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<h2> LEON GAMBETTA AND LEONIE LEON </h2>
<p>The present French Republic has endured for over forty years. Within that
time it has produced just one man of extraordinary power and parts. This
was Leon Gambetta. Other men as remarkable as he were conspicuous in
French political life during the first few years of the republic; but they
belonged to an earlier generation, while Gambetta leaped into prominence
only when the empire fell, crashing down in ruin and disaster.</p>
<p>It is still too early to form an accurate estimate of him as a statesman.
His friends praise him extravagantly. His enemies still revile him
bitterly. The period of his political career lasted for little more than a
decade, yet in that time it may be said that he lived almost a life of
fifty years. Only a short time ago did the French government cause his
body to be placed within the great Pantheon, which contains memorials of
the heroes and heroines of France. But, though we may not fairly judge of
his political motives, we can readily reconstruct a picture of him as a
man, and in doing so recall his one romance, which many will remember
after they have forgotten his oratorical triumphs and his statecraft.</p>
<p>Leon Gambetta was the true type of the southern Frenchman—what his
countrymen call a meridional. The Frenchman of the south is different from
the Frenchman of the north, for the latter has in his veins a touch of the
viking blood, so that he is very apt to be fair-haired and blue-eyed,
temperate in speech, and self-controlled. He is different, again, from the
Frenchman of central France, who is almost purely Celtic. The meridional
has a marked vein of the Italian in him, derived from the conquerors of
ancient Gaul. He is impulsive, ardent, fiery in speech, hot-tempered, and
vivacious to an extraordinary degree.</p>
<p>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 in
his ancestry there was a touch of the Oriental. At any rate, he was one of
the most southern of the sons of southern France, and he showed the
precocious maturity which belongs to a certain type of Italian. At
twenty-one he had already been admitted to the French bar, and had drifted
to Paris, where his audacity, his pushing nature, and his red-hot
un-restraint of speech gave him a certain notoriety from the very first.</p>
<p>It was toward the end of the reign of Napoleon III. that Gambetta saw his
opportunity. The emperor, weakened by disease and yielding to a sort of
feeble idealism, gave to France a greater freedom of speech than it had
enjoyed while he was more virile. This relaxation of control merely gave
to his opponents more courage to attack him and his empire. Demagogues
harangued the crowds in words which would once have led to their
imprisonment. In the National Assembly the opposition did all within its
power to hamper and defeat the policy of the government.</p>
<p>In short, republicanism began to rise in an ominous and threatening way;
and at the head of republicanism in Paris stood forth Gambetta, with his
impassioned eloquence, his stinging phrases, and his youthful boldness. He
became the idol of that part of Paris known as Belleville, where artisans
and laborers united with the rabble of the streets in hating the empire
and in crying out for a republic.</p>
<p>Gambetta was precisely the man to voice the feelings of these people.
Whatever polish he acquired in after years was then quite lacking; and the
crudity of his manners actually helped him with the men whom he harangued.
A recent book by M. Francis Laur, an ardent admirer of Gambetta, gives a
picture of the man which may be nearly true of him in his later life, but
which is certainly too flattering when applied to Gambetta in 1868, at the
age of thirty.</p>
<p>How do we see Gambetta as he was at thirty? A man of powerful frame and of
intense vitality, with thick, clustering hair, which he shook as a lion
shakes its mane; olive-skinned, with eyes that darted fire, a resonant,
sonorous voice, and a personal magnetism which was instantly felt by all
who met him or who heard him speak. His manners were not refined. He was
fond of oil and garlic. His gestures were often more frantic than
impressive, so that his enemies called him "the furious fool." He had a
trick of spitting while he spoke. He was by no means the sort of man whose
habits had been formed in drawing-rooms or among people of good breeding.
