The President's Welcome to Paris

The President's Welcome to Paris

Grayson, Cary T. (Cary Travers), 1878-1938

WWP15531

1918 December 14

Cary T. Grayson Papers, Woodrow Wilson Presidential Library, Staunton, Virginia

English

The Presidents Welcome to Paris.

A great day for Paris: a great day for President Wilson: but above all a great day for America, for never in the history of the French Capital has such an ovation been offered to one man or country. It was no forced demonstration, no crowd under orders, but spontaneous, real, heartfelt.

We had hoped, expected in fact, that the attendance would be very large, and outclass that which applauded the arrivals of King George and King Albert, but when rainy days followed each other in rapid succession, and we learned that the hour of reception had been placed at ten am our hearts sank and we began to wonder whether the Parisians would stir themselves so early on what promised to be a wet and foggy morning.

But the weather suddenly changed, and a bright sun and almost Springlike temperature greeted us when we arose early to make sure of reaching our window of vantage on the Avenue du Bois, before the streets should be too blocked to render the passage of a taxi possible.

Before nine we were at our station, but the way thither had been, of necessity, a circuitous one for not only were the troops that were to line the route marching into position, closing street after street, to traffic, but the masses of people already on the move, frequently stopped the progress of our car.

As we stood upon our balcony and looked over the Avenue du Bois, the people below stretched in solid lines, six to eight deep, as far as the eye could reach in either direction, their number increasing as if by magic. Extemporary stands were everywhere in course of erection by men and women, who, long before day light, had hauled in handcarts the planks and wooden horses required, to such positions as they considered advantageous. Men too with step-ladders to hire were abundant, anxious in one morning to earn tripple their original cost.

Bands of students from the schools and lycs marched backwards and forwards hurrahing for Vilson, and making efforts to sing Tibbyrary and other songs in what they believed sounded like English, while bunches of American soldiers in khaki shouted and whistled on the slightest provercation.

As for the great apartment houses and beautiful private residences that line the Avenue, they were a mass of colour from the flags and streamers with which they were covered, as were all buildings along the route of march.

And this more than an hour before the time fixed for the Presidents arrival at the little railway station at the entrance to the Bois de Boulogne, a station always used for the formal reception of Royalty.

Thicker and thicker grew the crowd, until from our window it looked a solid mass. The troops were now in place, and needed, to keep the center of the avenue clear. The most celebrated regiments in France had been selected for this honour, and tried veterens, their flags and breasts covered with the decorations they had won.

At a quarter before ten the regimental trumpets blared, the men came to salute as a simple victoria, drawn by a pair of high stepping horses, containing President Poincar/person> and his wife, passed on their way to receive Mr. Wilson. There were no guards, no outriders, nor even police. But the thirty thousand people within our range of vision, recognizing them, cheered heartily.

I say thirty thousand but surely that is a very low estimate, such a mass were they. Grass plats, trees, statues all covered with men women and children, while the bac lconies of the houses formed lines of black against the background of their white facades and brilliant decorations.

Then came the deep boom of the first gun, announcing the arrival of the train, and a long deep Ah broke from the crowd. The second followed shortly and we knew the processioi n was about to start.

There was absolute silence in that vast throng then from those assembled nearest the gare there broke such a shout of welcome as the Bois never heard before.

The whole Avenue instantly took it up, the black mass turned into waves of white and rose as handkerchiefs and American flags were franticly waved. And cheers, what heartfelt cheers of welcome they were, as thousands upon thousands strained their voices to the utmost with vivas for Wilson and lAmerique until the very air seemed to quiver with the words.

The trumpets sounded loud and clear, but their salute could hardly be heard for the applause, as down the Avenue came a double line of the Guard Republicaine (the mounted police of Paris) in front of a victoria containing the two presidents. Poincar sat back, quiet and composed, but with a look of satisfaction on his face: Wilson, leaning forward, his arm extended, did not attempt to bow his thanks, instead he waved his hat in every direction, almost franticly, his face beaming with delight.

