The Day: 28 June 1919 — Part III, Execution

At 3:15 p.m. Clemenceau rose and announced, "The meeting is opened." He then spoke briefly in French:

An agreement has been reached upon the conditions of the treaty of peace between the Allied and Associated Powers and the German Empire. The text has been verified; the president of the conference has certified in writing that the text about to be signed conformed to the text of the 200 copies which have been sent to the German delegates. The signatures about to be given constitute an irrevocable engagement to carry out loyally and faithfully in their entirety all the conditions that have been decided upon. I therefore have the honor of asking the German plenipotentiaries to affix their signatures to the treaty before me.

Clemenceau Invites the German Representative to Sign the Treaty

The Germans rose quickly from their seats when he had finished his remarks, knowing that they were the first to sign, but William Martin, director of protocol, motioned them to sit down. Mantoux, the official interpreter, began translating Clemenceau's words into German. In his first sentence, when he reached the words, "the German Empire," or, as Clemenceau had said in French, "l'empire allemande," re-translated it as, "the German Republic." While this change reflected political realities, Clemenceau whispered, "Say 'German Reich,'" this being the term employed by the Germans.

Paul Dutasta, general secretary of the conference, then led the five Germans—two plenipotentiaries and three secretaries—to the treaty table where Mueller and Bell, two lonely men in simple black frock coats among the sea of colorful military and diplomatic uniforms, signed their names. Bell's pen did not work and one of Colonel Edward House's secretaries offered his personal pen for the German's use. Mueller appended his name in the cramped manner of a man trying to hide his involvement in a dubious action, while Bell, using the loaned instrument, scrawled his nervous approval in huge letters.

The delegation from the United States followed the Germans. President Wilson rose, and as he began his walk to the historic table, followed in order by Secretary of State Robert Lansing, Colonel House, General Tasker Bliss, and Henry White, other delegates stretched out their hands in congratulation. He came forward with a broad smile and signed his name at the spot indicated by William Marten. Lloyd George, together with Arthur Balfour, Viscount Milner, and Andrew Bonar Law, followed the Americans. Then came the delegates from the British dominions, followed by the representatives of France, in order, Clemenceau, Stephen Pichon, Louis Klotz, André Tardieu, and Jules Cambon; the president of the council signed his name without seating himself. The general tension that had prevailed before the Germans had signed was now gone. There was a general relaxation; conversation hummed again in an undertone. The remaining delegations, headed by those of Italy, Japan, and Belgium, stood up one by and passed onward to the queue waiting by the signing table. Meanwhile adventuresome onlookers congregated around the main table getting autographs. Everything went quickly. The efficient officials of the Quai d'Orsay stood attentively in position indication places to sign, enforcing procedures, blotting with neat little pads.

Suddenly, as Ignace Jan Paderewski, the Polish plenipotentiary, was signing his name, from outside came the crash of guns thundering a salute, announcing to Paris that the Germans had signed the peace treaty. Through the few open windows came the sound of distant crowds cheering hoarsely.

German Plenipotentiaries Hermann Mueller and
Johannes Bell Signing the Treaty

At 3:50 p.m. the signing was complete. The protocol officials renewed their "Ssh! Ssh!" injunction, cutting short the loud, invasive chatter. There was a final hush. Clemenceau announced, "Gentlemen, all of the signatures have been given. The signing of the peace conditions between the Allied and Associated powers and the German Reich is an accomplished fact. The conference is over. "

The Germans were the first to leave the Hall of Mirrors, conducted out like prisoners from the dock, their eyes fixed straight ahead. They immediately took their automobiles to their hotel where they issued a statement to the press:

We have signed the treaty without any mental reservation. What we have signed we will carry out. The German people will compel those in power to hold to and conform to the clauses. But we believe that the Entente, in its own interest, will consider it necessary to modify some articles when it becomes aware that the execution of these articles is impossible. We believe that the Entente will not insist upon the delivery of the Kaiser and upon that of the high officers. The central government has now made every effort to prove that she is worthy of entering the League of Nations.

In the palace the delegates rose and congratulated each other as the ceremony concluded in the roar of the cannonade. Many lesser notables streamed out of the building to join the crowd that had begun shouting in wild enthusiasm with the first sound of the guns. Slowly the crowd in the great hall cleared, the press through a side door, the rest through the Hall of Honor. The famous fountains of the park added their display to the joyous moment for the first time since the onset of the war.

Clemenceau invited Wilson and Lloyd George to view the fountains with him. The moment that the three men appeared before the distant crowd a great wave of wildly cheering humanity burst through the cordon of troops and swept toward them. They locked arms and, proceeded by a protective cordon of troops, worked their way to the terrace above the beautifully maintained grounds. After a brief look at the grounds they hurried back inside, Clemenceau, with shorter legs, being hard put to keep pace with his Anglo-Saxon colleagues. The three leaders then went to the salon of the old senate where they had tea—the ritual beverage of the conference—with Baron Soanino of Italy and Baron Makino of Japan. Afterward they went their separate ways.

At 9:45 that evening, Wilson, together with his wife and several friends and associates awaiting him at the Gare des Invalides in Paris, boarded a special train for the trip to Brest, where the liner George Washington lay ready for departure. He was eager to begin the ratification process. Lloyd George likewise left Paris that evening. He had grave domestic issues at home requiring his attention.

The Germans, Mueller and Bell, left their hotel at 9 p.m. Their automobiles drove through the city to a small, remote station, Choisy-le-Roi, where a special train waited for them. The French officials who had acted as their escort took perfunctory leave. Everyone was painfully correct. As the train moved along, crowds of Frenchmen stood at the small local stations to observe its passage. At various points individuals shouted jeers and gave obscene gestures; at some stations others threw rocks. But the train continued into the night toward the German frontier.

French 75s Preparing to Fire the Celebratory Barrage

For the rest of the day and throughout the night, Versailles and Paris, throwing aside the requested "calm and dignity," gave themselves up to a delirium of joy and celebration. As darkness fell Paris went mad in a sea of pyrotechnics. Before 6 p.m. the crowds had become so dense that all motor traffic ceased throughout the principal thoroughfares. After 8 p.m. crossing the boulevards was virtually impossible, while moving from square to square in less than an hour was a record speed. American soldiers, wild with joy, some wearing strange hats, caromed along the streets, arm-in-arm with their triumphant French comrades. Impromptu bands gathered on street comers to play for the dancing merrymakers. The most heard songs were the "Marseillaise" and "Hail, Hail, The Gang's All Here."

Across the Rhine, in somber contrast, every town in Germany hoisted mourning flags at half-staff. Newspapers, with heavy black bands, headlined "The End" and "Germany's Fate Is Sealed." There were no cheers and no music.

This was the day at Versailles, 28 June 1919.