Yet his oratory was, of its kind, superb.</p>
<p>In 1869 Gambetta was elected by the Red Republicans to the Corps
Legislatif. From the very first his vehemence and fire gained him a ready
hearing. The chamber itself was arranged like a great theater, the members
occupying the floor and the public the galleries. Each orator in
addressing the house mounted a sort of rostrum and from it faced the whole
assemblage, not noticing, as with us, the presiding officer at all. The
very nature of this arrangement stimulated parliamentary speaking into
eloquence and flamboyant oratory.</p>
<p>After Gambetta had spoken a few times he noticed in the gallery a tall,
graceful woman, dressed in some neutral color and wearing long black
gloves, which accentuated the beauty of her hands and arms. No one in the
whole assembly paid such close attention to the orator as did this woman,
whom he had never seen before and who appeared to be entirely alone.</p>
<p>When it came to him to speak on another day he saw sitting in the same
place the same stately and yet lithe and sinuous figure. This was repeated
again and again, until at last whenever he came to a peculiarly fervid
burst of oratory he turned to this woman's face and saw it lighted up by
the same enthusiasm which was stirring him.</p>
<p>Finally, in the early part of 1870, there came a day when Gambetta
surpassed himself in eloquence. His theme was the grandeur of republican
government. Never in his life had he spoken so boldly as then, or with
such fervor. The ministers of the emperor shrank back in dismay as this
big-voiced, strong-limbed man hurled forth sentence after sentence like
successive peals of irresistible artillery.</p>
<p>As Gambetta rolled forth his sentences, superb in their rhetoric and all
ablaze with that sort of intense feeling which masters an orator in the
moment of his triumph, the face of the lady in the gallery responded to
him with wonderful appreciation. She was no longer calm, unmoved, and
almost severe. She flushed, and her eyes as they met his seemed to sparkle
with living fire. When he finished and descended from the rostrum he
looked at her, and their eyes cried out as significantly as if the two had
spoken to each other.</p>
<p>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 of the
official pages. In the presence of the great assemblage, where he was for
the moment the center of attention, he pointed to the lady in the gallery
and ordered the page to take the note to her.</p>
<p>One may excuse this only on the ground that he was completely carried away
by his emotion, so that to him there was no one present save this
enigmatically fascinating woman and himself. But the lady on her side was
wiser; or perhaps a slight delay gave her time to recover her discretion.
When Gambetta's note was brought to her she took it quietly and tore it
into little pieces without reading it; and then, rising, she glided
through the crowd and disappeared.</p>
<p>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 retained
her self-respect.</p>
<p>Immediately upon the heels of this curious incident came the outbreak of
the war with Germany. In the war the empire was shattered at Sedan. The
republic was proclaimed in Paris. The French capital was besieged by a
vast German army. Gambetta was made minister of the interior, and remained
for a while in Paris even after it had been blockaded. But his fiery
spirit chafed under such conditions. He longed to go forth into the south
of France and arouse his countrymen with a cry to arms against the
invaders.</p>
<p>Escaping in a balloon, he safely reached the city of Tours; and there he
established what was practically a dictatorship. He flung himself with
tremendous energy into the task of organizing armies, of equipping them,
and of directing their movements for the relief of Paris. He did, in fact,
accomplish wonders. He kept the spirit of the nation still alive. Three
new armies were launched against the Germans. Gambetta was everywhere and
took part in everything that was done. His inexperience in military
affairs, coupled with his impatience of advice, led him to make serious
mistakes. Nevertheless, one of his armies practically defeated the Germans
at Orleans; and could he have had his own way, even the fall of Paris
would not have ended the war.</p>
<p>"Never," said Gambetta, "shall I consent to peace so long as France still
has two hundred thousand men under arms and more than a thousand cannon to
direct against the enemy!"</p>
<p>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 not
succeeded in expelling the German hosts he had, at any rate, made Bismarck
hate him, and he had saved the honor of France.</p>
<p>It was while the National Assembly at Versailles was debating the terms of
peace with Germany that Gambetta once more delivered a noble and patriotic
speech. As he concluded he felt a strange magnetic attraction; and,
