NOTABILITIES ARRIVE
One of the earliest to arrive was Marshal Foch, amid a torrent of cheering, which burst out even louder a few moments later when the massive head of Premier Clemenceau was seen through the windows of a French military car. To these and other leaders, including President Wilson, General Pershing, and Premier Lloyd George, the troops drawn up all around the courtyard presented arms. After Clemenceau the unique procession continued, diplomats, soldiers, Princes of India in gorgeous turbans and swarthy faces, dapper Japanese in immaculate Western dress, Admirals, aviators, Arabs; one caught a glimpse of the bright colors of French, British, and Colonial uniforms. British Tommies and American doughboys also dashed up on crowded camions, representing the blood and sweat of the hard-fought victory; they got an enthusiastic reception. It was 2:45 when Mr. Balfour, bowing and smiling, heralded the arrival of the British delegates. Mr. Lloyd George was just behind him, for once wearing the conventional high hat instead of his usual felt. At 2:50 came President Wilson in a black limousine with his flag, a white eagle on a dark blue ground; he received a hearty welcome.
By 3 o'clock the last contingent had arrived, and the broad ribbon road stretched empty between the lines of troops from the gates of the palace courtyard. The Germans had already entered; to avoid any unpleasant incident they had been quietly conveyed from their lodgings at the Hotel des Reservoirs Annex through the park.
THE SCENE INSIDE
The final scene in the great drama was enacted in the magnificent Hall of Mirrors. Versailles contains no more splendid chamber than this royal hall, whose three hundred mirrors gleam from every wall, whose vaulted and frescoed ceiling looms dark and high, in whose vastness the footfalls of the passer re-echo over marble floors and die away reverberatingly. It was no mere matter of convenience or accident that the Germans were brought to sign the Peace Treaty in this hall. For this same hall, which saw the German peace delegates of 1919, representing a beaten and prostrate Germany, affix their signatures to the Allied terms of peace, had witnessed in the year 1871 a very different ceremony. It was in the Hall of Mirrors that the German Empire was born. Forty-nine years ago, on a January morning, while the forts of beleaguered Paris were firing their last defiant shots, in that mirror-gleaming hall was inaugurated the reign of that German Empire the virtual end of which, so far as the concept held by its originators is concerned, was signalized in Versailles in the same spot on Saturday, June 28. And in 1871 President Thiers had signed there the crushing terms of defeat imposed by a victorious and ruthless Germany.
In anticipation of the present ceremony carpets had been laid and the ornamental table, with its eighteenth century gilt and bronze decorations, had been placed in position on the daïs where the plenipotentiaries were seated. Fronting the chair of M. Clemenceau was placed a small table, on which the diplomatic instruments were laid. It was to this table that each representative was called, in alphabetical order by countries, to sign his name to the treaty and affix to it his Governmental seal. The four hundred or more invited guests were given places in the left wing of the Hall of Mirrors, while the right wing was occupied by about the same number of press representatives. Sixty seats were allotted to the French press alone. Besides the military guards outside the palace, the grand stairway up which the delegates came to enter the hall was controlled by the Republican Guards in their most brilliant gala uniform.
THE PEACE TABLE
The peace table—a huge hollow rectangle with its open side facing the windows in the hall—was spread with tawny yellow coverings blending with the rich browns, blues, and yellows of the antique hangings and rugs; these, and the mellow tints of the historical paintings, depicting scenes from France's ancient wars, in the arched roof of the long hall, lent bright dashes of color to an otherwise austere scene. Against the sombre background also stood out the brilliant uniforms of a few French guards, in red plumed silver helmets and red, white, and blue uniforms, and a group of Allied Generals, including General Pershing, who wore the scarlet sash of the Legion of Honor.
But all the diplomats and members of the parties who attended the ceremony of signing wore conventional civilian clothes. All gold lace and pageantry was eschewed, the fanciful garb of the Middle Ages was completely absent as representative of traditions and practices sternly condemned in the great bound treaty-volume of Japanese paper, covered with seals and printed in French and English, which was signed by twenty-seven nations that afternoon.
As a contrast with the Franco-German peace session of 1871, held in the same hall, there were present some grizzled French veterans of the Franco-Prussian war. They took the place of the Prussian guardsmen of the previous ceremony, and gazed with a species of grim satisfaction at the disciples of Bismarck, who sat this time in the seats of the lowly, while the white marble statue of Minerva looked stonily on.