Vive l' Amabilit

Visiting Americans, particularly those from New York City, are made to feel instantly at home in Paris. Just like members of the family, they are snarled at by French cab drivers, roared at by French traffic cops, sneered at by hotel clerks, ignored by public servants, cursed by motorists and contemned by streetwalkers and beggars. With cocked brow and curling lip, the casual metropolitan Frenchman seems to regard most alien bewilderment as stupidity, any request as unreasonable, and all tips too small. For the visitor, the chief comfort to be derived from this situation is that Frenchmen seem to treat one another in much the same fashion.

Five years ago, in the justified belief that courtesy had become a lost art in the land of the Chevalier Bayard and the Watteau shepherdess, French Psychologist Marcel Ranville organized a new order of French chivalry. L'Ordre de la Courtoisie Franc,aise. "Amiability," complained Ranville, "has given way to vulgarity and meanness." To restore the old politesse, Ranville invited the knights and ladies of the new order to pay dues ranging from 500 to 10,000 francs to be used to spread the gospel of good humor, love and fraternity. Some 2,500 adherents joined the cause, but somehow the concierges of Paris still glared as fiercely as ever, telephone operators continued to insult callers, and the prostitutes on the Champs-Elysees went right on spitting "Papa" at anyone over 20 who rejected their blandishments. "Ah, well," murmured Psychologist Ranville, "perhaps we'll create a new spirit in the younger generation."

Last week, as Paris polished its sneers on the eve of a new tourist season, Ranville and his undaunted knights launched a nationwide eight-day "Crusade of Amiability." The national post office issued a special postmark to commemorate the occasion. Schoolchildren gathered in a shivering rain at the Arc de Triomphe to release hundreds of tricolored balloons carrying the message of bonhomie. A squad of pretty girls scoured Paris looking for outstanding examples of courtesy, and that ancient charmer, Maurice Chevalier himself, cut a symbolic ribbon to release the tide of amiability that promised to engulf the land. Even France's bureaucrats were told to smile, but there was one breed of Frenchmen that not even Ranville's crusaders dared touch. A plan to present a prize to the politest French taxi driver was hastily dropped. Explained Ranville: "We would have wasted too much time looking for one."

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