the late Mr. Cock, Q. C., was retained, Mr. Cluer again being secured
as junior counsel.

Henry Vizetelly and his trustees were still resolved to fight the
case, after their own fashion; and by way of answering any charge of
having broken the previous undertaking it was proposed that Ernest
Vizetelly should give evidence respecting the recent expurgation of
Zola's books. His father inquiring if he were prepared to do so, he
immediately assented. He went further: he agreed to take, so far as the
Zola volumes were concerned, at least the odium of this second affair
on himself by assuming responsibility for what had been done. It was
impossible for him to hesitate,--no son would hesitate to shield his
father as far as might be possible,[31]--but now that the time has come
to write of these matters he owes it to himself, and particularly to
his children, to point out that the responsibility which he assumed
was not really his. The expurgatory work he had accomplished had been
limited by the conditions imposed on him; within them he had done his
best; but, even then, he had submitted his work for approval, saying:
"This is all I can do. If anything further is required another must
do it." He knows, by the "proof" slips in his possession, that a few
further alterations were made in his work, the bulk of which, however,
was passed, and sent to the printers. He was not surprised by that, and
would not be surprised by it now, for he holds that the alterations he
made were sufficient to satisfy everybody except fanatical Puritans. At
the same time, in that hour of frenzied cant and unscrupulous injustice
the responsibility he assumed was no light one, for even though he
could not be proceeded against at law, the odium attaching to it might
be very prejudicial to him. And while he had a wife and children to
support, he had no interest in his father's business beyond being its
paid servant; he knew that it had been established for the benefit of
his younger brothers; which consideration had largely deterred him from
pressing his own advice during the affair, for he did not wish to be
accused of attempting to supplant anybody. If, to-day, he has pointed
out the actual circumstances it is because he does not wish anybody to
believe, as many have inferred for years, that his father's ruin and
imprisonment proceeded from any neglect of his. It is true he has long
allowed that to be thought,--it might be assumed from the account of
his father in the "Dictionary of National Biography,"--but the facts
were really such as have been stated here.

Vizetelly & Co. intending to fight the case, as soon as the amount of
Mr. Cock's fee had been ascertained it was voluntarily increased to a
larger one in order to induce him to do his utmost. An attempt was
made to arrange a consultation some days before the trial, but as a
matter of fact Mr. Cock was not seen until about half an hour before
the case opened at the Central Criminal Court, on May 30, 1889. Ernest
Vizetelly accompanied his father, who was now in very bad health
indeed. Mr. Cluer introduced them to Mr. Cock, and a conversation
took place in a room adjoining the robing room at the Old Bailey. At
the first words, Mr. Cock declared there could be no defence. He did
not pause to argue. It was plain he wished to dispose of the case as
quickly as possible. The defendant, said he, must throw himself on the
mercy of the court, that was the only thing to do. Henry Vizetelly,
who had come to the Old Bailey expecting something very different, was
overwhelmed by this intimation. The blow was a _coup de massue_ for
him, and at first he could say nothing. His son, likewise very much
amazed, and, in particular, disgusted with this blustering barrister
who threw up the sponge at the moment of going into court, tried to
interject a few words, but was curtly silenced. There was nothing,
nothing to be done, so Cock, Q. C., repeated. Under the circumstances
he might have returned the extra fee which had been sent him to induce
him to make a good fight, but he never did. There was, however, one
course that he was willing to take when he saw the distress of his
ailing old client. He offered to ascertain what would be the result of
a plea of "guilty." To Vizetelly's son that seemed a strange course to
pursue. He did not like hanky-panky or aught suggestive of it. However,
Mr. Cock rose--he was a fat, unwieldy man, with a startling red
face--and rolled out of the room. Whom did he actually see? The writer
is not certain, and in a case of uncertainty it is best to stay one's
pen. But when Mr. Cock returned he _said_ in presence of the defendant,
his son, and Mr. Cluer, that the Solicitor-general was not leniently
inclined and that Vizetelly's recognisances "to be of good behaviour"
would have to be estreated; while the Recorder, Sir Thomas Chambers,
held that there must be some imprisonment. Did Henry Vizetelly hear
those last words? According to his own account, afterwards, he never
did; for had he done so, in spite of all Mr. Cock's bluster, he would
never, he said, have pleaded guilty. But the poor man may well have
misunderstood his counsel. He was in a condition little short of actual
physical collapse. In a dreamy way, as it were, he gave, or seemed
to give, a feeble assent to everything. Had there been time, his son
would have made an effort to reopen the question, for it occurred to
him that, even then, one might perhaps have dispensed with Mr. Cock's
services and have induced Mr. Cluer to undertake the defence unaided.
But there was no opportunity for further deliberation; the court was
almost waiting, and one went downstairs to meet the inevitable.

The proceedings were brief. Vizetelly took his stand at the foot of
the solicitors' table, his son who sat there, and who at every moment
feared to see him fall, holding his hand the while. For an instant,
when challenged, he hesitated, then ejaculated the word "guilty," much
as if he were expectorating.

Thus the case was never argued on its merits. Of course the
Solicitor-general held that the previous undertaking had been violated,
and asked that the defendant's recognisances in two hundred pounds
should be estreated. Then Mr. Cock spoke of the expurgation of the
books, which in his opinion "had not gone sufficiently far," and added
that the defendant was in his seventieth year and in very delicate
health. On that point Ernest Vizetelly testified on oath that his
father had suffered for some years from a complaint which had lately
assumed a very serious character and necessitated the constant
employment of surgical instruments. He then imagined his examination
to be over, and was about to leave the witness-box when Sir Edward
Clarke inquired if he were a member of the firm of Vizetelly & Co. The
witness answered in the negative, he was a journalist by profession,
and if previously employed by the firm he had then ceased to be so. But
the Solicitor-general pressed him for the purpose, so it seemed, of
extracting some undertaking with respect to the future sale of Zola's
works or the destruction of the existing stock. This the witness had no
power to give, and he was determined to say nothing that might lead to
it being given by others. As the pertinacity of counsel continued, the
witness, feeling somewhat ruffled, could not refrain from retorting:
"You have made the defendant a pauper! What more do you want?" "Now,
now," Sir Edward Clarke shouted back, "we want none of that!" "Well, I
have nothing else to say," the witness added. "I do not belong to the
firm of Vizetelly & Co., and I now know nothing about it." Thereupon
the Solicitor-general, somewhat discomfited, had to let him go.

The Recorder then passed sentence. It was useless, he said, to fine
the defendant, as he had no means to pay a fine. But his recognisances
must be estreated, and he must go to prison, as a first-class
misdemeanant, for three months. Vizetelly was at once led below; and
his son applied, through counsel, for leave to speak with him before
he was removed to jail. The Recorder granted permission, but the son
was not allowed to follow his father. He and Mr. Lickfold (Vizetelly's
solicitor) were told to apply at the small barred gate of Newgate,
immediately adjoining the Old Bailey. They went thither and were
admitted. A warder, or attendant, was told of the permission the judge
had given, and went to make inquiries. Mr. Lickfold retired, and the
writer remained waiting. Presently the attendant returned and said to
him: "The Governor's answer is that you cannot see the prisoner. The
judge has no power to give leave to see any prisoner when once he has
left the court." It was useless to expostulate. Ernest Vizetelly could
only withdraw, in considerable distress, for he knew that his father in
the state of his health would require prompt attention and relief; and
he had been anxious to do what he could in that and other matters.[32]

However, he met his brothers, and various arrangements were made to
provide for their father's comfort. As the case was to have been
fought, there had been no anticipation that it would end that same day,
and nothing was actually ready. At last, Holloway being the jail where
first-class misdemeanants are usually lodged, application was made
there; but the officials knew nothing whatever of Vizetelly, he had
not been sent to them. After some discussion Ernest and his brother
Frank Vizetelly, proceeded to Pentonville, where they were received
very courteously by the deputy governor, who said to them: "Yes, your
father is here. Why he was sent I do not know, we have no accommodation
for first-class misdemeanants. None has ever been sent here before.
Your father is in a shocking state, he had been suffering for hours
when he arrived here; I have placed him temporarily in our infirmary.
I telegraphed to the Prison Commissioners but have had no answer. You
should go to them at once at Whitehall, and ask them to remove him to
Holloway."

This was done. The facts were set out in writing and sent in to some of
the Commissioners, who, after an interval of an hour or so, received
Frank Vizetelly, and airily told him that there was no mistake at all,
that his father had been sent to Holloway and would be found there! The
fact is that, while the sons were waiting, telegraphic instructions had
been sent to Pentonville for Vizetelly's removal. That could not be
effected in an instant on account of his serious condition, but when
he was lodged in the infirmary at Holloway the Commissioners felt they
were safe from any charge of neglect. Ernest Vizetelly, however, was
not disposed to let the matter drop, and having drafted a question for
the Home Secretary (Mr. Matthews) he wrote to Mr. Labouchere, M. P.,
to inquire if he would ask it in the House of Commons. He received the
following characteristic reply:

  Dear Sir,--I do not think that the clerks at the table would
  accept the question as written, for it enters too fully into
  details. However, be this as it may, I should not be the
  proper person to ask it, for I have had many actions for
  libels, and it would be thought that I had an eye to my
  future accommodation. As a matter of tactics, I should advise
  that no question be asked, for the only person who can reduce
  the sentence is the Home Secretary. I do not know if he will,
  but he certainly will not if his hack be put up.--Yours
  faithfully,

  H. LABOUCHERE.

  24 Grosvenor Gardens, S. W. June 1. [1889].

Mr. Labouchere's advice was certainly good, and it was followed. That
is why the facts have never been disclosed till now.

