The Coconino sun., 1919-01-03
PARIS EXULTS WHEN
 ARMISTICE IS SIGNED
Continued from Page D

no longer to De referred to or thought of by friends or foe as ''the en- trenched camp of Paris" And in that day, as soon as it could rub its eyes and come to itself and be sure that the hideous dream had passed, Paris came home to itself, and the home coming was glory.
 But when one writes even of the rejuvenated, the restored Paris of 1918, one writes not of a merely re- instated Paris of 1914, but of a city that has become the capital of the allied world. In the throngs on the streets, in the cafes, in the theatres, the four corners of the earth had met, to celebrate the common victory of the common cause.
 Tank and Aussie and Jock, Italian, Portugese, Greek, Pole, Czecho-Slo- yak, Tommy, Indian, all, from the newly arrived Brazilians to the wiz ened and weather-beaten poilus wear ing the seven brisques denoting four years in the furnace, knew no nation ality, no difference of tongues or even of uniform.
 Everybody Arm in Arm.
 Arm in arm they paraded up and down the avenues and boulevards, Australians finding the tam-o'- shan ter of the chasseurs Alpins just as fetching as their own nifty bonnets. Italian carabimeri proud and glad to exchange their big cooked hats for the dinky overseas caps of their Yan- kee brethren. Belgians fresh from the line, bestowing their steel helmets on little swarty men from the East in exchange for the weirdest of head gear.
 As they went on their rollicking way, women and children pelted them with flowers, pressed flags into their hands, kissed them, and when they could separate them, danced around them in rings. To remain, unkissed of any. one, man, woman or child, the Allied soldier, whatever his badges or color, had to descend to a cellar and hide.
 It was, in all probability, the great est day Paris has known since the fall of the Bastile, marking, as it did. the triumph over the last remaining Bas- tile in the world the fortress of Span dau, in which Frances extorted in- demnity of 1870 has lain these 40 years and more. Nearer home, it marked triumph over the one sem blance of tyranny that Paris has tol- erated-the tyranny of the taxi-driver.
 It was the day of the pedestrian Street traffic as it is commonly and furiously run in Paris on normal days simply did not exist. If taxi chose to move the way the crowd was go- ing, it was allowed to proceed, at the crowds own pace, with soldiers and civilians sitting on it's top, its steps and mudguards groaning under the weight of everybody and anybody that chose to hop aboard
 Streets for Pedestrians.
 So it was with the auto buses, a whole column of which stood blocked in the Rue de Richelieu for the better part of the afternoon, unable to make the crossing at the juncture of the Boulevard des Italiens and the Bou- levard Montmartre. It seemed as if the Parisians and their Allied guests were determined, for one day at least, to rule supreme over all traffic and to have the streets to themselves for their victory party.
 In the Place de la Concorde, to which, because of it's name, doubtless, a great crowd repaired, the breech blocks of the captured German can non were jocularly slammed, and the muzzles peered into by all the children who could crawl and climb up to them, or who had guiding parents to boost them to the place of vantage. The stately statues of Lille and Stras- bourg were banked as never before with flowers and flags to celebrate their deliverance. And as the crowd swirled round and round the great obelisk in the center of the square they were showered from the sky by Italian airmen, who, flying over the city in their Capronis, dropped neat little printed messages of congratu- lation to France lon the recovery of her lost children"
 Blaze of Light at Night.
 People would pick up the leaflets. read them, and then, with cries like delighted children, blow kisses at the almost invisible specks in the sky. Even though the airmen were too far away to be really kissed, the people they had honored were determined not to forget them.
 At night the Place de fOpera, ablaze with electric lights for the first time since France went out to war. fairly bulged. Every balcony, every window looking out on it was lined, and the crowd stretched far and away down the avenue leading from the Opera building. Then out on to the balcony of the Opera itself came the best of Frances singers, and, regard less of the effect of chill November wind on precious vocal cords, sang and sang away again, with La Brabanconne," "The Star Spangled Banner" God Save the King" and always, always ever recurring, "La Marseilles."
 The crowd took up the choruses and sent the anthems echoing back at the group on the balcony. And when the great folks of classical music finally condescended, at the urgent pleas of the soldiers, to sing "Madelon," it seemed as if all France and all the armies of the Alliance joined in the roar of annlauSa and refrain