Princess "Zezette"

In Paris, which has not had a princess of its own to smile at for some time now, Britain's Elizabeth was (as they say in French) a mad success. Four thousand people jammed the epically dirty Gare du Nord when the London-Paris night ferry train puffed in. A Dunkirk railway worker had hung a sign on the locomotive: "Zezette" (French for Lizzie).

The cops guarding the station platform were the first of Zezette's conquests. "See that, Jules!" cried one. "She has charm, believe it or not!" Jules agreed: "She is much slimmer than she looks in the newsreels."

"Better than Churchill." Everywhere Zezette and Philip went, Parisians cried: "Vive la Princesse!" During the races at Longchamp, people stood with their backs to the track so as not to miss a glimpse of the royal couple. Along the boulevards the crowds were solid: young men with girls on their shoulders, midinettes who buzzed about Elizabeth's elegantly homely clothes, and elderly gentlemen with Legion of Honor rosettes in their frayed buttonholes, silver-topped canes swinging gently in their gloved hands. People broke police barriers, crying "Serrez-moi la main!" (Let me shake your hand). One gouty old woman was perched atop a stepladder which her equally gouty old husband kept from toppling over. "Now she steps out of the car, like a queen," the woman reported. "And the Duke, quel beau gosse!" (what a handsome youngster).

Good for the Heart. Elizabeth had a busy weekend--presentation by President Vincent Auriol of the Grand Cross of the Legion of Honor, a gala evening at the opera, a speech to read on Franco-British unity. Said she: "If we are to escape destruction, we must work for the breakdown of prejudices born of narrow-minded nationalism." Her French was excellent. Said a bystander: "She speaks much better than Churchill."* But Philip, who occasionally neglects royalty's duty to look cheerful, listened somewhat gloomily. There were breaks in the official routine. One night Elizabeth and Philip danced until dawn in a Parisian boite. One afternoon, they drove to Versailles and (while careful cops hid behind hedges) walked along a lovers' lane in the gardens. Through the gate, a woman called: "Be happy and have many children!"

Few of the thousands who went out of their way for a glimpse could clearly explain what attracted them. A red-faced working woman, carrying her shopping bag, had the truest answer. "Look at them," she said. "How young and happy and well-bred they are. C'est du baume pour le coeur--it does your heart good."

* No great compliment. Addressing the Congress of Europe last week, Winston Churchill wagged: "Now I must prepare you for something very serious indeed--I am going to speak French."

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