Little more need be added here. Henry Vizetelly left a long account
of his prison experiences which the writer may some day print. He was
fairly well treated at Holloway,[33] but he writes that after he had
left the infirmary (of which he was long an inmate, as the result
of the neglect in which he was left immediately after his trial)
he had great difficulty in obtaining water of the requisite heat
for the treatment of his complaint, his room (previously occupied
by Edmund Yates) being so far from the kitchens that, as a rule,
the water was almost cold by the time it reached him. His health
naturally deteriorated in confinement, but he did his best to look at
things cheerfully, and found occupation in planning various literary
enterprises. Several friends, notably Edmund Yates, showed great
kindness at this time. Mr. George Moore did his best to ventilate the
whole question of the prosecution and Robert Buchanan wrote an able
pamphlet under the grim title of "On Descending into Hell." Ernest
Vizetelly was then chiefly occupied in preparing and circulating
a memorial to the Home Secretary, praying for his father's release
on various grounds. Though two or three of the newspapers were
already beginning to think that matters had been carried too far, few
journalists, unless friends, were asked for their signatures; but
Vizetelly's son had the satisfaction of securing the support of several
notable authors with whom he had never previously held communication.
Their letters of sympathy touched him deeply, and showed him that
though the newspaper press might be so largely under the thumb of
the "National Vigilants," there were men of letters of high standing
who retained all their independence of thought. A few, it is true,
made certain reserves with respect to Zola's works, but all felt that
Henry Vizetelly ought not to have been treated so harshly. The writer,
unfortunately, has preserved no complete list of those who signed the
petition (from one hundred to one hundred and fifty in number), and he
must apologise for the many omissions in the one that follows. It will
be noticed that it contains the names of half a dozen lady writers, as
well as those of some prominent artists, who remembered Vizetelly's
work as a wood-engraver, and all he had done for the pictorial press:

"Sir Algernon Borthwick (now Lord Glenesk), M. P., Sir E. W. Watkin,
M. P., T. P. O'Connor, M. P., Samuel Storey, M. P., Charles Bradlaugh,
M. P., Dr. C. Cameron, M. P., The Earl of Desart, Sir J. E. Millais,
R. A., Sir John Gilbert, R. A., W P. Frith, R. A., Birket Foster,
Linley Sambourne, Harry Furniss, George du Maurier, Prof. Henry Morley,
Prof. Geddes, J. Arthur Thomson, Edmund Gosse, Dr. R. Garnett, Dr. F.
J. Furnivall, Oscar Browning, John Addington Symonds, Leslie Stephen,
Dr. R. Maitland Coffin, Norman Maccoll, James S. Cotton, St. Loe
Strachey, Hon. Roden Noel, Havelock Ellis, Robert Buchanan, Walter
Besant, Hon. Lewis Wingfield, Thomas Hardy, George Moore, W. Clark
Russell, H. Rider Haggard, Hall Caine, 'Ouida,' Mrs. Frances Hodgson
Burnett, Mrs. E. Lynn Linton, Mrs. Mona Caird, 'John Strange Winter,'
Olive Schreiner, Mabel Collins, Harriett Jay, G. A. Sala, Edmund
Yates, Frank Harris, Archibald Forbes, H. W. Lucy, H. D. Traill, A.
W. Pinero, William Archer, Augustus Harris, Sir Henry Irving, Henry
Arthur Jones, Fitzgerald Molloy, Ernest Rhys, S. W. Orson, Hon. F. C.
Lawley, H. Sutherland Edwards, J. C. Parkinson, D. L., Arthur Symons,
Alex. C. Ewald, W. R. S. Ralston, Max O'Rell, Savile Clarke, Brinsley
Nicholson, G. Laurence Gomme, Frank A. Marshall, Grant Allen, Frederick
and James Greenwood, G. B. Le Fanu, F. C. Philips, William Sharp, C. N.
Williamson, William Senior, H. T. Wharton, Julius Mayhew, W. H. Dircks,
Frank T. Marzials, W. Faux, of W. H. Smith & Sons."

Various persons in official positions, whom etiquette prevented from
signing the memorial--for instance Lord Lytton ("Owen Meredith"), then
British Ambassador in Paris,--conveyed privately to Ernest Vizetelly
their hope that it might prove successful, but the only response of the
Home Secretary was that he could not advise her Majesty to interfere
in the case. Thus Vizetelly completed his "time" at Holloway, being
released at the end of August, 1889. He returned to his home at
Putney, and afterwards removed with his daughter and his son Arthur
to Heatherlands, near Tilford, Surrey, where he spent, in suffering,
the few years that were left him. They happily sufficed for him to see
in England a considerable revulsion of feeling with respect to Émile
Zola--of whom he had prophesied, in his letter to Sir A. K. Stephenson,
that time would bring round its revenges. It will be necessary to
allude to him hereafter in connection with Zola's first stay in London,
but here one need only add that he died on January 1, 1894, after a
final distressing illness. And the little graveyard of the village of
Churt became the last resting-place of the man who was persecuted by
the Pecksniffs of Great Britain, and whom the "Dictionary of National
Biography" describes as the pioneer of the world's pictorial press.

[1] See _ante_, p. 214.

[2] The writer has a copy of this article, a very able one, cut from
the pages of a review or magazine, which, unfortunately he has been
unable to identify.

[3] Researches made by the late James T. G. Vizetelly, who was long the
senior member of the family (1818-1897), traced it back to Ravenna,
whence it removed to Venice. Henry Vizetelly, when preparing his
autobiography, had no family documents before him and fell into various
errors in his account of his forerunners.

[4] Even his business, that of Vizetelly, Branston & Co., printers and
publishers, was at one time known merely by the name of the "Co.," that
is as Whitehead's, though J. H. Vizetelly was managing partner. He
had served his apprenticeship with the Coxes, and did not take up his
freedom (his father and grandfather had been freemen of the city before
him) till September, 1827. He was a man of considerable gifts; he
wrote for several periodicals, produced a variety of verse (privately
printed by himself) initiated the famous "Boy's Own Book," as well as
"Cruikshank's Comic Almanack" of which he became the "Rigdum Funnidos,"
and was one of the best amateur actors of his time. He was very
intimate with Edmund Kean, whom he greatly resembled in appearance, and
it is said that more than once when Kean was hopelessly drunk he took
his place on the boards. Such at least was the story often told to the
writer by his grandmother (James Henry's widow) and expressly confirmed
to him by an old family friend, Mr. Lemprière, son of the Lemprière of
the "Classical Dictionary."

[5] He has related the greater part of his career in his "Glances
Back through Seventy Years," and an account of it, of some length,
will be found in the "Dictionary of National Biography." But for the
purpose which the present writer has in view he considers it as well to
recapitulate its chief features.

[6] Among others, James Hannay, Edmund Yates, Robert Brough, G. A.
Sala, Sutherland Edwards, J. C. Parkinson, Augustus Mayhew, Frederick
and James Greenwood, Tom Robertson, John Hollingshead, "Phiz," Birket
Foster, Henry Meadows, Gustave Doré, Charles Keene, Edmond Morin,
Gustave Janet, the Claxton sisters, Matt. Morgan, etc.

[7] Arthur and Frank Horace Vizetelly, both born at Kensington, the
former on October 31, 1855, the latter on April 2, 1864. Both educated
at Eastbourne and in France. The former has written and edited various
English educational works and periodicals. The latter, resident in New
York since 1891, has since become supervisor of the editorial work,
and secretary of the editorial board of the "Jewish Encyclopædia,"
and associate editor of the "Standard Dictionary," besides helping
to produce several other well-known works of reference. In 1901,
the Governor of Bermuda having given him special access to the Boer
prisoners, he wrote several papers on their condition. He has also
written on Zola in American periodicals.

[8] Edward Henry Vizetelly, born at Chiswick, January 1, 1847, educated
at Eastbourne and St. Omer, war and special correspondent, editor of
"The Times of Egypt," Cairo, and afterwards on "Le Journal," Paris. He
came to London about 1893, worked there as an author and journalist,
and translated some of Zola's novels. He died in 1903. He had been
orderly officer to General Garibaldi in 1870, and later an officer of
Bashi-bazouks under Mouktar Pasha. While in the East he had assumed the
pseudonym of "Bertie Clere," by which he was generally known there.

[9] Ernest Alfred Vizetelly, born at Kensington, November 29, 1853.
Educated at Eastbourne and at the Lycée Impérial Bonaparte, Paris.
Became a war correspondent (youngest on record) in 1870. Was in
Paris during part of the siege; passed through the German lines to
Versailles; subsequently joined Chanzy's army and described his
overthrow at Le Mans and retreat on Laval ("Pall Mall Gazette"). Was in
Paris throughout the Commune, and remained on the Continent for many
years, chiefly as an English newspaper correspondent, but from time to
time co-operated with his father in the latter's studies on wines in
France and other countries.

[10] "The Lover's Progress," by E. A. Vizetelly, London, Chatto; New
York, Brentano, 1901, Book II, Chap. V. In that novel the Folies
Bergère is called the "Paradis Parisien," Zola "Rota," and his book
"L'Assommoir," "La Matraque."

[11] Vizetelly & Co. published the first fifteen volumes of this
series, which on the firm going into liquidation was acquired by Mr.
Fisher Unwin.

[12] The edition in five volumes with the Freudenberg and Duncker
plates, known as that of the "Society of English Bibliophilists," but
really issued by Mr. J. C. Nimmo after Vizetelly & Co. had gone into
liquidation. Professor Saintsbury wrote for this edition an essay on
the French work; but the actual translation of the tales was made by
Mr. J. S. Chartres, and the present writer supplied the annotation, the
memoir of Queen Margaret, etc.

[13] See _ante_, p. 231.

[14] About this time Vizetelly & Co. were selling no fewer than
eighteen of Zola's books. And a sale of one thousand copies a week,
representing one of fifty-two thousand a year, would not really be
large in a publisher's estimation. It would represent an average of
less than three thousand copies a year for each work, but of course the
newer volumes sold more largely than the older ones.

[15] "Truth," September 22, 1898.

[16] "For more than a week, until 'The Daily Telegraph' took the
matter in hand, the sale of 'The Maiden Tribute' converted London into
a pandemonium. None who lived in the vicinity of the Strand at that
time will forget the shouting of the vendors of the obscenity--often
children only twelve years of age."--George Moore, on the "New
Censorship of Literature," in "The New York Herald," London edition,
July 28, 1889.

[17] "Notts Daily Express," May 10, 1888.

[18] "Pall Mall Gazette," May 9, 1888.

[19] That passage is not given in a reprint of the speech issued by the
"National Vigilants," but it is inconceivable that a reporter should
have invented it. Besides, virtually the same words as those given
above appeared in an account of the speech in "The Birmingham Daily
Mail," May 9, 1888.

[20] "The Scotsman," May 10, 1888.

[21] "Extracts principally from English Classics," etc., 4to. London,
1888. (Printed for private circulation.)

[22] "The Poetical Works of Robert Burns," Aldine Edition, Vol. II, p.
225.

[23] "The Queen _v._ Henry Vizetelly." Transcript from the shorthand
notes of Messrs. Barnett and Buckler, of Rolls Chambers, Chancery Lane.

[24] Sir Thos. Chambers remarked that the books were not of a seductive
character, but "repulsive and revolting," and of course that was what
Zola, in a sense, had tried to make them.

