Ma. OBEY, in telling the story of Paris, has not
chosen the best method. "The history of Paris," says he, quoting Michelet, "is the history of the French Monarchy." This may be true ; but the converse does not hold good, and when we would read of the city we are too often obliged to content ourselves with observations on the Kings. There is some- thing between a guide-book to Paris and a history of France that is still unwritten ; and had Mr. Okey told the tale of Paris, quarter by quarter, from the earliest times to the present day, he would have earned our gratitude. But not merely do we quarrel with his method ; his point of view is not always just. He writes as a politician rather than as an historian, and, being a Jacobin, be is not seldom guilty of exaggeration. It should be possible at this date to speak temperately even of the anoien regime, and to acknow- ledge that the Kings of France were men, not monsters. Yet Mr. Okey's account of Louis XIV. is spoilt by a prejudice, which Saint-Simon had every right to entertain, but which it is not the historian's business to accept without question. Again, though he acknowledges that "it is no longer possible to accept the more revolting representations of the French peasantry as true of the whole of France," he accepts the Revolution as an unmitigated blessing, and he regards Robespierre as a hero determined to put an end to the excesses of the Terror. Moreover, he carries his love of democracy so far as to see in the official painting of the eighteenth century "the numbing and corrupting influence of Royal patronage." But the history of art provides an easy contradiction to this general statement, and Spain and Italy, to name but these two countries, afford testimony enough that the arts have never known a better patron than an intelligent Prince.
However, no history of Paris can be dull. For Paris has ever been the fairest city in Europe, the home of brave men and beautiful women, the resort of poets and painters, the capital of all the arts and of all the graces. Clouds have now and again darkened her sky. Her citizens have given way to a fury of persecution which it is not pleasant to remember; fanaticism and civil war have many times filled her gutters with blood; but she has preserved through all misfortunes a genius of recovery, and has gone rejoicing on her way in easy forgetfulness of disaster. Her citizens are to-day, as they have always been, gay, alert, impressionable. Within her borders the liberal arts are still treated with a dignity and respect which are denied them elsewhere. A new school of literature arouses an interest in Paris which could only be equalled in London by a change of Ministry or a railway accident. In praise of Paris many writers, in many ages, have proved their eloquence, and Mr. Okey quotes many panegyrics which it • Paris and its Story. By T. Okev. London: J. K. Dent and Co. [213. net.] is pleasant to recall. "What a mighty stream of pleasure," wrote Richard- de Bury in his Philobiblon, "made glad our hearts, whenever we bad leisure to visit Paris, the paradise of the world, and to linger there; where the days seemed ever few for the greatness of our love. There are delightful libraries more aromatic than stores of spicery ; there are luxuriant parks of all manners of volumes ; there are academic meads shaken by the tramp of scholars ; there are lounges of Athens ; walks of the peripatetics ; peaks of Parnassus ; and porches of the Stoics." Even in the time of Philip Augustus Paris was already beautiful to the visitor. "I am at Paris," wrote Guy of Bazoches in the twelfth century, "in this royal city, where the abundance of Nature's gifts not only retains those that dwell there, but invites and attracts those who are afar off. Even as the moon surpasses the stars in brightness, so does this city, the seat of royalty, exalt her proud head above all other cities. She is placed in the bosom of a delicious valley, in the centre of a crown of hills which Ceres and Bacchus enrich with their gifts." But of all the eulogies ever dedicated to Paris we like Montaigne's best. "I will not forget this," said the essayist, "that I can never mutiny so much against France, but I must needs look on Paris with a favourable eye. It had my heart from my infancy, whereof it bath befallen me as of excellent things; the more other fair and stately cities I have seen since, the more her beauty bath power and doth still nsurpingly gain upon my affection. I love that city for her own sake, and more in her only subsisting and own being, than when it is full fraught and embellished with foreign pomp and borrowed garish ornaments. I love her so tenderly, that even her spots, her blemishes and her warts are dear .unto me." Thus in all ages Paris has had her lovers, and she remains after infinite vicissitudes what Montaigne thought her, "the glory of France and one of the noblest and chief ornaments of the world."
It is a sad truth that the history of a city's growth is the history of destruction. Monarchs and Municipal Councils agree in this : they would, though with a different motive, destroy that which they hold in trust. While Kings find their palaces too small for their ambition, Municipal Councillors regard with horror narrow streets and winding alleys. The vandalism, then, which to-day is playing havoc with Paris is no new thing, and it is tragic to reflect how many beautiful buildings have been destroyed in the name of luxury or convenience. We would forgive the Kings of France many of their sins, if only they bad withheld their hands from dishonouring the church of Notre Dame. Louis XIV., not con- tent with destroying the high altar, totally abolished the Gothic tombs which once were the pride and glory of the church; while Louis XV. permitted the stained glass, which, as Mr. Okey says, had no rival but at Chartres, to be replaced by yellow fleurs-de- lys. And when we think of what has been wantonly allowed to perish—the Cite, the Place Maubert, the network of streets which made way for the Boulevard St. Michel, the quarter of St. Andre des Arts, which vanished but yesterday—it is with a hopeless regret. To excuse or explain these demolitions is not easy. No doubt the busy citizen can cross Paris with greater speed than formerly ; he is now rattled in a tramway along a broad boulevard where once he was forced to find his way on foot through a tortuous street. For the citizen, as we say, it is a momentary gain ; for the world it is an incalculable and irrecoverable loss. And there is little hope for the future. Those who would never destroy a book or a picture think it no wrong to lay hands on a house, and as the fashion of cities moves westward, the beauty of the East is soon forgotten. However, there still remain in Paris some ancient master- pieces, some few links with the receding past; and with Mr. Okey's book to aid, some of these may be discovered by the enterprising traveller.
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