The Smile and the Kick

Americans who entered Paris last week were amazed.* They had expected to find the Parisians starved, tattered, numb with oppression. Instead, the people looked about the same as they did before the Nazi occupation. The women had smart clothes and cosmetics, the children looked chubby and well-fed. There was plenty of beer and wine--even champagne.

Montparnasse's three famed cafes--the Dome, the Rotonde, the Coupole--were doing business as usual under their striped awnings, although they closed during the street fighting. The supply of painted filles seemed ample to accommodate all soldiers interested in amour. In the Rue Scribe the American Express office still had its familiar big sign on the roof. The hotels were comfortably appointed, with plenty of linen and blankets, even satin quilts.

The Allies began last week to rush food supplies to Paris by air--but that was because the supply of food had been disrupted by the Allied advance and German withdrawal. There were no visible signs of severe, long-standing malnutrition.

The truth seemed to be that the Nazis --while suppressing resisters--had courted Paris as a moonstruck lout courts a handsome woman. Paris had smiled grimly and waited her chance to kick the lout in the derriere. Last week she did.

*So amazed, and bemused, was one Australian correspondent that all he could do was cable his paper: "The whole thing is beyond words," and sign his name.

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