Cabbage Number One

Once upon the Champs-Elysees, every girl had bee-stung lips and hips, and hair that could tumble into a pavilion of sex. With a kind of languorous felinity, all those women looked like the perfect tense of the verb avoir. The storied avenue might as well have been called the Rue Bardot.

Now it is the Rue Ye-Ye. The versatile Parisiennes have changed. Three looks parade where one held dominance before, since the new female icons of France are three competitive teen-aged rock-'n'-roll singers whose fans scream the French transliteration of "yeah, yeah" at them whenever they sing. One called Sheila wears bows in her hair and is imitated by women who really see themselves as hoydens un-demolished. Another, Francoise, is long and lissome, with a long mane, long shanks, and good possibilities in the sixth at Longchamps. But all the Humbert Humberts, three-quarters of the Lucky Pierres, and half the women of France reserve their special attention for 19-year-old Sylvie Vartan, a beautiful blonde in the rinsed and leggy French tradition, with a mouth like a tulip and the look of a middle-aged child. She is their Chouchou Numero Un.

Gas & Johnny. Cabbage No. 1 is actually Bulgarian. She arrived in France at eight. Her brother was an arranger for RCA Victor in Paris when, four years ago, he arranged for his little sister to cut a record called Panne d'Essence, an adaptation of the American rock-'n'-roll song Out of Gas.

Since then she has sold millions of records, singing rock-'n'-roll with suitably dreadful turgidity and ballads with a rather lovely, sultry small voice. She made numerous concert tours with Johnny Hallyday, the French Presley, then became engaged to him, and now lives in his eight-room Paris apartment. The French army recently drafted Zzhonie and took him away. Now all she has at home is her cocker spaniel, Moliere.

Saving Fox. People throw old fruit at her sometimes when she sings, for French rock-'n'-roll crowds come in two forms, the idolaters, who are mad insane, and the snarlers, who are mad angry. "They hate us, they really despise us," says Sylvie. "They hate the way we sing, but mainly they can't accept the fact that young people are big successes. They are nasty. They organize leagues. It's terrible."

Sylvie Vartan's escape flue is already open. She is making a movie for 20th Century-Fox, an adaptation of Marcel Achard's Palate, with Jean Marais and Danielle Darrieux. The chances are that she will make it as an actress. And with her considerable grace and nicely mannered charm, there should be no doubt that she will be lending style to the women of the Champs-Elysees for much time to come.

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