The Madison daily leader. [volume] (Madison, S.D.) 1890-current, 1919-01-21

That smile came a full hair minute
ahead of the cheers, and the process.
sions came a minute after the cheers.
But that smile-that flashing symbol
OF utter joys q thing never to be
forgotten.
Hours Of Professions.
So we went through hours of pro-
cessions and singing and cheers. II
was some time Monday or Tuesday
that / was again In a great open
place-the Place de P0pera. 1t was
damned with a swaying, tramping
multitude. 1t seemed that there was
hardly room for another atom there,
when suddenly out of the Rue Quatre
Septembre came a little procession-a
procession of wounded French SOL
diers. Like magic O way was
cleared. A lame man vas pulling a
tricycle. on which sat q man with no
legs. Both were in horizon blue. But
the figures that cleared that magic
way were not. They were tall and
strong. They smiled. One of them
carried q little French girl perched
full on his shoulders. They smiled
and cheered. But they cleared the
way for their famed brothers-those
three stalwart figures in khaki-and
two of the three were Yanks. The
other vas an Australian.
The Yanks and the Australians
fitted into the French celebration as
did non of the other foreign sol
diers here. English, Belgians, Ital-
ians, Poles. Czechs-even a few Rus
slams and Portuguese-were here, too,
but 1t was the Australian "~coo-ee-ee,
eee-ee-ee!" and the Yankee ~"whe-e-e-e-
yip!" that most frequently punctured
the "Marseillaise."
And the "Marseillaise" was the
third picture that can never be
erased. Tuesday night, just after
dark, the Boulevard des Italiens,
twice IS broad as Fifth avenue, in
front Of the Agence Radio was
crammed from wall to wall with a
cheering, yelling crowd that cheered
and yelled anew as the pictures of
C~lemenceau and Wilson and Foch and
Pershing and Lloyd George and Haig
and all the heroes they knew We're
flashed upon a screen. Suddenly the
great arc lights of the boulevard
flashed on-for the first time since Au-
gust, 1914. They brought such a yell
as even Foch had not inspired. 1t was
the beginning of the climax. A SEN
tence was flashed upon the screen
"Mlle. vecart of the Opera Is about
to sing the Marseilles.'"
Sings "MarseiIIaise."
Silence fell on that vast throng,
It was like the silence Of the guns at
the front. Fifty thousand faces,
packed almost cheek to cheek, turned
upward. Fifty thousand threats were
stilled.
Little Mile. vecart stepped to the
balcony. She was robed in the tri'
color. Behind her reared the Stars
and Stripes and the Union Jack. Be-
meath her-well, a clever French
woman looked at that e of faces
beneath the singer, and she whis'
pered: "That Is France" 1t must
have been.
The first notes Of the wonderful
song fioated out into a sea of tense
attention. The beautiful, clear, vibrant
soprano thrilled and played and tri'
umphed. Slowly the phrases that have
so many times led to battle SCARED
out over the silent, joyous throng
| Up and down the voice wove and the
| crowd swayed with 1t. Then, rising
to a final glorious note, above the tones
of men, dominating the widest roar OF
all the merry days, as a shining sword
sun-kissed In the smoke of battle, she
sang:
MAY impure blood but lave the
fields Of France"
1t was victory. 1t was the end.