[25] On consulting the "Bibliographie de la France" some years ago, for
particulars concerning English fiction in France, the writer found that
in 1886 French publishers issued translations of fifty-four English
novels; in 1887, translations of sixty-one; and in 1888, thirty-nine.
The total number of English (and American) works of all classes
published in French in 1888 was one hundred and twenty-three, but of
these forty-two were merely new editions, leaving the number of the
translations first issued in that year at eighty-one.

[26] This is perhaps the earliest reference to Naturalism in English
literature.

[27] In various instances Vizetelly & Co. had acquired its interest
in Zola's works from third parties who had bought the rights direct
from the author. In some cases, under the law of that time, the
copyrights had lapsed; and anybody could issue translations of the
books so circumstanced. This will explain the circulation of several
of the American versions in England. However Vizetelly & Co., as soon
as practicable, put things on such a basis as to protect all Zola's
new books, purchasing the sole British rights from him or from his
assigns. At the outset Zola received moderate sums; later, after Ernest
Vizetelly and Messrs. Chatto had taken his interests in hand, the
payments rose considerably. In America a royalty of fifteen per cent
was usually paid, Zola taking two-thirds and E. Vizetelly one-third of
it.

[28] The same course was taken with the summonses for "L'Assommoir,"
"Germinal," and "The Fortune of the Rougons." And that against Thomson
with regard to "The Heptameron" was withdrawn because the prosecution
had mislaid its copy of the work.

[29] "The New Censorship of Literature," by George Moore, "New York
Herald," London edition, July 28, 1889.

[30] _Ibid._ and "Daily Chronicle," January 12, 13, and 16, 1894. In
the latter journal (January 13) Coote denied that "threats were used to
induce the girl to confess crimes"; Mr. Moore retorted (January 16) by
giving the report of the case.

[31] Frank Vizetelly, on whom as one of the managers of the business
the summons was actually served, had offered to take full liability for
the sales, but his father would not allow it.

[32] At the risk of offending some readers by plain speaking the writer
feels he may mention that his father was suffering from a stricture.
All medical men will know the torture that ensues when the sufferer is
placed under such conditions that he cannot obtain relief. The trial
having suddenly collapsed, no medical man was in attendance to give
evidence. Had medical evidence been given it is possible that Sir T.
Chambers might have hesitated to pass a sentence of imprisonment.

[33] He had the usual privileges of a first-class misdemeanant. His
food was sent him from outside, he had some books and periodicals at
his disposal, and a few articles of furniture were sent from his home.

X

THE LAST ROUGON-MACQUARTS--THE FRENCH ACADEMY--A VISIT TO LONDON

1888-1893

"Le Rêve"--How Zola rid himself of his obesity--"Germinal" as a
play--"La Bête Humaine"--Zola longs to stagger the world--He becomes a
candidate for the Academy--Why he failed to secure election--His novels
"L'Argent" and "La Débâcle"--Ernest Vizetelly's position--He resolves
to revive Zola in England--Translation of "La Débâcle"--Its reception
in England--English opinion and Zola--French attacks on him--He visits
Genoa--He writes "Le Docteur Pascal"--Conclusion of the Rougon-Macquart
series--A few figures respecting it--Zola is made an Officer of the
Legion of Honour--A reception in the Bois de Boulogne--An address to
the Paris students--Zola and the Société des Gens de Lettres--He is
invited to London by the Institute of Journalists--He hesitates to
accept the invitation--Correspondence with Vizetelly--His reception
in London--His paper on "Anonymity in Journalism"--At the Crystal
Palace, the Imperial Institute, and the Guildhall--The Authors' Club
dinner--Visits to Westminster Abbey, the National Gallery, and the
British Museum--Some general impressions of London--The English visit
and the French Academy.

In 1888, while Zola was being attacked so virulently in England he
produced his story "Le Rêve," which some people regarded as indicating
not only a new departure on his part but an endeavour to conciliate
his enemies. In the first place, however, with regard to literary
style, "Le Rêve" was merely a return to the idyllic manner of "Les
Contes à Ninon," and "La Faute de l'Abbé Mouret"; and secondly it has
been shown[1] that the idea of this work occurred to the novelist
even before he had finished "La Terre," and that he started on it
immediately his book on the peasantry was completed. It seems certain,
therefore, that "Le Rêve" was not the forced outcome of any outcry,
as many have supposed,--as a matter of fact Zola never yielded to any
outcries,--but came from him spontaneously, as part of his general
scheme. Beginning the book in August, 1887, he finished it in August
the following year, when it ran serially (from April till October) in a
publication called "La Revue Illustrée."

About the time when Vizetelly's difficulties with his English
translations were just beginning, the British rights in "Le Rêve"
were purchased by others, who issued a version of the story in a
few newspapers under their control, and subsequently offered the
book-rights at a somewhat high figure to Vizetelly. He--the proceedings
against him having now commenced--declined them, without troubling even
to look at the book; and this was very unfortunate, for whatever may
have been Zola's purpose in writing "Le Rêve," it was a work to make
even Pecksniffs reflect that this much-abused French author might not
really be so pornographically inclined as they imagined. In any case,
if the translation of "Le Rêve," instead of running merely through
sundry provincial newspapers, had appeared in volume form in London
during the agitation raised by the "Vigilants," it might well have
proved a useful auxiliary to the defence.

If it were a mistake to regard "Le Rêve" as the outcome of any
transformation of Zola's literary views, there occurred about this time
a change in his personal appearance of the reality of which there could
be no doubt. One evening, in the winter of 1887-1888, when he was at
the Théâtre Libre,[2] he found, while walking down a passage, that
his corpulence, which after steadily increasing for several years had
now become extreme, made it difficult for him to get past Raffaelli,
the artist, who happened to be standing there. "It's a horrid nuisance
to have such a corporation," said Zola, apologising to Raffaelli,
whom he had involuntarily squeezed. "But it's easily got rid of," the
other answered. "If you wish to reduce your figure, you will merely
have to cease drinking while you eat." And forthwith he gave some
particulars concerning a form of treatment,[3] which he himself had
followed, for ridding oneself of obesity. On the following morning
Zola told his wife of it, but she laughed at him, declaring there was
no sense in such a story. Besides, she said, he would never be able to
abstain from drinking while he ate. Zola contended the contrary, and
at last both husband and wife became impatient, and without exactly
quarrelling, had, as the saying goes, "a few words together." But
at last the morning roll and coffee, to which the first breakfast
is usually limited in Paris, was served, and Zola thereupon took up
his roll and began to eat. As for the coffee, in spite of all his
wife's expostulations, he would not touch it; and for three months he
persevered with this new treatment, drinking very sparingly and never
at meals. Moreover, after a week or two he eschewed bread altogether.
One Sunday in March (1888) when he arrived at M. Charpentier's house to
dine there, Goncourt, who was present, could scarcely recognise him.
He had lost over thirty pounds in weight, and his face, so round and
flabby of recent years, once more recalled the portrait which Manet had
painted of him in his early manhood. After marvelling at this great
change Goncourt lost sight of Zola for another eight months or so, and
when he met him again in November he did not recognise him at all. Zola
no longer resembled even the Manet portrait; he was quite emaciated,
his cheekbones projected, and under his hair, which he now wore rather
long and brushed back, his forehead showed forth like a lofty tower.
The same energy and determination which he brought to bear in his
literary undertakings had enabled him to effect this great change.
He was then about eight and forty, and although, in later years, he
broadened and put on additional flesh, he never again became obese.
After a time he allowed himself a draught of water at his meals, but
for the remainder of his life he ate very little bread.

It was in 1888 (April 21) that "Germinal," the play based on his
novel, was at last produced at the Théâtre du Châtelet in Paris. There
was then a lull in the political unrest of France; nevertheless the
Censorship had insisted on multitudinous alterations in the piece,
for fear lest "revolutionary passions" should be aroused. To all the
changes and suppressions suggested by timorous politicians one may
largely attribute the failure of the play. The expenses were one
hundred and twenty pounds[4] a night, and at the fifth performance the
receipts had fallen to one hundred and twelve pounds. Thus a change
of programme soon became imperative. Zola naturally was vexed. "It is
largely the fault of the newspapers," said he to Edmond de Goncourt;
"they din into their readers' ears that only amusing plays are worth
seeing. But the misfortune is that on account of this piece I have had
to put my novel 'Le Rêve' on one side and have thus lost time."

"Le Rêve" appeared in volume form in the autumn of 1888,[5] and
subsequently, in conjunction with M. Louis Gallet, Zola drew from his
story a libretto for his friend M. Alfred Bruneau, the composer, from
whom the much-discussed opera "Le Rêve" came three years later.[6]
Meantime Zola had written his novel, "La Bête Humaine," which was
suggested in part, undoubtedly, by "Jack the Ripper" and the theory of
"homicidal mania," and in part by the mysterious death of a certain
French prefect, named Barrême, who had been found assassinated in a
railway carriage. We know that Zola had contemplated a book on the
railway world for several years, but had been at a loss how to utilize
such a subject in fiction. The Barrême affair extricated him from
his difficulty, and was clearly indicated as one of his sources of
inspiration in the "puff preliminary" which "La Vie Populaire" printed
before beginning to publish the story in November, 1889: "The principal
episode of 'La Bête Humaine,'" said this announcement, "is a murder in
a railway train; and there are so many points of similarity between the
terrible scene depicted by Zola and the mysterious death of Prefect
Barrême, that one may well inquire if the novelist, with an intuition
superior to that of the police, has not supplied the most probable
explanation of that dark affair."

In a letter addressed to M. Charpentier in August, 1889, while he was
writing "La Bête Humaine," at Médan, Zola said:

  "I am working on my novel passionately and shall certainly
  have finished it by December 1.... I hope to take
  Fasquelle[7] the first seven chapters on September 15, in
  order that they may be immediately set in type.... I have
  a desperate desire to finish my Rougon-Macquart series as
  soon as possible. I should like to be rid of it in January,
  '92. This may be managed, but I shall have to work very
  hard. I am fortunately in a good condition for work, I enjoy
  the most perfect health, and feel again as I did when I was
  twenty.[8]... We shall return to Paris on September 10, and
  settle quietly in our new quarters.[9] That will take us
  quite six weeks, and we should like to be settled before the
  cold weather comes. There is a great deal to be done, but we
  shall do it leisurely, even if we have to postpone furnishing
  the place completely until later. In December we shall return
  to Médan to kill the pig, and, if it suits you, you shall
  come with us.[10] The weather here is horrible.... I hope
  you will have some sunshine as you have gone yonder [to the
  Riviera] in search of it.... Ah! my friend if I were only
  thirty, you should see what I would do! I would stagger the
  world!"

