By George Weigel
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| George Weigel |
Almost 40 years ago, an aging Anglican clergyman told me a story about his first trip to Paris as a boy—perhaps in the 1920s. His grandfather had called him in, told him that he had a gift to be used in the French capital, and then gave my friend a small pocket mirror. The boy, puzzled, asked his grandfather what the mirror might be for. The following dialogue ensued:
“You are going to Paris, I understand?”
“Yes, Grandfather.”
“I suppose they’ll take you to see where they’ve buried the little monster” (meaning Napoleon, in Les Invalides).
