by Lyndon Orr
LEON GAMBETTA AND LEONIE LEON
The present French Republic has endured for over forty years. Withinthat time it has produced just one man of extraordinary power and parts.This was Leon Gambetta. Other men as remarkable as he were conspicuousin French political life during the first few years of the republic;but they belonged to an earlier generation, while Gambetta leapedinto prominence only when the empire fell, crashing down in ruin anddisaster.
It is still too early to form an accurate estimate of him as astatesman. His friends praise him extravagantly. His enemies stillrevile him bitterly. The period of his political career lasted forlittle more than a decade, yet in that time it may be said that helived almost a life of fifty years. Only a short time ago did the Frenchgovernment cause his body to be placed within the great Pantheon, whichcontains memorials of the heroes and heroines of France. But, thoughwe may not fairly judge of his political motives, we can readilyreconstruct a picture of him as a man, and in doing so recall hisone romance, which many will remember after they have forgotten hisoratorical triumphs and his statecraft.
Leon Gambetta was the true type of the southern Frenchman--what hiscountrymen call a meridional. The Frenchman of the south is differentfrom the Frenchman of the north, for the latter has in his veins atouch of the viking blood, so that he is very apt to be fair-haired andblue-eyed, temperate in speech, and self-controlled. He is different,again, from the Frenchman of central France, who is almost purelyCeltic. The meridional has a marked vein of the Italian in him, derivedfrom the conquerors of ancient Gaul. He is impulsive, ardent, fiery inspeech, hot-tempered, and vivacious to an extraordinary degree.
Gambetta, who was born at Cahors, was French only on his mother's side,since his father was of Italian birth. It is said also that somewhere inhis ancestry there was a touch of the Oriental. At any rate, he was oneof the most southern of the sons of southern France, and he showedthe precocious maturity which belongs to a certain type of Italian.At twenty-one he had already been admitted to the French bar, andhad drifted to Paris, where his audacity, his pushing nature, and hisred-hot un-restraint of speech gave him a certain notoriety from thevery first.
It was toward the end of the reign of Napoleon III. that Gambetta sawhis opportunity. The emperor, weakened by disease and yielding to a sortof feeble idealism, gave to France a greater freedom of speech than ithad enjoyed while he was more virile. This relaxation of controlmerely gave to his opponents more courage to attack him and his empire.Demagogues harangued the crowds in words which would once have led totheir imprisonment. In the National Assembly the opposition did allwithin its power to hamper and defeat the policy of the government.
In short, republicanism began to rise in an ominous and threatening way;and at the head of republicanism in Paris stood forth Gambetta, with hisimpassioned eloquence, his stinging phrases, and his youthful boldness.He became the idol of that part of Paris known as Belleville, whereartisans and laborers united with the rabble of the streets in hatingthe empire and in crying out for a republic.
Gambetta was precisely the man to voice the feelings of these people.Whatever polish he acquired in after years was then quite lacking; andthe crudity of his manners actually helped him with the men whom heharangued. A recent book by M. Francis Laur, an ardent admirer ofGambetta, gives a picture of the man which may be nearly true of him inhis later life, but which is certainly too flattering when applied toGambetta in 1868, at the age of thirty.
How do we see Gambetta as he was at thirty? A man of powerful frame andof intense vitality, with thick, clustering hair, which he shook asa lion shakes its mane; olive-skinned, with eyes that darted fire, aresonant, sonorous voice, and a personal magnetism which was instantlyfelt by all who met him or who heard him speak. His manners were notrefined. He was fond of oil and garlic. His gestures were often morefrantic than impressive, so that his enemies called him "the furiousfool." He had a trick of spitting while he spoke. He was by no meansthe sort of man whose habits had been formed in drawing-rooms or amongpeople of good breeding. Yet his oratory was, of its kind, superb.