It was in the spring of 1890 that "La Bête Humaine" appeared in volume
form; and to some readers it might seem that Zola showed great boldness
in coming forward as a candidate for the French Academy at the very
time of issuing such a work,[11] one of his most audacious. That
however, would be in some degree an error, as we propose to show.

A great deal has been written on the subject of the Academy and the
failure of eminent men to secure admission to its ranks. Various
considerations have influenced it at different times, but it has
generally shown a marked dislike for innovators, men of independent
character, and pushing proclivities. To have presented oneself for
election, even repeatedly, and to have failed to find acceptance,
can be counted no dishonour. Victor Hugo came forward four times in
succession, but only on the fourth did he secure the necessary number
of votes. In the old days, to quote only a few instances, the doors of
the Academy were shut to great men like Descartes and Molière, and even
to men of high standing, like La Rochefoucauld, the moralist. In our
days Balzac was several times an unsuccessful candidate; while if Dumas
_fils_ found favour with the Immortals his father was always rigidly
excluded from their midst. And apropos of the authors of "Eugénie
Grandet" and "Les Trois Mousquetaires," as of Zola also, one may point
out that it is only of recent years that novelists have figured, in any
number, among the Academicians. Even at this time (1903) one can find
merely four men who are essentially novelists among the forty.

It has been mentioned above that the Academy has shown no liking for
innovators and men of independent and self-assertive character; now
Zola was all that, and from the outset, therefore, difficulties beset
him. His views on matters of religion were not at first the great
obstacle which they subsequently became. There had always been a
Voltairean element in the Academy; and Littré and Renan had eventually
secured election in spite of all the bitter hostility of Monseigneur
Dupanloup, the "Eagle of Orleans." True it is that Dupanloup had failed
to keep them out by the very violence of his opposition, and since
1882 the Church had been represented in the Academy by a prelate of a
different character, an unctuous man, Cardinal Perraud, who did not
bluster like Dupanloup but exerted his influence in a stealthy way,
after the fashion usually ascribed to the Jesuits. To him and his
gradually acquired ascendancy, Zola's final defeat in the struggle
for Academical honours was largely due. In that respect "Lourdes"
and "Rome" sealed his fate, as he himself freely acknowledged to his
friends. But when he first came forward as a candidate he had written
nothing irretrievable from the Catholic standpoint. Though he had "The
Conquest of Plassans" and "Abbé Mouret's Transgression" behind him,
the former dealt only with the political and worldly intrigues of a
priest, and the latter, if it questioned the vow of perpetual chastity,
at least ended with the repentance and submission of the offender.
Besides, "The Dream," with all its mysticism and religiosity, was of a
nature to propitiate rather than offend the clericals.

On the other hand, however, Zola's political and social views gave
great offence to conservatives generally, and in the eighties the
Dukes de Broglie and d'Audiffret-Pasquier were very powerful in
the Academy. They and those who followed them regarded the author
of "Les Rougon-Macquart" as a revolutionist. His turbulence and
self-assertiveness alarmed them, and it is indeed quite likely that
if he had been elected he would have disturbed their quietude in
many ways and possibly have seized the lion's share in the control
of the Academy's labours. There was also, of course, the question
of the outspokenness of Naturalism, which weighed considerably with
one section of the Academy;[12] though it was never--as some English
writers have assumed it to be--the chief cause of Zola's failure. Their
error sprang from their ignorance of the French character. If among
those who voted against Zola there were half a dozen Academicians who
firmly objected to his bluntness of expression, the majority was not
disposed to magnify molehills into mountains, particularly as the
Rabelaisian sense is common to many Frenchmen. But there were a score
of Academicians who hated what they called the "revolutionary spirit"
of Zola's writings, and who feared, too, that this pushing, energetic
man who had been called "the Shark," as he himself admitted with a
chuckle, might swallow them up if he became a member of their body. At
all events such is the explanation given privately to the writer by
some who supported Zola's earlier candidatures, and they ought to know
the truth. Later, as already indicated, the religious question arose,
and the opposition to Zola then became the more determined owing to the
influence which Cardinal Perraud and his first lieutenant, the Count
de Mun, exerted at every opportunity.

Zola's earliest Academical patrons were his friends, François Coppée
and Ludovic Halévy. Dumas _fils_ likewise supported him, as mentioned
in a previous chapter. So did Jules Claretie, to the very end. Over a
term of years he presented himself nearly a score of times, and on each
occasion the votes cast for him dwindled, until at last only Claretie's
was left. His other friends shrewdly regarded the struggle as hopeless.
Some people have thought that if Zola had lived a few years longer he
might have proved successful, but the writer does not share that view.
For the last thirty years--to go back no farther--the Academy has been
essentially conservative in its political and social views. To preserve
a kind of reputation for fairness it has elected, now and again, a
man of more or less advanced opinions; but the majority has always
remained much the same, the "liberal" members never being more than ten
or twelve in number. On consulting the list for 1903 one can only find
nine who by some possibility might have combined together to vote for
a man like Zola. On the other hand, it is not unlikely that time will
bring certain revenges. Comparatively few years ago the Academy, which
had repeatedly closed its doors to the author of "La Comédie Humaine,"
selected the "Eulogy of Honoré de Balzac" as the subject of its "Prize
for Eloquence"; and at some future date the "Eulogy of Émile Zola" may
be similarly chosen.

Zola was in nowise cast down when, at his first attempt to gain
admittance (1890), M. Charles de Freycinet, a clever man, who did some
good work during the war of 1870, but who afterwards degenerated
into one of the hack politicians of the Third Republic, was chosen in
preference to himself.[13] He had anticipated it, but he was resolved
to offer himself for election at each fresh opportunity "I am making
history, literary history," he would say after one and another rebuff.
"So much the worse for the Academy! Our grandnephews will learn that it
refused me admittance twenty or thirty times in succession."

After "La Bête Humaine" in the summer of 1890, Zola turned to
"L'Argent," a tale of the Paris financial world, inspired chiefly by
the crash of the Union Générale Bank some years before. Of all the
subjects he had hitherto approached he found this the most difficult to
treat. He had no financiers among his friends, he had never dabbled in
Bourse gambling, and was at a loss for information respecting much of
the inner working of what the French call _la haute banque_. However,
while frequenting the Bourse almost daily for a whole month, he
obtained enlightenment from some gentlemen of the stock-broking world,
to whom he was introduced. He also studied the detailed reports of the
great swindles of previous years, going back as far as the time of the
notorious Mirès, which was, of course, legitimate, the period of his
story being that of the Second Empire. One may add that in writing his
book he did not spare some of the Jew financiers of Paris. "L'Argent"
appeared serially in the "Gil Blas," which paid twelve hundred pounds
for the privilege, and was issued as a volume in 1891.[14] Goncourt
mentions that while Zola was writing the work he again expressed his
anxiety to finish his series. There were to be only two more volumes,
one on the Franco-German war of 1870, and the other, in which he then
took most interest, a general summing-up of his "family history" by
a scientific man, Dr. Pascal Rougon, whom he thought of marrying
to some retrograde, bigoted woman who would destroy successively
everything he wrote. And Zola sighed that he wished he could obtain
permission to inspect the papers of Claude Bernard, on whose published
writings he had reared, as will be remembered, his theory of _le roman
expérimental_. As for his projected "war" book, he did not think he
could make much of a novel of it. His idea at that moment was to
show some character "promenading" through the siege of Paris and the
Commune.[15]

When, however, he took the subject in hand--spending the greater part
of 1891 in collecting and classifying materials[16]--his views changed,
and he decided rightly to make the battle of Sedan the keystone of the
work. The expression _"la débâcle"_ occurs already in Alexis's "Notes
d'un Ami," published in 1882, but at a later stage Zola thought of
calling his book "La Guerre" ("War"). It is just possible that this was
because a couple of French novels bearing the title of "La Débâcle"
were in existence already.[17] However, French authors are much less
punctilious than English ones with respect to titles, and it would be
easy to mention several instances in which the same has been used--by
different writers--three or four times over. In any case, Zola reverted
to the title of "La Débâcle" as being the most appropriate to his
series, signifying as it did the "smash-up" of that imperial _régime_
whose society he had been describing so long; and though charges of
plagiarism were so often brought against him, it would not appear that
any arose on this occasion.

Zola had found "L'Argent" a difficult subject, and now the preparation
of "La Débâcle" proved a herculean task for him. He had never witnessed
an engagement in the field; military matters were almost as foreign to
him as financial ones. He had dealt with them in a few short stories
only, such as "Le Capitaine Burle" and "Les Quatre Journées de Jean
Gourdon." But he now visited all the battlefields which were to figure
in his narrative, he followed the line of march of the Seventh Army
Corps, whose sufferings he intended to describe, he studied everything
that had been printed and published in France on his subject, and
he was fortunate enough to secure a large number of letters and
manuscripts in which eye-witnesses recounted one and another episode
of the battle of Sedan. Some of those communications emanated from
"privates," who set down their own curious personal experiences and
often naïve impressions; and for Zola's purpose these were even more
valuable than the reports of generals and other officers. What he made
of his subject the world knows; of all the books he ever wrote "La
Débâcle" has circulated the most widely.

One notable effect of that great epic on war was to determine some
revulsion of feeling in England with respect to the novelist. Directly
the liquidation of Vizetelly & Co.'s business had been decided on,
Ernest Vizetelly had found his occupation gone, for there were no new
books to be initiated or seen through the press, and even most of
those already in hand were abandoned, at least for the time. Vizetelly
was therefore reduced to very great straits. At a moment's notice,
so to say, he had to seek a living elsewhere. He was a journalist
by profession, but for two or three years he had virtually severed
his connection with newspapers. Moreover, his press work had almost
invariably been that of a foreign correspondent, and his experience
of such duties, even with some knowledge of European languages and
politics thrown in, did not give him much chance of securing work in
London. Again, one editor under whom he had written for eleven years
had retired; another was dead. He knocked at a few editorial doors and
encountered an unpromising reception. There was a decided prejudice
against anybody bearing his name. After the release of his father
from Holloway he helped him in a few little ventures, but was unable
to secure any regular remunerative work. Many young men with only
themselves to think of often find it hard to begin life; it is harder
still to begin it afresh when one is seven and thirty and has given
hostages to fortune. Vizetelly was married, had two children, and was
expecting the advent of another child. Robert Buchanan, whom he often
saw in connection with his father's troubles, inquired about his own
private circumstances, and on learning the position generously helped
him. "As you know," said Buchanan, "there are certain people who taunt
me in the papers because I draw a Civil List pension and yet make a
considerable income by my pen. Well, the truth is, Vizetelly, that the
pension often proves very useful. It will help me to assist you, as it
has helped me to assist a good many others."

