When the Cheering Stopped by Gene; Smith Page B

flags and bunting, by the rigid ranks of the Coldstream Guards. For blocks in all directions the streets were completely jammed; the newspapers said two million people stood to see him. From Hyde Park Corner down Constitution Hill the lampposts were draped in scarlet with flags and emblems bearing Imperial and civic emblems. The Royal Horse Guards band was at Hyde Park Corner to crash into The Star-Spangled Banner when the carriages came to it, and bells and chimes rang out over all London. He stood not simply to raise his hat but to wave it boyishly. They went to Buckingham Palace, where the Welsh Guards band waited, and from the balcony looked over at the crowd reaching all down the Mall to the Admiralty half a mile away, overflowing St. James’s Park on one side and the Green Park on the other. The crowd screamed for him to speak and waved tiny American flags hawked all through the city that day—“a penny each and all silk”—and he laughed and waved his hand to say no, there would be no speech, and went inside but in a few moments had to go out in answer to the immense rolling sound of hundreds of thousands of voices chanting in unison, “ WE WANT WILSON .” The First Lady waved a Union Jack as she stood with her husband and the King and Queen. Never had London heard the cheers that reached up toward them.
    A royal state dinner, the first held since Great Britainwent to war, was given in the palace. Everything on the table was of gold—the candelabra, dishes, forks, spoons, knives. On three different sides of the room were hung gold dishes not used during the dinner; many were the size of tea trays. Beefeaters from the Tower stood in their red uniforms holding in their motionless hands unmoving halberds. Liveried servants were everywhere. The King’s hands trembled as he read off a toast; the President replied extemporaneously, addressing his host as “Sir” but not “Your Majesty.”
    They left London and went up to Carlisle near the Scottish border and to the little church in which the Reverend Thomas Woodrow, his grandfather, had preached. He stood in front of the communion rail, declining to stand in the pulpit, and spoke to the congregation of the little girl who had worshiped in this church before she went to America and womanhood and ultimately motherhood, and of her sense of duty and of what she had taught her son. He spoke of what that son believed: “We shall now be drawn together in a combination of moral force that will be irresistible … it is from quiet places like this all over the world that the forces accumulate which presently will overbear any attempt to establish evil.” He went along into the vestry to sign the book and the First Lady was glad for his moment of seclusion, for she saw what it meant to him to be in this church.
    They went back to Paris and from there to Italy on the royal train of that country. At ten-thirty on the morning of January 2, 1919, they crossed the Franco-Italian frontier at Mentone to the accompaniment of cheers from the Italian troops lined up by the barriers. They headed south, their way at night lighted by blazing bonfires of welcome. In Rome an Alpine infantry guard of honor waited along with the Mayor’s Guard in crimson and gold and silver helmets with plumes. In the royal carriage they rode with the King and Queen to the Quirinal Palace. Airplanes roared and a dirigible drifted over the streets covered with golden sand brought from the Mediterranean in compliance with an ancient way of honoring heroes. From the windows of the old houses hung rare old brocades and velvet with coats of arms embroidered upon them, and flowers rained down as swords, handkerchiefs,flags, hats, epaulets flew up into the air. The great cheers rebounded off the Baths of Diocletian and seemed to stir the banners crying HAIL THE CRUSADER FOR HUMANITY and WELCOME TO THE GOD OF PEACE. Triumphal arches were emblazoned with texts