Honeymoon's End

Rhetoric, if not freedom, was still alive in France last week. In Vichy, Marshal Henri Philippe Petain made a radio speech calculated to jack morale, the climax of which was a passionate complaint against the Germans for not allowing the French Government to return to Paris. "Paris," his old voice said, "Paris, the heart and brains of the nation, the crucible in which, at all times, the destinies of the country have been elaborated, remains in the eyes of all Frenchmen the natural seat of governmental authority." The Germans had prevented the Government's return "for reasons of a technical nature"--i.e., the Battle of Britain.

This German-held Paris, despite the gradual homeward trickle of refugees, seemed like a city walking in its sleep. Nazis behaved as if Parisians simply did not exist. Paris' honeymoon with her conquerors was over.

Though the German-controlled Paris press hammered furiously at the Vichy Government, Parisians believed that. wobbly and temporary as it was, it was putting up a skillful, stubborn fight against the Germans. They did not understand how Americans could regard the Petain administration as a German puppet. For their own part, they hated Hitler who beat them, Reynaud who led them to defeat, but most of all the British for attacking their fleet at Oran and Dakar.

Parisians admired the thoroughness of German organization, particularly for assigning Paris hotel rooms to Nazi officers and even classifying Paris disorderly houses for use by officers of different ranks--apparently all before the Army crossed the Dutch frontier. One German thing which they enjoyed was massed band concerts--given on the Opera steps, in the Tuileries Gardens, in the Place de la Concorde--under the direction of Herr Professor Doktor Schmidt.

Except for German Army cars, everyone in Paris went on foot, on bicycles, or dived into the suffocatingly crowded Metro. The rich resurrected carriages and rode behind cockaded coachmen in barouches or victorias. One banker found a tandem bicycle; put his chauffeur up front, went through the motions of pedaling behind. By night Paris was dead except for the distant thunder of the R. A. F. blasting away at the Le Bourget or Villacoublay airfields.

But by day Paris was visible in all its poverty. French shoppers were few. The big stores were jammed with Germans buying silk stockings and perfumes unobtainable in Germany. In payment they offered occupation marks, whose promise to pay was unsigned. A German officer in his cups explained: "They will be redeemed by the Bank of England, of course." But the Parisians laughed little in return. Bitterly one concierge commented: "It was a lousy swap--Paris for Danzig."

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