When the baby was born and Vizetelly's wife was on foot again, "they
took their courage in both hands," as the French say, and moved to
a neighbourhood where living was cheap. And though their street was
"slummy," and from their front windows ragged urchins were constantly
to be seen fetching penn'orths of porter in pewter cans, and often
sampling the liquor on their way home, there lay behind the little
house they rented a large cabbage field, beyond which were the grounds
of Carnwath House and all the trees of Hurlingham. Vizetelly chose for
his work a first-floor room, whence one looked out on the cabbage patch
and the trees, and tried to devise some means of earning a living.
For a while the sale of his books and the pawnshop helped him, and he
gradually contrived to dispose of a few articles to newspapers. But
the one idea that haunted him was to bring Zola to the front again
in England. It was neither friendship for Zola nor an overpowering
admiration for his writings that inspired that idea. Vizetelly thought
chiefly of the ruin of his family and the odium cast on it by all that
had happened. At the same time he knew that Zola as well as his father
had been cruelly maligned by the Pecksniffs and those who had abetted
them.

Unfortunately nothing could be done at once. The next book that Zola
wrote (after "Le Rêve") was "La Bête Humaine," and such was the
state of public opinion that it seemed impossible to produce even a
bowdlerised version of that work in England. Vizetelly felt--as he had
felt with respect to the earlier translations--that one must proceed
cautiously, that the ground must be well prepared in advance if the
doctrine of outspokenness were ever to triumph. His father had acted
too audaciously, too precipitately, with little or no diplomacy. And
diplomacy was needed. It was useless to run against a wall of Cootes
and Clarkes, an outflanking movement must be tried.

After "La Bête Humaine" came "L'Argent," and that book and its subject
did not seem attractive enough to pave the way for a genuine revival
of Zola in England. So Vizetelly again had to wait. It was a dreary
time, but his wife was as plucky a woman as lived, and between them
they managed to keep the wolf from the door. At last, in the summer of
1891, on hearing that Zola had begun a novel on the Franco-German war,
it occurred to Vizetelly that the opportunity for which he had been
waiting since 1889 might be at hand. There were great possibilities in
the subject chosen by Zola, and it was one which had much attraction
for Vizetelly, who with boyish ambition had tried what he could do with
his pen and his pencil amid the fierce struggle which was now to be
Zola's theme.

Communications ensued between them, but though the novelist speedily
assented to the suggestions made to him, Vizetelly had much difficulty
in finding an English newspaper willing to publish a translation of "La
Débâcle" while the original was appearing in "La Vie Populaire." "Le
Figaro," one may mention, had offered Zola a very large sum for the
privilege of serialising that work; but he had declined the proposal,
saying that it would be absurd to publish his narrative of the battle
of Sedan, some two hundred pages long, in short daily "snippets." He
preferred to take the twelve hundred pounds offered him by "La Vie
Populaire," which appeared weekly, and was able to allot several pages
of each number to his work.

Vizetelly naturally desired to issue his translation in an English
journal, but editors feared apparently that they might soil their
immaculate hands if they had anything to do with the loathsome Zola.
Thus there were repulses upon every side, until Mr. Kibblewhite, of the
"Weekly Times and Echo," rising above the general prejudice, accepted
the proposals made to him. The translation as inserted in the "Weekly
Times" was anonymous, for Vizetelly was too shrewd to thrust himself
forward after all that had happened. However, he now tried to find a
firm willing to publish "The Downfall," as the translation was called,
in a volume; and again, in this respect also, he encountered several
rebuffs. Two publishers to whom proofs were sent returned the parcels
unopened; others, who were visited, curtly declined to negotiate,
one made a low offer, so low as to give the author little and the
translator virtually nothing. Thus the book went begging. Vizetelly
became disheartened, and his wife eventually suggested that he should
cease his efforts, since they only consumed time in which he might have
earned a little money. He felt she was right, but as a last attempt he
sent a few of his proofs, with a letter, to Messrs. Chatto and Windus.
This was a kind of forlorn hope. Judging by the firm's catalogue,
there was apparently little prospect that it would accept anything by
Zola. But Mr. Andrew Chatto and his partner, Mr. Percy Spalding, set
prejudices aside and took the trouble to look at what was submitted to
them. They agreed to publish the book, and were recompensed for their
enterprise by its very great success. Such, then, was the origin of a
connection which, as some readers may know, resulted in Messrs. Chatto
publishing nearly all the Zola translations and "revisions" attempted
by Ernest Vizetelly.

In the case of a new work by a foreign author of established
reputation, it is usually advisable that the translation should appear
at the same time as the original; but, owing to circumstances, the
success of "The Downfall" was helped materially by the earlier issue of
the French volume. Directly the latter appeared in Paris[18] Vizetelly
recommended it to a few former war correspondents; and as the praise
which Archibald Forbes bestowed upon Zola's work in a literary journal
exercised some influence, a dozen laudatory articles soon found their
way into the newspapers.

Moreover "La Débâcle" created an extraordinary sensation in France,
Germany, and other parts of Europe. The foreign correspondents of the
English press repeatedly had occasion to refer to it, thus virtually
compelling attention to the book. In Paris Zola's enemies assailed
him fiercely. They wanted to know what he himself had done during the
Franco-German war. The Imperialists accused him of having slandered
Napoleon III. The more zealous patriots declared it was disgraceful
to have written such a book, which, said they, was a mere speculation
on the country's misfortunes. And some took particular offence at the
title of "La Débâcle." Why indeed had not the author chosen another?
Zola, mildly astonished by this question, made answer that it was not
he but the Emperor and his generals who had lost the battle of Sedan,
and that he would infinitely have preferred to write a very different
book if the military men had only allowed him to do so.

The work had been published as a volume in June (1892), and in August
Zola, accompanied by his wife, betook himself, to Lourdes to witness
the more important pilgrimages there, a glimpse of which he had
obtained the previous autumn. From Lourdes he made his way to Italy,
where he now set foot for the first time. On this occasion he would
seem to have gone no further than Genoa, where he remained a short
time, and where some attention was shown him. Early in October he
arrived at Monte Carlo on his way home and wrote to Vizetelly, saying,
"I am about to return to Paris to begin my next book, 'Dr. Pascal.' It
will be a story of private life and passion in the style of 'Une Page
d'Amour' and 'La Joie de Vivre.' Its chief interest will lie in its
being the last volume of the 'Rougon-Macquart' series. In France it
will hardly appear serially before February next, but you may already
try to place an English translation of it. It will not offend the
modesty of your fellow-countrymen."

The translation was promptly offered to the "Weekly Times" and accepted
by it, the book rights being reserved. Under date November 4, Zola
confirmed this arrangement, and writing again, ten days later, he
said: "I can undertake to say that the story will contain nothing
to offend the prudery of your compatriots, and, besides, I give you
full authority to modify any passages which may seem to you to be
_inquiétants_." As some may be aware, there were certain passages
of that nature; and Vizetelly, bent on proceeding cautiously and
diplomatically, deleted them.

Zola naturally took great pleasure in writing this book for, as he
remarked to his friend, Mr. Sherard, it gave him an opportunity to pass
his entire series in review and defend himself against many of the
accusations brought against him.

  "It is not a book to stir the passions of the multitude,"
  he said; "it is a scientific work, the logical outcome and
  conclusion of all my previous volumes; and at the same time
  it is my speech for the defence before the court of public
  opinion. It will be a sermon on atavism and will set forth my
  theory that when men know how to master its influence they
  will be masters of their own destinies. And the conclusion
  will be the philosophical one which I have sought ever since
  I first took pen in hand to write the series: that we ought
  to have faith in life and confidence in Nature.... Yes, that
  despite all that is cruel and ugly and incomprehensible in
  Nature, despite all the suffering and injustice of life, all
  that is bad and seems irremediable in the world, we ought to
  preserve confidence in Nature, and stake our hopes on effort
  and work. Further, that, though we may not see it, we are
  surely pushing forward towards a certain end and object; that
  there is a field of hope in Nature, and that good will come
  out of all that is bad, that justice will emerge from the
  slough of injustice, that a day of beauty will dawn after a
  night of hideous darkness, and that the result of all our
  efforts and our suffering must surely be one that will reward
  the first and compensate us for the other."[19]

Zola sold the first French serial rights in "Le Docteur Pascal" to a
periodical called "La Révue hebdomadaire,"[20] in which the story
appeared from March till June, 1893. With the volume, issued a few
weeks later,[21] a new genealogical tree of the Rougon-Macquart family
was given, this including the names of the additional members created
by Zola's fancy since his first inception of the series.

To celebrate its completion his publishers gave a _déjeuner champêtre_
at the Chalet restaurant on the larger of the Grand Lac islands in
the Bois de Boulogne. A numerous company of literary men and artists
assembled there, but the proceedings may have aroused some jealousy
among a few old friends, for men like Daudet and Goncourt were absent.
The former, who had long since renounced the Academy and all its pomps,
did not approve of Zola's "perpetual candidature"--he was, by the way,
then offering himself for three _fauteuils_ simultaneously--and thus
there was a coldness between them. Goncourt also was opposed to the
Academy, and meditated the establishment of a rival one of his own
"for novelists only." So in this case again there was some coldness,
particularly as Zola felt that certain references to himself in the
earlier volumes of the "Journal des Goncourt," then lately issued, were
not quite such as one might have expected from a bosom friend. We know,
however, by later entries in the "Journal," that Zola and Goncourt
continued to meet virtually until the latter's death. True it is that
Goncourt at one time meant to appoint Zola to the chief position in his
so-called "Academy," and that he afterwards renounced that intention.
But, contrary to what some writers have asserted, Zola was by no
means disappointed at being left out of it. As a matter of fact, he
had deliberately rendered himself ineligible by seeking admittance to
the real Academy; and, besides, from the outset he had put very little
faith in Goncourt's scheme. However, his friendship with Goncourt and
Daudet, whatever their differences, subsisted till the last. Of the
part which he took when Daudet died some mention will be made hereafter.

[Illustration: MS.]