sweeping the audience with a glance, he saw before him, not very far away,
the same woman with the long black gloves, having about her still an air
of mystery, but again meeting his eyes with her own, suffused with
feeling.</p>
<p>Gambetta hurried to an anteroom and hastily scribbled the following note:</p>
<p>At last I see you once more. Is it really you?</p>
<p>The scrawl was taken to her by a discreet official, and this time she
received the letter, pressed it to her heart, and then slipped it into the
bodice of her gown. But this time, as before, she left without making a
reply.</p>
<p>It was an encouragement, yet it gave no opening to Gambetta—for she
returned to the National Assembly no more. But now his heart was full of
hope, 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 him one
of the intense realities of his life. He did not know her name. They had
never exchanged a word. Yet he was sure that time would bring them close
together.</p>
<p>His intuition was unerring. What we call chance often seems to know what
it is doing. Within a year after the occurrence that has just been
narrated an old friend of Gambetta's met with an accident which confined
him to his house. The statesman strolled to his friend's residence. The
accident was a trifling one, and the mistress of the house was holding a
sort of informal reception, answering questions that were asked her by the
numerous acquaintances who called.</p>
<p>As Gambetta was speaking, of a sudden he saw before him, at the extremity
of the room, the lady of his dreams, the sphinx of his waking hours, the
woman who four years earlier had torn up the note which he addressed to
her, but who more recently had kept his written words. Both of them were
deeply agitated, yet both of them carried off the situation without
betraying themselves to others, Gambetta approached, and they exchanged a
few casual commonplaces. But now, close together, eye and voice spoke of
what was in their hearts.</p>
<p>Presently the lady took her leave. Gambetta followed closely. In the
street he turned to her and said in pleading tones:</p>
<p>"Why did you destroy my letter? You knew I loved you, and yet all these
years you have kept away from me in silence."</p>
<p>Then the girl—for she was little more than a girl—hesitated
for a moment. As he looked upon her face he saw that her eyes were full of
tears. At last she spoke with emotion:</p>
<p>"You cannot love me, for I am unworthy of you. Do not urge me. Do not make
promises. Let us say good-by. At least I must first tell you of my story,
for I am one of those women whom no one ever marries."</p>
<p>Gambetta brushed aside her pleadings. He begged that he might see her
soon. Little by little she consented; but she would not see him at her
house. She knew that his enemies were many and that everything he did
would be used against him. In the end she agreed to meet him in the park
at Versailles, near the Petit Trianon, at eight o'clock in the morning.</p>
<p>When she had made this promise he left her. Already a new inspiration had
come to him, and he felt that with this woman by his side he could
accomplish anything.</p>
<p>At the appointed hour, in the silence of the park and amid the sunshine of
the beautiful morning, the two met once again. Gambetta seized her hands
with eagerness and cried out in an exultant tone:</p>
<p>"At last! At last! At last!"</p>
<p>But the woman's eyes were heavy with sorrow, and upon her face there was a
settled melancholy. She trembled at his touch and almost shrank from him.
Here was seen the impetuosity of the meridional. He had first spoken to
this woman only two days before. He knew nothing of her station, of her
surroundings, of her character. He did not even know her name. Yet one
thing he knew absolutely—that she was made for him and that he must
have her for his own. He spoke at once of marriage; but at this she drew
away from him still farther.</p>
<p>"No," she said. "I told you that you must not speak to me until you have
heard my story."</p>
<p>He led her to a great stone bench near by; and, passing his arm about her
waist, he drew her head down to his shoulder as he said:</p>
<p>"Well, tell me. I will listen."</p>
<p>Then this girl of twenty-four, with perfect frankness, because she was
absolutely loyal, told him why she felt that they must never see each
other any more-much less marry and be happy. She was the daughter of a
colonel in the French army. The sudden death of her father had left her
penniless and alone. Coming to Paris at the age of eighteen, she had given
lessons in the household of a high officer of the empire. This man had
been attracted by her beauty, and had seduced her.</p>
<p>Later she had secured the means of living modestly, realizing more deeply
each month how dreadful had been her fate and how she had been cut off
from the lot of other girls. She felt that her life must be a perpetual
penance for what had befallen her through her ignorance and inexperience.
