That' is magnificent poetry and' has the inspiration of a'
Hebrew Prophet, but one has always been haunted by-wonder as to what Paris really looked like—what it meant to the- ordinary man to look at Paris when' the curtain that went down' in /793, with only the shrieks of the victims and the smell of warm blood to tell of what was going on behind, was lifted. Now we know. Farington tells us-with impressive simplicity and naivete What he saw. It is amazing in its commonplaceness, but all the same deeply in- teresting. Hoppner did not use his eyes half so well. And when will the' tourists rush to Moscow ? And will' the beautiful, implacable tyrant be Trotsky or another ? All we can say is that the hour will come and the tourist will go and that we hope Sir William Orpen may be the Diarist, for, as we know, he can write as well as paint.
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