The crowd caught his enthusiasm, felt it was sincere, and then and there took him to their hearts as only a Parisian crowd can.

In a landeau following were Mrs. Wilson, Mme Poincar, Miss Wilson and Mme Jusserand (the wife of the French Ambassador to Washington.) but so smothered in flowers that to recognize them was only possible to those who chanced to be close by.

Again the shouts of welcome burst forth, again the Vivas to which with smiles and bows and the waving to and fro of a single spray of white orchid, just given her by Mme. Poincar/person>, Mrs. Wilson graciously responded. But what pleased the French women above all was the fact that her gown was a Paris model.

Then came other carriages containing the members of President Wilsons suite and the distinguished Officials and Generals who had met him at the railway station.

Another line of La Garde Republicaine, followed by motors with minor officials and employeees and it was all over.

The whole procession had hardly taken three minutes to pass, but the strain of those minutes was intense, and tears of joy as well as smiles of delight could be seen on many faces.

Around the Arch of Triumph, down the Champs Elyss, a detour over the Alexandre III Bridge, that the Chambre des Dut might be passed, then back to the Place de la Concorde, by the Concorde Bridge, up the Rue Royale and the Boulevarde Malesherbes to the residence of Prince Murat on the Park Monceau, which had been set aside for the Presidents use during his stay in Paris.

All along those four miles of wide thoroughfares were masses of people as closely packed as those we had seen from whom came the same salvos of cheers, the same shouts of welcome, the same wild manifestations of delight at being able to greet the President of the United States, now the guest not only of Paris but of all France.

And let me repeat that this was no long arranged spectacular entry, no review nor parade accompanied it, no State Carriages, no brilliant uniforms, no body guards, the only troops those that kept clear the way. A holiday had been given to Paris, but all special demonstrations, political or labour, had been discouraged.

The people, poor and rich alike, had poured out of their own desire to welcome the man they in their hearts acknowledged had brought their Country Peace, and so feeling had wished to voice their thanks in cheers for him and for the Great Republic whose representative he was.

As we walked homeward traffic had been practically suspended, not by order, but by the throngs that filled the streets from houseline to houseline. Everybody was enthusiastic, everybody was delighted. Wilsons personality had won Paris, it rang with his praises. All other welcomes had not been not only overshadowed, they had been forgotten. No potentate had ever been received as had the President of the United States, who, breaking all precedent, had crossed the Atlantic to see that the Peace Terms were such as would give security to the weak as well as the strong, and justice to all.

As I have mentioned December 14th. had been proclaimed a legal holiday, a fact the Parisians did not fail to avail themselves of to the fullest extent. All day long the streets were crowded with pleasure seekers, their one subject of conversation the grandeur of the reception to the President and his gracious reception thereof.

When night came the spirit of revelry seemed to take possession of every one irrespective of age or position.

All wheeled traffic was stopped on the main througherfares, where swiftly formed processions, generally headed by the Stars and Stripes, were in order, as well as impromptu dancing wherever a little place afforded room and a kindly disposed muscian could be found to play.

Of course there was the usual glorification of the military, our soldier boys receiving it, let it be confessed, more than their share of the kisses the pretty midinettes lavished upon the wearers of uniform, kisses they took full care should be returned with interest.

Evidently, by popular consent, the evening had been proclaimed Americas Night in honor of the President. Our flag was everywhere and nowhere more conspicuous than in the countless electric illuminations displayed by hotels, restaurants and shops.

Fully three quarters of those who disported themselves along the boulevardes wore American badges, tiny flags or Wilson medals, while the ever recurrent cry of Vive Wilson Vive lAmerique became pleasantly monotonous.

Only on the evening of the day the Armistice had been proclaimed had Paris seen so gay a fete, and many declared that after all to-night was the night.

How late the festivities were kept up I do not know, but I was awakened about one thirty by a procession passing under my windows, singing a quaint French chanson, and remarkably well considering the lateness of the hour.

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