World War: Last Days

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The postman made his rounds and florists considered it a point of honor not to show fear. Urging the evacuation of children, the Journal wrote, "There are too many tender faces exposed to massacre by Nazi assassins." Some shops were closed, the iron or wooden shutters over their windows indicating that the proprietors had departed, but most of them remained open. Two American films ran in Champs-Elysees theatres: Going Places, and You Can't Take It with You.

In the Champs-Elysees, Nazi officers took over the civic departments. A 9 p.m. to 5 a.m. curfew was imposed. German bands played old Prussian marches revived from the Bismarck era, and from Paris radio stations came German commands and German music — Deutschland iiber Alles and Horst Wessel Lied. Nazi guards stood at rigid attention before the tomb of the unknown soldier. Two German Fieseler "Storch"' planes capable of braking their landing speed to 25 miles an hour sat down neatly on the Place de la Concorde, one of them bearing Hitler's adjutant, Colonel Warlimont, who had come to arrange for the advent of his chief.

Versailles, scene of the birth and death of the German Empire, was prepared for an event greater than either of these. The famed Hall of Mirrors would, according to reports, be the scene of a symbolic ceremony during which Warlord Hitler, in the presence of his generals and perhaps defeated Frenchmen, would touch a match to the Versailles Treaty, thus destroying by fire the document of humiliation which has seared the German soul for 21 years.

Above the American Embassy, just off Place de la Concorde, the Stars & Stripes still waved, but the building was surrounded by a cordon of Nazi infantry.

Ambassador Bullitt, friend of Frenchmen of every political leaning and avowed foe of Naziism, paid a courtesy call on the commander of the occupying forces, General Boguslav von Studnitz, who returned it. Nazi soldiers raced one another to the top of the Eiffel Tower and the winner tucked the tricolor waving from the top most flagstaff under his arm as a prized war trophy.

Fateful Odyssey. While the shell of what was Paris awaited the arrival of the new Attila, the French Government scurried to the south. It found asylum in the quiet town of Tours, but within a day Nazi airmen arrived and, amidst rocking explosions as bombs crashed into streets and highways packed with refugees, the ministers continued their flight. For the first time bomb-weary refugees, some of whom had trekked all the way from Belgium, saw markings of red, white and green on the waves of ceaselessly attacking planes—Italians.

Hemmed in, bombed, desperate, the French Cabinet went into almost constant session in Bordeaux. The military chiefs believed that peace could be arranged with the loss of provinces and colonies but continued national existence. Premier Reynaud maintained that with Hitler no terms could be made. Then came the zero hour with unexpected suddenness. His Government resigned Sunday just before midnight and 84-year-old Marshal Henri Philippe Petain assumed the task of forming a Government of capitulation.

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