In 1869 Gambetta was elected by the Red Republicans to the CorpsLegislatif. From the very first his vehemence and fire gained him aready hearing. The chamber itself was arranged like a great theater, themembers occupying the floor and the public the galleries. Each oratorin addressing the house mounted a sort of rostrum and from it faced thewhole assemblage, not noticing, as with us, the presiding officerat all. The very nature of this arrangement stimulated parliamentaryspeaking into eloquence and flamboyant oratory.
After Gambetta had spoken a few times he noticed in the gallery a tall,graceful woman, dressed in some neutral color and wearing long blackgloves, which accentuated the beauty of her hands and arms. No one inthe whole assembly paid such close attention to the orator as did thiswoman, whom he had never seen before and who appeared to be entirelyalone.
When it came to him to speak on another day he saw sitting in thesame place the same stately and yet lithe and sinuous figure. This wasrepeated again and again, until at last whenever he came to a peculiarlyfervid burst of oratory he turned to this woman's face and saw itlighted up by the same enthusiasm which was stirring him.
Finally, in the early part of 1870, there came a day when Gambettasurpassed himself in eloquence. His theme was the grandeur of republicangovernment. Never in his life had he spoken so boldly as then, or withsuch fervor. The ministers of the emperor shrank back in dismay as thisbig-voiced, strong-limbed man hurled forth sentence after sentence likesuccessive peals of irresistible artillery.
As Gambetta rolled forth his sentences, superb in their rhetoric and allablaze with that sort of intense feeling which masters an orator in themoment of his triumph, the face of the lady in the gallery responded tohim with wonderful appreciation. She was no longer calm, unmoved, andalmost severe. She flushed, and her eyes as they met his seemed tosparkle with living fire. When he finished and descended from therostrum he looked at her, and their eyes cried out as significantly asif the two had spoken to each other.
Then Gambetta did what a person of finer breeding would not have done.He hastily scribbled a note, sealed it, and called to his side one ofthe official pages. In the presence of the great assemblage, where hewas for the moment the center of attention, he pointed to the lady inthe gallery and ordered the page to take the note to her.
One may excuse this only on the ground that he was completely carriedaway by his emotion, so that to him there was no one present save thisenigmatically fascinating woman and himself. But the lady on her sidewas wiser; or perhaps a slight delay gave her time to recover herdiscretion. When Gambetta's note was brought to her she took it quietlyand tore it into little pieces without reading it; and then, rising, sheglided through the crowd and disappeared.
Gambetta in his excitement had acted as if she were a mere adventuress.With perfect dignity she had shown him that she was a woman who retainedher self-respect.
Immediately upon the heels of this curious incident came the outbreak ofthe war with Germany. In the war the empire was shattered at Sedan. Therepublic was proclaimed in Paris. The French capital was besieged bya vast German army. Gambetta was made minister of the interior, andremained for a while in Paris even after it had been blockaded. But hisfiery spirit chafed under such conditions. He longed to go forth intothe south of France and arouse his countrymen with a cry to arms againstthe invaders.
Escaping in a balloon, he safely reached the city of Tours; and there heestablished what was practically a dictatorship. He flung himself withtremendous energy into the task of organizing armies, of equipping them,and of directing their movements for the relief of Paris. He did, infact, accomplish wonders. He kept the spirit of the nation stillalive. Three new armies were launched against the Germans. Gambetta waseverywhere and took part in everything that was done. His inexperiencein military affairs, coupled with his impatience of advice, led himto make serious mistakes. Nevertheless, one of his armies practicallydefeated the Germans a
t Orleans; and could he have had his own way, eventhe fall of Paris would not have ended the war.
"Never," said Gambetta, "shall I consent to peace so long as Francestill has two hundred thousand men under arms and more than a thousandcannon to direct against the enemy!"
But he was overruled by other and less fiery statesmen. Peace was made,and Gambetta retired for a moment into private life. If he had notsucceeded in expelling the German hosts he had, at any rate, madeBismarck hate him, and he had saved the honor of France.