At the lunch at the Chalet des Iles the novelist's health was proposed
by his old friend and publisher, M. Charpentier, and after the toast
had been acknowledged, M. Catulle Mendès, who, as will be remembered,
had gallantly assisted Zola when the columns of "La Cloche" and "Le
Bien Public" were closed to "La Curée" and "L'Assommoir," spoke of the
old quarrels between the Naturalists and the Parnassians, to which
latter sect he, Mendès, had belonged. And, said he, though he still
looked upon poetry as a much superior art to prose, he was anxious to
declare publicly that he regarded Zola as one of the great literary
glories of France. This was very pretty; and the novelist, not to be
left behind in a matter of compliments, responded by referring to
Mendès as a perfect artist and a good friend. Finally he proposed a
toast to work, his old hobby, as he called it, the only one in which
true happiness could be found. For some inscrutable reason General
Iung--whose researches into the Iron Mask mystery may be remembered,
and who happened to be among the guests on this occasion--thought
the moment appropriate to re-echo a remark which had run through the
newspapers, and to which one has already referred. "Monsieur Zola,"
said he, "you have written 'The Smash-up' ('La Débâcle'), let us hope
that you will soon write 'Victory.'" "Ah, general!" replied Zola,
raising his forefinger, "that is your business." And thereupon he sat
down.

The value of books is not to be estimated by their length or even by
their popularity. Yet it may not be inappropriate to point out that
the Rougon-Macquart series, which Zola had now completed, was really
a colossal performance. Besides a large variety of other work, the
novelist had written the twenty volumes of that series in about five
and twenty years, introducing, as he proceeded, no fewer than twelve
hundred characters to his readers. The twenty volumes represented
nine thousand pages of print, each of three and thirty lines, and,
assuming an average of nine words per line and making allowance for
"blanks,"--by no means numerous in Zola's works,--one may say that
they contained quite two million five hundred thousand words. Passing
to another matter, one finds that at the time of the appearance of "Le
Docteur Pascal" there had been sold over half a million copies of the
ordinary Charpentier edition of the series. The popular illustrated
editions of several of the stories, first sold in what one may call
"penny parts," had also circulated very widely, at least to the extent
of a quarter of a million copies; and further there had been some
_éditions de luxe_, copies on special papers, and so forth. Moreover,
there were five novels written before the Rougon-Macquart series was
begun, with four volumes of short stories and seven volumes of essays
and other papers, issued at various times, and one may therefore assume
that between eight and nine hundred thousand copies of Zola's books
had been sold at the period we now deal with. And of course thousands
and thousands of readers had been reached by serial publication. Of
the circulation of the many translations it is impossible to give even
an idea, but some of the English and American volumes had sold by tens
of thousands, and there were versions of many of Zola's writings in
German, Italian, Russian, Dutch, Hungarian, and other languages. But
books, as we know, by no means represented the whole of Zola's work;
there were also many scores, if not hundreds, of ephemeral uncollected
newspaper articles to be added to them, as well as several plays, so
that his output stood at quite five million words. It was evident then
that he practised what he preached,--that gospel of work, which others,
such as Tolstoï, the prophet of resignation, occasionally derided but
which he himself found all-sustaining.

He took it as a part of his text when speaking at a gathering of
the Paris Students' Association, over which he presided that year,
1893,[22] for though the Academy still refused him admittance, some
recognition of his labours was coming from other quarters. On the
occasion of the National Fête, following the completion of his great
series, he was raised from the rank of chevalier to that of officer
of the Legion of Honour; and for some years in succession, a very
rare occurrence, he was chosen as Président de la Société des Gens de
Lettres. It was this circumstance that caused the English Institute of
Journalists to invite him and other representative French writers to
attend one of its congresses in London. Zola's connection with Ernest
Vizetelly had now become a close one. A translation of "Le Docteur
Pascal" had followed that of "La Débâcle," and arrangements had been
made for an English version of a previous work, "L'Argent," Zola
indorsing all Vizetelly's proposals in a letter in which he said: "My
dear _confrère_, I leave translation matters entirely to you, and it
is sufficient you should tell me that an arrangement is good for me to
accept it. I know you to be devoted to my interests, and you are well
placed to decide everything."[23] Under these circumstances, early in
August 1893, soon after receiving the invitation of the Institute of
Journalists, Zola communicated with Vizetelly and asked him for certain
information. "I should like to know," he wrote, "what will be the
importance of this congress, and whether it will offer much interest.
You know my position in London; my work is still very much questioned
there, almost denied. It certainly seems to me that my presence, and
the words I might speak, might efface much of the misunderstanding, and
that it would be politic to accept, in order to influence opinion. But
what is your view? Reply to me at once at Médan."

Vizetelly, in his reply, reviewed the situation such as it had become
since the "The Downfall" which had conduced to a movement in Zola's
favour. The English critics, he said, still made all sorts of reserves,
asserting, for instance, that a new Zola had come into being and one
of them even claiming that there were three Zolas, the author of
"La Terre," the author of "Le Rêve," and the author of "La Débâcle";
for they were still so far from the truth, so unable to grasp the
significance of the Rougon-Macquart series as a whole, that they could
only explain the latter works by picturing some wonderful change in
the novelist. Had they looked into the matter more closely they would
have found "Le Rêve," with all its mysticism and poetry, followed
by one of Zola's most naturalist volumes, "La Bête Humaine," which
alone, by reason of its place in the series, demonstrated the fallacy
of their assumption. But as Vizetelly pointed out, they, and English
people generally, had to be taken as they were. The position had
certainly improved, and Zola's presence in London might well make it
better still, for in conversation as well as in his speeches he might
be able to clear up many misunderstandings. At the same time it was
proper to bear in mind that the Institute of Journalists had members
in all parts of the country, and Vizetelly did not know how far the
provincial districts might share the views of the London district,
whence the invitation had emanated. Personally he was very much in
favour of Zola accepting it, but he would make some inquiries before
anything further was done. Zola himself thought that course advisable,
for he at once replied: "If I did not immediately answer the invitation
it was precisely because I felt somewhat distrustful, though it is
difficult to believe that they have invited me with the intention of
receiving me badly. I do not wish the English press to promise it will
sing my praises, but I should like to be quite certain it will be
polite while I am its guest. Please make the inquiries you propose, and
tell me frankly what you think of the situation." And he added in a
postscript: "I forgot to tell you that the invitation is addressed to
M. Émile Zola, Président de la Société des Gens de Lettres."

That postscript was all important, for it explained the character of
the invitation. Various amenities had passed between the French Society
and the Institute of Journalists already, and now the Institute, being
about to hold a conference in London, had courteously invited the
officials of various foreign organisations. It so happened that Zola
was one of the officials in question. If some other man had held his
position in the Société des Gens de Lettres in 1893 that other man
would certainly have been invited, and Zola in all likelihood would
not have been asked at all. But the circumstances were not fully
understood at the time, and some badly informed controversialists, in
their anger at finding the hateful Zola a guest of an English newspaper
organisation, subsequently heaped undeserved abuse on the Institute
of Journalists. Vizetelly, however, made various inquiries of the
Institute's officials, and having satisfied himself that Zola would
have no reason to complain of his reception, he again wrote suggesting
that the invitation should be accepted. On August 18 Zola, who meantime
had also consulted M. George Petilleau, the official delegate of the
Société des Gens de Lettres in England,[24] responded:

  "I have just accepted, officially, the invitation of the
  English journalists, so it is quite decided that I shall
  attend their congress. It would be very kind of you to keep
  me informed of any incidents that may arise, and I also
  rely on you to let me know as soon as possible what toast
  I shall have to acknowledge [at the Institute's dinner].
  I understand also that I shall be asked to speak on the
  question of anonymity in journalism. That is a big question
  in England, is it not? It would be very kind of you to tell
  me what you think of it, and what the majority of English
  journalists think. I want to know the ground beforehand."

Then on August 22 he wrote:

  My dear _Confrère_,--I am preparing the few pages I wish to
  read on anonymity in English journalism, and I should like to
  have what information you can give me. I forgot to insist on
  one point: Is literary and artistic criticism anonymous, like
  other things, in England? Do your critics, I mean those who
  judge books and works of art, also refrain from signing their
  articles? Give me a little information on that point. Tell me
  clearly what is the position of criticism on your side (_chez
  vous_), if it numbers any remarkable men, if they are known,
  and if people become impassioned for or against them as in
  France. Again thanks, and very cordially yours, É. Z.

Vizetelly replied by sending him a memorandum, running to perhaps
a thousand words, and Zola was further primed with information by
others, some London correspondents of the French press, and also M.
Petilleau, who took a prominent part in the proceedings. Writing again
to Vizetelly on August 27, Zola said: "A thousand thanks for your
excellent notes, they will enable me to write something interesting."
In the same letter he gave some information respecting "Lourdes"
which he was then preparing, and he again referred to that work in
a note dated August 30, when he said: "I shall try every effort to
make it one-fifth shorter than 'La Débâcle,' for such long novels are
disastrous in France." Those efforts, however, were hardly successful,
for when "Lourdes" was finished it proved to be only forty pages
shorter than the novel on the war.

Though Vizetelly now had plenty of work before him--for besides
completing the edition of "The Heptameron" on which he had been
engaged in 1889, he was helping his father with his reminiscences,--he
was anxious to make early arrangements with respect to "Lourdes" in
the hope of profiting by any reaction in Zola's favour which the
forthcoming visit to London might promote. In that respect, while
he observed with pleasure that English newspaper men seemed to be
recovering from their former aberration, he thought it hardly right
to leave Zola entirely in the hands of a profession, many of whose
members, only a few years previously, had covered him with unmitigated
abuse. In these circumstances he communicated with Mr. afterwards Sir
Walter Besant, whom he knew to be well informed respecting Zola and
his works,[25] and who had also shown great personal kindness at the
time of the Vizetelly prosecution. Besant took the hint immediately,
but was almost at a loss what to suggest, for in all probability in the
latter part of September, when Zola would arrive in London, few English
authors of note would be there. However, he saw Mr. Oswald Crawfurd,
chairman of the Authors' Club, and Mr. Crawfurd, a man of broad
views like Besant himself, took up the matter with alacrity. During
the interval which ensued, Mr. Besant wrote several times to Ernest
Vizetelly, going so far, on one occasion, as to say, "A dinner will be
given at the club to M. Zola and yourself on any day to be named--as
quickly as possible--by yourself." But Vizetelly, while accepting the
invitation on Zola's behalf, and also quite willing to attend the
dinner, felt that he must not attempt to take any prominent part in the
proceedings. If he had foreseen that his father, who was still living
in retirement near Tilford, would be dead some three months later,
he might have adopted quite another course, in order to procure some
personal satisfaction for the poor old man who had been pelted with
mud, ruined, and sent to prison. But he thought it premature to bring
his father forward at that juncture, and therefore he said nothing
to him or to anybody else on the subject. Thus it came to pass that
after Zola's visit, the inquiry, "Where was Vizetelly?"--started,
the writer believes, by Mr. Joseph Hatton--went the round of the
newspapers; but while some raised it with the best of intentions,
others repeated it with a malicious sneer, a circumstance which seemed
to indicate that Vizetelly's son had really taken the wisest course.
When the Journalists' arrangements had been ascertained, the Authors'
Club dinner was fixed for September 28; and Zola, writing to Ernest
Vizetelly on the twelfth, to express his approval, said: "Let me add,
that I leave you full liberty. Whether those gentlemen invite me as a
novelist or as President of the Société des Gens de Lettres, I shall in
either case feel deeply touched and flattered. I am not a formalist;
all genuine sympathy, in whatever respect, will go to my heart."