She told Gambetta that her name was Leonie Leon. As is the custom of
Frenchwomen who live alone, she styled herself madame. It is doubtful
whether the name by which she passed was that which had been given to her
at baptism; but, if so, her true name has never been disclosed.</p>
<p>When she had told the whole of her sad story to Gambetta he made nothing
of it. She said to him again:</p>
<p>"You cannot love me. I should only dim your fame. You can have nothing in
common with a dishonored, ruined girl. That is what I came here to explain
to you. Let us part, and let us for all time forget each other."</p>
<p>But Gambetta took no heed of what she said. Now that he had found her, he
would not consent to lose her. He seized her slender hands and covered
them with kisses. Again he urged that she should marry him.</p>
<p>Her answer was a curious one. She was a devoted Catholic and would not
regard any marriage as valid save a religious marriage. On the other hand,
Gambetta, though not absolutely irreligious, was leading the opposition to
the Catholic party in France. The Church to him was not so much a
religious body as a political one, and to it he was unalterably opposed.
Personally, he would have no objections to being married by a priest; but
as a leader of the anti-clerical party he felt that he must not recognize
the Church's claim in any way. A religious marriage would destroy his
influence with his followers and might even imperil the future of the
republic.</p>
<p>They pleaded long and earnestly both then and afterward. He urged a civil
marriage, but she declared that only a marriage according to the rites of
the Church could ever purify her past and give her back her self-respect.
In this she was absolutely stubborn, yet she did not urge upon Gambetta
that he should destroy his influence by marrying her in church.</p>
<p>Through all this interplay of argument and pleading and emotion the two
grew every moment more hopelessly in love. Then the woman, with a woman's
curious subtlety and indirectness, reached a somewhat singular conclusion.
She would hear nothing of a civil marriage, because a civil marriage was
no marriage in the eyes of Pope and prelate. On the other hand, she did
not wish Gambetta to mar his political career by going through a religious
ceremony. She had heard from a priest that the Church recognized two forms
of betrothal. The usual one looked to a marriage in the future and gave no
marriage privileges until after the formal ceremony. But there was another
kind of betrothal known to the theologians as sponsalia de praesente.
According to this, if there were an actual betrothal, the pair might have
the privileges and rights of marriage immediately, if only they sincerely
meant to be married in the future.</p>
<p>The eager mind of Leonie Leon caught at this bit of ecclesiastical law and
used it with great ingenuity.</p>
<p>"Let us," she said, "be formally betrothed by the interchange of a ring,
and let us promise each other to marry in the future. After such a
betrothal as this we shall be the same as married; for we shall be acting
according to the laws of the Church."</p>
<p>Gambetta gladly gave his promise. A betrothal ring was purchased; and
then, her conscience being appeased, she gave herself completely to her
lover. Gambetta was sincere. He said to her:</p>
<p>"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 you not
then marry me when I ask you?"</p>
<p>And Leonie, with her arms about his neck, promised that she would. Yet
neither of them specified what sort of marriage this should be, nor did it
seem at the moment as if the question could arise.</p>
<p>For Gambetta was very powerful. He led his party to success in the
election of 1877. Again and again his triumphant oratory mastered the
National Assembly of France. In 1879 he was chosen to be president of the
Chamber of Deputies. He towered far above the president of the republic—Jules
Grevy, that hard-headed, close-fisted old peasant—and his star had
reached its zenith.</p>
<p>All this time he and Leonie Leon maintained their intimacy, though it was
carefully concealed save from a very few. She lived in a plain but pretty
house on the Avenue Perrichont in the quiet quarter of Auteuil; but
Gambetta never came there. Where and when they met was a secret guarded
very carefully by the few who were his close associates. But meet they did
continually, and their affection grew stronger every year. Leonie thrilled
at the victories of the man she loved; and he found joy in the hours that
he spent with her.</p>
<p>Gambetta's need of rest was very great, for he worked at the highest
tension, like an engine which is using every pound of steam. Bismarck,
whose spies kept him well informed of everything that was happening in
Paris, and who had no liking for Gambetta, since the latter always spoke
of him as "the Ogre," once said to a Frenchman named Cheberry:</p>
<p>"He is the only one among you who thinks of revenge, and who is any sort
of a menace to Germany. But, fortunately, he won't last much longer. I am
not speaking thoughtlessly. I know from secret reports what sort of a life
your great man leads, and I know his habits. Why, his life is a life of
continual overwork. He rests neither night nor day. All politicians who
have led the same life have died young. To be able to serve one's country
for a long time a statesman must marry an ugly woman, have children like
the rest of the world, and a country place or a house to one's self like
any common peasant, where he can go and rest."</p>
<p>The Iron Chancellor chuckled as he said this, and he was right. And yet
Gambetta's end came not so much through overwork as by an accident.</p>
<p>It may be that the ambition of Mme. Leon stimulated him beyond his powers.
