contrary， the grand vicar may smile at an expression against religion， the bishop may laugh outright， and the cardinal may add something of his own to it." "A little while ago，" a chronicle narrates， "some one put this question to one of the most respectable curates in Paris： Do you think that the bishops who insist so strenuously on religion have much of it themselves？ The worthy pastor replied， after a moment's hesitation：
There may be four or five among them who still believe." To one who is familiar with their birth， their social relations， their habits and their tastes， this does not appear at all improbable. "Dom Collignon， a representative of the abbey of Mettach， seignior high-justiciary and curate of Valmunster，" a fine-looking man， fine talker， and an agreeable housekeeper， avoids scandal by having his two mistresses at his table only with a select few； he is in other respects as little devout as possible， and much less so than the Savoyard vicar， "finding evil only in injustice and in a lack of charity，" and considering religion merely as a political institution and for moral ends. I might cite many others， like M. de Grimaldi， the young and gallant bishop of Le Mans， who selects young and gallant comrades of his own station for his grand vicars， and who has a rendezvous for pretty women at his country seat at Coulans[30].
Judge of their faith by their habits. In other cases we have no difficulty in determining. Scepticism is notorious with the Cardinal de Rohan， withM. de Brienne， archbishop of Sens， withM. de Talleyrand， bishop of Autun， and with the Abbé Maury， defender of the clergy.