It was while the National Assembly at Versailles was debating the termsof peace with Germany that Gambetta once more delivered a noble andpatriotic speech. As he concluded he felt a strange magnetic attractionand, sweeping the audience with a glance, he saw before him, not veryfar away, the same woman with the long black gloves, having abouther still an air of mystery, but again meeting his eyes with her own,suffused with feeling.
Gambetta hurried to an anteroom and hastily scribbled the followingnote:
At last I see you once more. Is it really you?
The scrawl was taken to her by a discreet official, and this time shereceived the letter, pressed it to her heart, and then slipped it intothe bodice of her gown. But this time, as before, she left withoutmaking a reply.
It was an encouragement, yet it gave no opening to Gambetta--for shereturned to the National Assembly no more. But now his heart was full ofhope, for he was convinced with a very deep conviction that somewhere,soon, and in some way he would meet this woman, who had become to himone of the intense realities of his life. He did not know her name. Theyhad never exchanged a word. Yet he was sure that time would bring themclose together.
His intuition was unerring. What we call chance often seems to knowwhat it is doing. Within a year after the occurrence that has just beennarrated an old friend of Gambetta's met with an accident which confinedhim to his house. The statesman strolled to his friend's residence. Theaccident was a trifling one, and the mistress of the house was holdinga sort of informal reception, answering questions that were asked her bythe numerous acquaintances who called.
As Gambetta was speaking, of a sudden he saw before him, at theextremity of the room, the lady of his dreams, the sphinx of his wakinghours, the woman who four years earlier had torn up the note which headdressed to her, but who more recently had kept his written words. Bothof them were deeply agitated, yet both of them carried off the situationwithout betraying themselves to others, Gambetta approached, and theyexchanged a few casual commonplaces. But now, close together, eye andvoice spoke of what was in their hearts.
Presently the lady took her leave. Gambetta followed closely. In thestreet he turned to her and said in pleading tones:
"Why did you destroy my letter? You knew I loved you, and yet all theseyears you have kept away from me in silence."
Then the girl--for she was little more than a girl--hesitated for amoment. As he looked upon her face he saw that her eyes were full oftears. At last she spoke with emotion:
"You cannot love me, for I am unworthy of you. Do not urge me. Do notmake promises. Let us say good-by. At least I must first tell you of mystory, for I am one of those women whom no one ever marries."
Gambetta brushed aside her pleadings. He begged that he might see hersoon. Little by little she consented; but she would not see him at herhouse. She knew that his enemies were many and that everything he didwould be used against him. In the end she agreed to meet him in the parkat Versailles, near the Petit Trianon, at eight o'clock in the morning.
When she had made this promise he left her. Already a new inspirationhad come to him, and he felt that with this woman by his side he couldaccomplish anything.
At the appointed hour, in the silence of the park and amid the sunshineof the beautiful morning, the two met once again. Gambetta seized herhands with eagerness and cried out in an exultant tone:
"At last! At last! At last!"
But the woman's eyes were heavy with sorrow, and upon her face there wasa settled melancholy. She trembled at his touch and almost shrank fromhim. Here was seen the impetuosity of the meridional. He had firstspoken to this woman only two days before. He knew nothing of herstation, of her surroundings, of her character. He did not even know hername. Yet one thing he knew absolutely--that she was made for him andthat he must have her for his own. He spoke at once of marriage; but atthis she drew away from him still farther.
"No," she said. "I told you that you must not speak to me until you haveheard my story."
He led her to a great stone bench near by; and, passing his arm abouther waist, he drew her head down to his shoulder as he said:
"Well, tell me. I will listen."
Then this girl of twenty-four, with perfect frankness, because she wasabsolutely loyal, told him why she felt that they must never see eachother any more-much less marry and be happy. She was the daughter of acolonel in the French army. The sudden death of her father had left herpenniless and alone. Coming to Paris at the age of eighteen, she hadgiven lessons in the household of a high officer of the empire. This manhad been attracted by her beauty, and had seduced her.