It was on September 20 that the novelist arrived in London[26] in
the company of a dozen French journalists,--MM. Magnard, Scholl,
Robbe, Xau, Mille, and others. Madame Zola and a few other ladies
were likewise of the party. At Victoria station Sir Edward Lawson,
now Lord Burnham, read in French an address of welcome, and Zola,
when--like others--he had briefly responded, drove to the Savoy Hotel,
where rooms had been engaged for him. The paper on anonymity which
he read a couple of days afterwards to the journalists assembled in
Lincoln's Inn Hall was, on the whole, well received. He admitted that
the practice of signing political articles in France had undermined the
authority of the press there, and tended to the destruction of parties;
but, at the same time, said he, it had to be recognised that much of
the inspiriting ardour of the political battle sprang from that same
practice. On the other hand, as it was the custom for English political
journalists to write anonymously, it might be well if they continued
to do so, in order to preserve the power and authority of their press.
But Zola pleaded strongly for signed articles in the departments of
literary and dramatic criticism, pointing out, by the way, that such
articles were indeed beginning to appear in certain English journals.
One remark of his, to the effect that English newspaper men were well
paid, elicited a loud roar of laughter, and there was considerable
dissent when he likened some journalists to mere writing-machines at
the beck and call of a superior. On that question some newspapers
afterwards pointed out that on two occasions when there had been a
change in the proprietorship of "The Pall Mall Gazette" the editors and
the bulk of their staff had quitted the paper to uphold their opinions
elsewhere. One may add that later, during the Boer war, various editors
and others threw up their posts rather than write contrary to their
convictions. One passage of Zola's address certainly seemed to have
the full approval of his audience. It ran as follows: "To my thinking,
when a writer does not sign his work, and becomes a mere wheel in a
great machine, he ought to share the income earned by that machine.
Have you retiring pensions for your aged journalists? After they have
devoted their anonymous labour to the common task, year after year,
is the bread of their old age assured to them? If they signed their
work, surely they would find their reward elsewhere; they would have
laboured for themselves. But when they have given their all, even their
fame, strict justice demands that they should be treated like those old
servants whose whole life has been spent in the service of the same
family."

The journalists present having derided the suggestion that they were
well paid, it seemed only natural that they should approve the idea
of old-age pensions. At that time, of course, there already existed
such organisations as the Newspaper Press Fund; and since then various
pensions have been established by the Institute of Journalists; yet
one may well wonder if there be even nowadays anything approaching
adequate provision for the old age of journalists, of whom the great
majority are able to save little or nothing of their earnings. It was
undoubtedly this side of the question that most influenced Zola in
his remarks on anonymity, which he regarded as being entirely in the
newspaper proprietor's favour, for it enabled him, if he chose, to cast
a writer adrift with nothing of the position which he might have held
in public esteem as the result of his labours, if his articles had been
signed. Briefly, in journalism as in other matters, Zola was on the
side of the worker and against the capitalist.

No doubt when he was invited to London, purely and simply on account
of the office he held, it was not foreseen that his visit would develop
as it did. But although he was accompanied by several notable men he
speedily dwarfed them all, becoming the centre of attraction at every
gathering of the Institute of Journalists. There was a great dinner
at the Crystal Palace, a reception at the Imperial Institute, and
another, which was given to the journalists by the Lord Mayor, at the
Guildhall. That historic building was then thronged to overflowing, and
it was strange indeed--remembering all that had gone before--to see
Zola and his wife marching in a kind of state procession, preceded by
the City's trumpeters and followed by the Lord Mayor, the President of
the Institute and other dignitaries, while some official who cleared
the way called persistently: "Monsieur Zola! Madame Zola!" as though a
couple of royalties were approaching.

Other entertainments were given at this time. Some of the theatres
were thrown open to the guests of the Institute of Journalists; Sir
Edward Lawson gave them a lunch at Taplow, there was a cordial little
reception at the Press Club; while the Athenæum Club conferred honorary
membership on Zola for the period of his stay in London. That last
distinction was the most unexpected of all, and assuredly the Bishops
belonging to the Athenæum cannot have known of it. At the Authors'
Club dinner, which closed the round of "semi-official" gatherings,
there were some eighty men of letters, with a sprinkling of publishers
and others, present. When Mr. Oswald Crawfurd had proposed Zola's
health--which he did in excellent French and very laudatory terms--the
novelist, no orator, as he had carefully stated at the outset of his
sojourn, read his reply, which may be given here as a specimen of his
few public utterances, for he did not read or make more than a score of
speeches in the whole course of his career.

  "Since I reached London," he said, "I have received so many
  greetings and have so often been called upon to respond
  thereto, that I am a little ashamed to speak again. I need
  not, however, solicit your indulgent attention for any length
  of time. Indeed, in all modesty, I ask your permission to
  be very brief on this occasion. Nothing could have touched
  me more deeply than your very flattering invitation. I know
  that eminent writers are here assembled to extend to me the
  right hand of fellowship, and I feel that it is no longer
  the journalist but the novelist that is being entertained.
  (Applause.) Moreover, you have reminded me that in Paris I
  am the president of the Société des Gens de Lettres; so that
  in my person you honour all French literature. (Applause.)
  I should wish, therefore, to allow my own personality to
  disappear, and be nothing more than the delegate of my French
  brethren, to whom I shall attribute by far the greater part
  of the very cordial homage you have paid to me. I desire,
  indeed, gentlemen, to insist upon the feeling of fitting
  modesty that I shall carry away with me from all these
  functions. You have told me, Mr. Chairman, that, after
  conquering the world, I have come to conquer England. Will
  you allow me to reply that I know what I ought to think of
  my conquest? Amidst all the plaudits, I well understand
  that the opinion of your critics has not changed in regard
  to my works. Only, you have now seen their author, and have
  found him less black than report painted him. (Laughter and
  applause.) Then, too, you have reflected--'Here is a man
  who has fought hard and worked a great deal'; and belonging
  as you do to a great nation of workers, you have honoured
  work in me. (Applause.) Lastly, it has occurred to you
  that a man cannot have conquered the world--according to
  the facetious expression of two of your number--without
  being worthy of some praise. Works of a different order in
  art to your own may have affronted you, but you were too
  sensible to refrain from according them some recognition
  as soon as you understood how much effort and sincerity
  they embodied. I am leaving London, not, indeed, as one who
  has triumphed, but as a man who is happy at leaving some
  sympathetic feelings behind him. My heart overflows with
  gratitude for the hospitality, so extensive and so refined,
  that you have accorded me. Here I say good-bye, or rather
  _au revoir_ (loud applause); and I say it, through you, to
  your compatriots. I wish, through you, to assure my brother
  authors, my fellow-novelists, that I shall never forget the
  truly royal reception that a mere French writer has received
  in this huge city of London, throbbing with life and so
  worthy of inspiring masterpieces. And, gentlemen, as at the
  close of every banquet it is right to propose a toast, I
  drink now alike to the novelists of England and the novelists
  of France, to the good-fellowship of all authors in one
  universal republic of letters. (Loud applause.)"[27]

Ernest Vizetelly was present at the Authors' Club dinner, and spent
half an hour in the crush at the Guildhall, besides hearing Zola
read his paper on anonymity. But he abstained from attending most of
the other festivities. Every morning at an early hour he arrived at
the Savoy Hotel to assist the novelist with his correspondence, the
hundreds of applications for autographs and interviews, which poured in
upon him, and after the first few days,--as soon as Zola had a little
leisure,--he took him to see one and another of the sights of London.
Mr. George Moore also escorted the Zolas to Greenwich; Mr. Andrew
Chatto gave them a friendly luncheon; Mr. afterwards Sir Campbell
Clarke acted as their cicerone at the National Gallery, and Dr. Garnett
at the British Museum Library. There were also some interesting visits
to the French Hospital and the French Club under M. Petilleau's
guidance, an excursion with Vizetelly and a fellow-journalist to County
Council and Rowton lodging-houses, Rothschild almshouses, various
sweaters' dens, sundry Jewish homes in Whitechapel, and Italian ones
at Saffron Hill. On the whole, however, Zola was not impressed by what
he saw of London poverty; he declared it to be nothing in comparison
with what might be found in Paris. There was much want, no doubt, but
it struck him that the passer-by saw little of it. And to emphasise
his meaning he reminded Vizetelly of the Parisian ragpickers' "Ile des
Singes" and the woeful Route de la Révolte, which certainly has never
had its parallel in modern London.

Westminster Abbey naturally interested him, though his visit was a
very perfunctory one, owing to the haste of the usual verger with
the sing-song voice. When one first entered the abbey, however, some
afternoon service was in progress, and after standing and watching for
a time, Zola whispered to Vizetelly: "I did not know this was still
a Catholic Church." "It is Church of England--Protestant," Vizetelly
answered, whereupon Zola seemed lost in astonishment. "Protestant?" he
whispered again, "well, all that is very much like Mass to me." Then he
shrugged his shoulders and led the way outside, where one waited till
the service was over. At the National Gallery he was most interested
in Turner, whom he called _la palette incarnée_ and whom he regarded
as being far superior to Claude. And he greatly admired Turner's
water-colour sketches in the little rooms in the basement of the
building, where he lingered for nearly a couple of hours. The British
Museum Library also pleased him immensely, notably on account of its
perfect arrangements which, were so superior, said he, to those of the
Bibliothèque Nationale in Paris. However, what he admired in London
most of all was the Thames, at Westminster, at Waterloo Bridge, and
again at the docks and away towards Greenwich. Of Hyde Park he formed a
very poor opinion, while that royal barracks, Buckingham Palace, seemed
to him a national disgrace: a view which most intelligent foreigners
share.

On the whole, Zola was extremely well pleased with his stay in London,
he had been received there with perfect courtesy, Sir Edward Lawson,
Mr. Oswald Crawfurd, Mr. Charles Williams, then president of the
London district of the Institute of Journalists, Mr. Lucien Wolf, and
others had done all that lay in their power; and Zola on his side had
at least made a breach in the wall of British prejudice. The result
could not be otherwise than good, he said to Vizetelly; there would
probably be less antagonism to his writings among English people in the
future; but the point which interested him most of all was the effect
his reception might have in Paris, notably among the members of the
French Academy. He had been denounced more hotly in England than in any
other country, he remarked, and the fact that English people were now
beginning to take a more reasonable view of his work might possibly
react on French opinion. But, as we know, the Academy did not disarm.
The majority of its members would not suffer his presence among them on
any consideration.