However this may be, early in 1882, when he was defeated in Parliament on
a question which he considered vital, he immediately resigned and turned
his back on public life. His fickle friends soon deserted him. His enemies
jeered and hooted the mention of his name.</p>
<p>He had reached the time which with a sort of prophetic instinct he had
foreseen nearly ten years before. So he turned to the woman who had been
faithful and loving to him; and he turned to her with a feeling of
infinite peace.</p>
<p>"You promised me," he said, "that if ever I was defeated and alone you
would marry me. The time is now."</p>
<p>Then this man, who had exercised the powers of a dictator, who had levied
armies and shaken governments, and through whose hands there had passed
thousands of millions of francs, sought for a country home. He found for
sale a small estate which had once belonged to Balzac, and which is known
as Les Jardies. It was in wretched repair; yet the small sum which it cost
Gambetta—twelve thousand francs—was practically all that he
possessed. Worn and weary as he was, it seemed to him a haven of
delightful peace; for here he might live in the quiet country with the
still beautiful woman who was soon to become his wife.</p>
<p>It is not known what form of marriage they at last agreed upon. She may
have 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 their
wedding had been set, and Gambetta was already at Les Jardies. But there
came a rumor that he had been shot. Still further tidings bore the news
that he was dying. Paris, fond as it was of scandals, immediately spread
the tale that he had been shot by a jealous woman.</p>
<p>The truth is quite the contrary. Gambetta, in arranging his effects in his
new home, took it upon himself to clean a pair of dueling-pistols; for
every French politician of importance must fight duels, and Gambetta had
already done so. Unfortunately, one cartridge remained unnoticed in the
pistol which Gambetta cleaned. As he held the pistol-barrel against the
soft part of his hand the cartridge exploded, and the ball passed through
the base of the thumb with a rending, spluttering noise.</p>
<p>The wound was not in itself serious, but now the prophecy of Bismarck was
fulfilled. Gambetta had exhausted his vitality; a fever set in, and before
long he died of internal ulceration.</p>
<p>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 so soon to be
her husband. She wandered for hours in the forest until she reached a
convent, where she was received. Afterward she came to Paris and hid
herself away in a garret of the slums. All the light of her life had gone
out. She wished that she had died with him whose glory had been her life.
Friends of Gambetta, however, discovered her and cared for her until her
death, long afterward, in 1906.</p>
<p>She lived upon the memories of the past, of the swift love that had come
at first sight, but which had lasted unbrokenly; which had given her the
pride of conquest, and which had brought her lover both happiness and
inspiration and a refining touch which had smoothed away his roughness and
made him fit to stand in palaces with dignity and distinction.</p>
<p>As for him, he left a few lines which have been carefully preserved, and
which sum up his thought of her. They read:</p>
<p>To the light of my soul; to the star, of my life—Leonie Leon. For
ever! For ever!</p>
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