Later she had secured the means of living modestly, realizing moredeeply each month how dreadful had been her fate and how she had beencut off from the lot of other girls. She felt that her life must be aperpetual penance for what had befallen her through her ignorance andinexperience. She told Gambetta that her name was Leonie Leon. As is thecustom of Frenchwomen who live alone, she styled herself madame. It isdoubtful whether the name by which she passed was that which had beengiven to her at baptism; but, if so, her true name has never beendisclosed.
When she had told the whole of her sad story to Gambetta he made nothingof it. She said to him again:
"You cannot love me. I should only dim your fame. You can have nothingin common with a dishonored, ruined girl. That is what I came here toexplain to you. Let us part, and let us for all time forget each other."
But Gambetta took no heed of what she said. Now that he had foundher, he would not consent to lose her. He seized her slender hands andcovered them with kisses. Again he urged that she should marry him.
Her answer was a curious one. She was a devoted Catholic and would notregard any marriage as valid save a religious marriage. On the otherhand, Gambetta, though not absolutely irreligious, was leading theopposition to the Catholic party in France. The Church to him was not somuch a religious body as a political one, and to it he was unalterablyopposed. Personally, he would have no objections to being married by apriest; but as a leader of the anti-clerical party he felt that he mustnot recognize the Church's claim in any way. A religious marriage woulddestroy his influence with his followers and might even imperil thefuture of the republic.
They pleaded long and earnestly both then and afterward. He urged acivil marriage, but she declared that only a marriage according to therites of the Church could ever purify her past and give her back herself-respect. In this she was absolutely stubborn, yet she did not urgeupon Gambetta that he should destroy his influence by marrying her inchurch.
Through all this interplay of argument and pleading and emotion thetwo grew every moment more hopelessly in love. Then the woman, with awoman's curious subtlety and indirectness, reached a somewhat singularconclusion. She would hear nothing of a civil marriage, because a civilmarriage was no marriage in the eyes of Pope and prelate. On the otherhand, she did not wish Gambetta to mar his political career by goingthrough a religious ceremony. She had heard from a priest that theChurch recognized two forms of betrothal. The usual one looked to amarriage in the future and gave no marriage privileges until after theformal ceremony. But there was another kind of betrothal known to thetheologians as sponsalia de praesente. According to this, if there werean actual betrothal, the pair might have the privileges and rights ofmarriage immediately, if only they sincerely meant to be married in thefuture.
The eager mind of Leonie Leon caught at this bit of ecclesiastical lawand used it with great ingenuity.
"Let us," she said, "be formally betrothed by the interchange of aring, and let us promise each other to marry in the future. After sucha betrothal as this we shall be the same as married; for we shall beacting according to the laws of the Church."
Gambetta gladly gave his promise. A betrothal ring was purchased; andthen, her conscience being appeased, she gave herself completely to herlover. Gambetta was sincere. He said to her:
"If the time should ever come when I shall lose my political station,when I am beaten in the struggle, when I am deserted and alone, will younot then marry me when I ask you?"
And Leonie, with her arms about his neck, promised that she would. Yetneither of them specified what sort of marriage this should be, nor didit seem at the moment as if the question could arise.
For Gambetta was very powerful. He led his party to success in theelection of 1877. Again and again his triumphant oratory mastered theNational Assembly of France. In 1879 he was chosen to be presidentof the Chamber of Deputies. He towered far above the president of therepublic--Jules Grevy, that hard-headed, close-fisted old peasant--andhis star had reached its zenith.
All this time he and Leonie Leon maintained their intimacy, though itwas carefully concealed save from a very few. She lived in a plain butpretty house on the Avenue Perrichont in the quiet quarter of Auteuil;but Gambetta never came there. Where and when they met was a secretguarded very carefully by the few who were his close associates. Butmeet they did continually, and their affection grew stronger every year.Leonie thrilled at the victories of the man she loved; and he found joyin the hours that he spent with her.
