Forget rude. Forget snob. When you know the city as G. Y. Dryansky does, it''s full of those little graces that make it unique. And, being French, they intend to keep things that way

Everyone owns some shamelessly sentimental Paris moment. Having lived here a long time, I have several. Of course you're with someone you care for, you're on the Passerelle des Arts, under a Fragonard sky, barges gliding below, and the sun is grazing the cupola of the Institut de France, the acme of grace. Suddenly your mind extrapolates from the intimacy of a walker's city to the illusion that the splendor, the city, and the world itself are all yours personally.

The heart of that epiphany has to do with the axiom that beauty is truth. But, in fact, Paris is just playing its role as a world-class backdrop for personal fantasies. Getting to know the truths of the city is another matter. Hemingway, for example, never really tried. A Moveable Feast is about the author himself. Proust knew Paris as a keenly perceptive wanna-be of the social whirl. He happened to write his last words down the street from where I live, but I don't claim a rub-off of his talent as I try to put into focus the current reality of his city. I do hope, though, for a little of his understanding of its fine points (as nuanced as the homeopathy to which so many French entrust their health). Otherwise, I could never get Paris right.

This is not a city that unbuttons its stylish bodice for you. Paris is elegant but not particularly sensuous. We're at the latitude of Montreal. The chestnuts whose blossoms help create the emotion of April lose their leaves as early as late August. The Fragonard sky turns putty gray for months, and the Eiffel Tower often disappears in mist. The row upon row of pale limestone buildings creates an engaging dignity softened with subtle decor, but in contrast we always remember Rome in cinematic color and think of it as lush.

Yet the Romans live a little like hotel guests in their ancient surroundings. Parisians, in contrast, are able to redefine their city with their own presence, keeping fresh a love affair of vigor and quality with this coy mistress. There is something special in the material beauty of a city whose contribution to civilization is not so much vistas and monuments as it is the local approach to a civilized life. To understand Paris, you have to start with Parisians.

I have a problem with the way we Americans talk about the French, and Parisians in particular, just as???like everyone else, including the French???I have a problem with the French. Parisians can be arrogant to the point of making themselves ridiculous. However, it is not what they seem boastful about but rather what they take for granted that makes their way of life, in many ways, admirable.

We tend to write off the French as simultaneously nasty and cute. No doubt they are vulnerable to satire: Politically, the country often seems as absurd as your average banana republic. Where else on earth was it considered standard protocol, until recently, for ministers to hand themselves and their employees envelopes of cash so that they would not have to pay taxes to the same government they worked for? Where else does a newly elected president, as one of his first important acts in office, grant amnesty to all parking ticket holders?