CLEMENCEAU GUIDED BY HIS FATHER’S PRECEPTS.

Woodville Examiner, Volume XXXVI, Issue 5516, 24 October 1919, Page 2 (Supplement)

CLEMENCEAU GUIDED BY HIS FATHER’S PRECEPTS.

Throughout his long and crowded :iife. the influence and example of his father’s precepts and example have influenced strongly the thought and the career of Georges Benjamin Cleraenceau, the Premier who led France to victory, and then made peace for her —not the least of the ‘‘Big Three” statesmen of the world. Georg Brandes, famous Danish man of letters, and long an intimate of the Premier, relates that long after Clemenceau had reached middle age. when he had become one of the most noted figures in French journalism and public life, he used often to say: , . , “If I should do (this or that) what would my father say?” What sort of father was this who thus could set his indelible impress upon one of the world’s great minds and greater heart? Must he not have been a remarkable man himself? He was. Gustave Geffroy, who knew him and all his children, at last has written for “LTllustration” the first study oft he elder Clemenceau that has reached type. It is illuminating, ebcause its hows how many of the Premier’s splendid qualities —his lifelong enmity to autocracy in all its forms, his earnestness and steadfastness. eevn his wit —were and are his by right of inheritance. It is hard for us nowadays—we of the younger generation—to realise that Prance not long ago was under the rule of a monarch. We have read it in histories, certainly; but it is not vivid to us. It is vivid enough to Clemenceau. Benjamin Clemenceau, his father, a physician, as is his son, and as four generations of the Clemenceaus have been, was married in 1839, and after their first child (a daughter) and the second (the Premier) were born, went to live at Nantes. Benjamin Clemenceau sympathised with .the revolution, and his father had played a part in it. He was an ardent democrat, a republican. Under Louis Philippe and under Louis Napoleon, he frequented a secret meeting place of the Republicans in Nantes, in the home of one Plancon, where admission was by password. There were some famous Republicans in the group—statues stand in Nantes now to two of them —General Cambronen and Dr. Guepin. There were twelve leaders Benjamin Clemenceau was one. When in December, 1851, Louis Napoleon decided to cast aside Ms pretence of republican rule and assume the title of Emperor Napoleon 111., his ever active police did not overlook the Nantes physician. He was ordered to be interned. Seven later, he felt the imperial wrath more strongly. He was seized and ordered to be deported into exile in Algiers. The incident made a permanent impression on the mind of his seven-teen-year-old son. When the prison van arrived to carry his father away he pressed close to him and whispered: “I will avenge you.” “If you would avenge me, work,” replied his father. In 1906, when Clemenceau had become Minister of the Interior, in peace time the most influential post in the French Cabinet, he paid a visit to his native La Vendee and recounted the story in a speech delivered at one of the great celebrations in his honour.

“And I have worked,” he added, “and to-day, when I see all the Republicans doing me the honour to acclaim me far above my deserts, I cannot restrain myself from turning to him to whom I owe everything and saying to you: ‘lt is he who should be honoured.' ” It is almost anti-climax to record that the father never reached Algiers. The imperial edict of banishmen was revoked by the time he reached Marseilles.

Like father, like son! Benjamin Clemenceau fell in love as a youth with Mile. Sophie-Emma Eucharis Gautreau, daughter of a neighbouring land owner in Mouilleron-en-Pareds, Vendee. His father, Paul Jules Benjamin Clemenceau, opposed the match. There w r as a violent clash between them, but his sdn won and the marriage took place. That is not the French way. In France the parents arrange the marriages, with a careful eye on the dot. Everyone remembers the story of the Premier, how he came to America upon graduating in medicine, was unable to make a living practising in New York, went to teach French in a girls’ school in Stamford, Conn. —and fell in love with one of his pupils. Then history repeated itself. His father objected. It is related that young Clemenceau made two trips to France to endeavour to overcome the parental opposition —and he Avon, as his father had won the same battle before him. It is a wonderful think that the six children born of that marriage 80 years ago are alive. They are Emma, noAV Mme. Jacquet; the Premier; Mdlle. Adrienne; Sophie, now Mdme. Bryndza; then Paul, an engineer, and Albert, a lawyer. All of them were exceptionally well educated, under a rigorous regime. A neAv Clemenceau anecdote comes to light in this connection. It appears that Avhen he Avas about fourteen, he spent a lazy year in school. At the end of the term there were prizes for nearly everyone except for him—prizes consisting for the most part of beautifully bound, gilt-edged books. To Avatch the other boys strutting the streets of Nantes Avith their arms full of these treasures, and to Avalk empty handed himself, A\*as more than he could stand. So he rifled his father’s book cases for a good armful and made a promenade himself. He Avas disciplined for it by the head of the lycee—or, as we Avould say, high school. It Avill spoil the story for juvenile readers to relate that young Georges made up his deficiencies that summer. From his father Clemenceau inherits also his Avell-knoAvn love for the arts. His father Avas an amateur draftsman, painter, lithographer and sculptor. Also he played the A’iolin Avell enough to be heard at the soirees of the period in Nantes.

One of his paintings in time may be preserved by the French Government as carefully as any of the treasures of the LouA're, for it is a portrait of his distinguished son at the age of ten years. It is Avell painted, too. and shoAvs an intelligent, mischieA’ous lad, Avith eyes set Avide apart under rather straight and heaA r y broAvs; a good nose, a short upper lip. Avith rather a marked indentation. and a chin that L in irreverent language, some chin.

The likeness to the Clemenceau of to-day is easy enough to see. particulargly in the high. Mongolian cheek bones, but there is one striking dissimilarity. The boy of ten had a beautiful shock of fluffy hair that hid the odd configuration of the Clemenceau skull that later Avas to tempt the caricaturists of tAvo continents.

When the son AA'ent to study medi-

cine in Paris the father went along to instal him in the due de I’Estrapade, near the Panthenon. Every year he made a pilgrimage to see him, going with the young man to the museums, the theatres, the libraries, and losing no chance to imbue the son with his own burning spirit of patriotism and hatred of social injustices. In the old gentleman’s later days he was a witty'.and charming companion—to those who could gain access to his fine old home in TAubraie. “He recounted as well as a Balzac or a Maupassant the manners and customs of the peasants,” says M. Geffroy, “for while he had retired from practice in Nantes he was still a country doctor, and he knew the country folk profoundly well.” The old home was surrounded by a foss, and the proprietor used to recount that he was standing on the little bridge that crossed it when news came of the battle of Waterloo and its outcome. He was five years old then.

He loved his lands, loved the country. And he was a kindly landlord. Sometimes it was suggested to him that it might be well to scrutinise a little more closely some of the accounts submitted to him by the farmers. He would listen “with a heavy ear,” and reply, “Well what would you? They’ve kept us alive for eighty years now.” There is another story of the old man. A peasant sought him out, seeking to buy a young tree set out in the middle of a field. “Well, look it over,” said the squire. The peasant did so. carefully and minutely. “I’ll leave it to you,” went on the old gentleman. “You sot the price. What ever you say it’s worth you may have it for. Let’s hear your estimate.” The peasant looked the tree over again. “It isn’t worth anything.” said the peasant. “I’m a man of my word. That which is worth nothing, take for nothing.'And he forced the shamefaced peasant to take the tree on those terms. Mr. Geffroy went to see him one day. “I want to invite you to my funeral,” said the old man, suddenly. He was right. He died soon afterward. 2 3rd July, 1897, at the age of 87. —New York “Sun.”