Gambetta's need of rest was very great, for he worked at the highesttension, like an engine which is using every pound of steam. Bismarck,whose spies kept him well informed of everything that was happening inParis, and who had no liking for Gambetta, since the latter always spokeof him as "the Ogre," once said to a Frenchman named Cheberry:
"He is the only one among you who thinks of revenge, and who is any sortof a menace to Germany. But, fortunately, he won't last much longer. Iam not speaking thoughtlessly. I know from secret reports what sort ofa life your great man leads, and I know his habits. Why, his life isa life of continual overwork. He rests neither night nor day. Allpoliticians who have led the same life have died young. To be ableto serve one's country for a long time a statesman must marry an uglywoman, have children like the rest of the world, and a country placeor a house to one's self like any common peasant, where he can go andrest."
The Iron Chancellor chuckled as he said this, and he was right. And yetGambetta's end came not so much through overwork as by an accident.
It may be that the ambition of Mme. Leon stimulated him beyond hispowers. However this may be, early in 1882, when he was defeated inParliament on a question which he considered vital, he immediatelyresigned and turned his back on public life. His fickle friends soondeserted him. His enemies jeered and hooted the mention of his name.
He had reached the time which with a sort of prophetic instinct he hadforeseen nearly ten years before. So he turned to the woman who hadbeen faithful and loving to him; and he turned to her with a feeling ofinfinite peace.
"You promised me," he said, "that if ever I was defeated and alone youwould marry me. The time is now."
Then this man, who had exercised the powers of a dictator, who hadlevied armies and shaken governments, and through whose hands there hadpassed thousands of millions of francs, sought for a country home. Hefound for sale a small estate which had once belonged to Balzac, andwhich is known as Les Jardies. It was in wretched repair; yet the smallsum which it cost Gambetta--twelve thousand francs--was practically allthat he possessed. Worn and weary as he was, it seemed to him a haven ofdelightful peace; for here he might live in the quiet country with thestill beautiful woman who was soon to become his wife.
It is not known what form of marriage they at last agreed upon. She mayhave consented to a civil ceremony; or he, being now out of public life,may have felt that he could be married by the Church. The day for theirwedding had been set, and Gambetta was already at Les Jardies. But therecame a rumor that he had been shot. Still further tidings bore the newsthat he was dying. Paris, fond as it was of scandals, immediately spreadthe tale that he had been shot by a jealous woman.
The truth is quite the contrary. Gambetta, in arranging his effects inhis new home, took it upon himself to clean a pair of dueling-pistols;for every French politician of importance must fight duels, and Gambettahad already done so. Unfortunately, one cartridge remained unnoticed inthe pistol which Gambetta cleaned. As he held the pistol-barrel againstthe soft part of his hand the cartridge exploded, and the ball passedthrough the base of the thumb with a rending, spluttering noise.
The wound was not in itself serious, but now the prophecy of Bismarckwas fulfilled. Gambetta had exhausted his vitality; a fever set in, andbefore long he died of internal ulceration.
This was the end of a great career and of a great romance of love.Leonie Leon was half distraught at the death of the lover who was sosoon to be her husband. She wandered for hours in the forest until shereached a convent, where she was received. Afterward she came to Parisand hid herself away in a garret of the slums. All the light of her lifehad gone out. She wished that she had died with him whose glory had beenher life. Friends of Gambetta, however, discovered her and cared for heruntil her death, long afterward, in 1906.
She lived upon the memories of the past, of the swift love that had comeat first sight, but which had lasted unbrokenly; which had given her thepride of conquest, and which had brought her lover both happiness andinspiration and a refining touch which had smoothed away his roughnessand made him fit to stand in palaces with dignity and distinction.
As for him, he left a few lines which have been carefully preserved, andwhich sum up his thought of her. They read:
To the light of my soul; to the star, of my life--Leonie Leon. For ever!For ever!