Moreover, he had scarcely quitted England when the fanatics once
more raised their heads. At the Church Congress which assembled at
Birmingham that year, Dr. Perowne, the Bishop of Worcester, had the
effrontery to declare that "Zola had spent his life in corrupting the
minds and souls not only of thousands of his fellow-countrymen and
especially of the young but also, by the translation of his works,
thousands and hundreds of thousands of young souls elsewhere." At the
same gathering Mr. J. E. C. Welldon, then Headmaster of Harrow School
and later Bishop of Bombay, denounced the novelist as "infamous," and
besought the aid of Churchmen for the "National Vigilant Association,"
of which, according to "The National Observer," he, Mr. Welldon, was "a
conspicuous ornament."[28] The Bishop of Truro, speaking at a church
gathering in the west of England took a similar line, and complained
bitterly that translations of Zola's horrible books were sold at the
railway-station bookstalls, which, said he, would never have been
allowed in the lifetime of that good man, Mr. W. H. Smith. Ernest
Vizetelly answered the prelate in a newspaper of his diocese, pointing
out that the only Zola translations sold at Messrs. Smith's bookstalls
were those of "La Débâcle" and "Le Docteur Pascal" by himself, and that
of "Le Rêve" by Miss Eliza Chase; and he defied the bishop to find in
any one of those three books a single sentence that could give offence
to any sensible man. Other correspondents reinforced Vizetelly; but
the bishop, quite content with having uttered his slander, preserved
absolute silence, that being a characteristic trait with some
bishops--of various churches and countries--who, regarding themselves
as very superior persons, seldom if ever offer reparation for the
aspersions they may cast upon laymen. Yet the law of libel applies to
them as to others, and it is perhaps a pity it is not enforced against
them. But the lawyers say, or at least they said to Vizetelly: "It is
useless to proceed against an English bishop. There is so much cant in
this country that you would never obtain a verdict against him, however
complete your evidence might be."

As for Bishop Perowne of Worcester he was answered in "The Speaker"
by its contributor, Mr. A. T. Quiller-Couch, as well as by sundry
correspondents, one of whom pointed out that this chartered slanderer
"had not so much evidence to back his insinuations and assertions as
would wrap round a mustard seed." Mr. Welldon was also dealt with at
length and very ably by Mr. Quiller-Couch, the controversy in "The
Speaker" being prolonged until the latter part of November.[29] Ernest
Vizetelly was at first unaware of it, but a friend who, having little
acquaintance with literature, read that Liberal weekly chiefly for
its political articles, said to him one day: "You ought to see 'The
Speaker.' There's a lawyer who is defending Zola and your father in it
very vigorously. He is the kind of man your father ought to have had
as counsel at his trial." "A lawyer?" Vizetelly replied, "why, what is
his name?" "Oh! he only appends his initials 'A. T.' to his articles;
but I felt interested, and so I consulted the law-list at my club.
He's a Queen's counsel, by the way; and the only Queen's counsel whose
initials are A. T. is the Hon. Alfred Thesiger, so he undoubtedly is
the man." The truth, however, had suddenly dawned on Vizetelly, who
began to laugh as he answered: "The initials are A. T., you say; but
the writer puts Q. C. after them, does he not? I thought so. Well,
I am much obliged to you for your information, but you are all at
sea. Your Hon. Alfred Thesiger, Q. C., is none other than Mr. A. T.
Quiller-Couch!" Then, while his friend was expressing his astonishment,
Vizetelly began to think of fame.

In the controversy in question Mr. Welldon, who ended by admitting that
he had read only three of Zola's books, received the support of clerics
of various denominations. One of them, Canon MacColl, of Ripon, who
would seem to have been then very fond of writing to the newspapers on
all sorts of subjects, raised the old argument that even if Zola might
have had some justification for publishing, for instance, "La Terre"
in France, there could have been none for its issue in English and in
England by Henry Vizetelly. No doubt the canon was right. As was set
forth in a previous chapter the rural districts of England were and
are terrestrial paradises, where immorality and beastliness were and
are absolutely unknown. The observers who assert the contrary must be
either liars or deluded fools. The clergy who are to be found in every
village vouch for the high moral tone of their parishioners, and it
follows that one must not believe those who chance to sit on juries at
provincial assizes to try the various horrible cases, frequently from
the aforesaid rural districts, which are never reported by a decorous
press. Everything is for the best, then, in rural England, and the most
perfect men in the whole world are the truth-speaking bishops who begin
life in modest circumstances and end by leaving huge fortunes to their
families, the many-sided canons fond of joining in every controversy,
and the dogmatic clerical schoolmasters who take as their guide the
saying attributed, perhaps erroneously,[30] to Richelieu: "Give me six
lines written by the most honest man in the world, and I will find in
them enough to have him hanged."

Henry Vizetelly, to whom his son forwarded "The Speaker" while the
controversy continued, observed with some surprise Mr. Quiller-Couch's
assertion that the public conscience would not permit a repetition of
such proceedings as had been taken against him. He thereupon wrote to
Mr. Quiller-Couch saying that in his opinion the public conscience
could only find expression through the press, and that in the event
of a new prosecution the press would again remain silent until the
"National Vigilants" had secured a verdict, when it would once more
join in approving the "vindication of the law." That view was shared
by Vizetelly's son. Indeed, though Zola had been so well received in
London, even by some of the provincial journalists who attended the
Institute's Congress, though, too, newspaper men of education had come
to a truer perception of his aims, and several wrote very favourably
about his more recent books, it remained quite certain that he still
had numerous enemies on all sides. At the close of that year, 1893, or
more correctly on the first morning of the ensuing one, Henry Vizetelly
died, and immediately afterwards another controversy began, this time
in the London "Daily Chronicle." The chief features of the prosecutions
of 1888 and 1889 were recalled by Robert Buchanan, Frank Harris, and
George Moore, the first of whom dwelt on the attitude of the press
with respect both to those proceedings and to Zola generally. Various
protests arose, and, according to some people, it was quite untrue
that the English press had ever flung mud at Zola or his publisher.
The absurdity of that contention was made manifest by the publication,
at that very moment, of several articles in which all the old lies
and aspersions were repeated. These, it is true, appeared mostly in
provincial journals; but two or three London prints did not hesitate
to befoul yet once again the dead publisher as well as the recently
banqueted novelist, whom G. W. Story, when recounting the controversy
in "The New York Tribune," foolishly described as being "the most lewd
writer in the world." It must be said, to Story's credit, that his
article was a signed one, whereas the valiant scribes of the British
press remained anonymous. They found, undoubtedly, that "anonymity in
journalism" had its advantages, and wisely decided to cling to it.
Since that time, however, the practice of signing critical articles has
spread considerably and may some day become the general rule.

[1] Sherard, _l. c._, p. 228.

[2] His play "Madeleine" (originally called "La Madeleine") which he
had vainly offered to the Gymnase and Vaudeville theatres in 1866, and
which he had afterwards turned into a novel, "Madeleine Férat" (see
_ante_, pp. 99 and 107) was produced with indifferent success at the
Théâtre Libre in 1889--first performance, May 2.

[3] The writer believes it is called the Schveninger cure.

[4] About $600.

[5] "Le Rêve," Paris, Charpentier, 1893, 18mo, 310 pages. Some copies
on Dutch, India, and Japanese papers. Eighty-eighth thousand in 1893;
one hundred and sixteenth thousand in 1903. Illustrated edition:
Flammarion, 1888, 4to; illustrations by Carlos Schwob and Métivet;
one hundred and fifty copies on Dutch paper. Was sold in parts at 10
centimes. Jeanniot had illustrated the story in "La Revue Illustrée,"
which paid Zola one thousand pounds for the serial rights.

[6] First performed at the Opéra Comique, June 18, 1891.

[7] M. Eugène Fasquelle had now acquired an interest in M.
Charpentier's publishing business, which he ultimately purchased.

[8] This was the result of having rid himself of his obesity.

[9] The allusion is to the house in the Rue de Bruxelles (21 _bis_),
which Zola made his Paris home until his death.

[10] In his later years Zola kept Christmas and New Year's Day at
Médan, and then usually had a house-party there.

[11] "La Bête Humaine," Paris, Charpentier, 1890, 18mo, 419 pages. Some
copies on Dutch, India, and Japanese papers. Eighty-eighth thousand in
1893; ninety-ninth thousand in 1903.

[12] It is notorious that Taine, who led a section of the Academicians,
that of the "university men," opposed Zola because he used vulgar and
even slang words in some of his writings. Taine, moreover, was in full
sympathy with the aristocratic element in the Academy with respect to
its endeavours to make the institution a kind of deadly-lively social
club.

[13] At subsequent elections he was defeated by Pierre Loti, Henri de
Bornier, Thureau-Dangin, Ferdinand Brunetière, etc.

[14] "L'Argent," Charpentier, 1891, 18mo, 451 pages. Some copies on
Dutch, India, and Japanese papers; eighty-third thousand in 1893;
eighty-ninth thousand in 1903.

[15] "Journal des Goncourt," Vol. VIII, p. 141.

[16] Towards the close of the summer he allowed himself a holiday and
repaired to the Pyrenees with his wife. It was then (September) that he
first visited Lourdes and was struck by the sight of the pilgrimages.
It immediately occurred to him that they would supply a good subject
for a book, and to study them more closely he returned to Lourdes in
the summer of 1892.

[17] The writer must admit that he has seen neither, but he has found
one catalogued under the names of M. Claretie, the other under that of
M. Camille Etievant. Both had appeared before 1885. It is of course
possible that Zola had never heard of them.

[18] "La Débâcle," Paris, Charpentier and Fasquelle, 1892, 18mo, 620
pages; one hundred and seventy-sixth thousand in 1893; two hundred and
seventh thousand in 1903. Illustrated edition: Paris, Flammarion, n.
d., 4to, 527 pages; illustrations by Jeanniot; ninety copies on India,
Japanese, and Dutch papers. The Bavarian Captain Tanera attacked the
book in "Le Figaro," September 19, 1892, and his communication was
reprinted by Lemerre, 8 pages, 8vo. Zola's answer to him, "Retour de
Voyage," was also published by Lemerre, 1892, 18mo, 21 pages; forty
copies printed, all numbered, those bearing odd numbers being on Dutch
paper.

[19] Abbreviated from Sherard, _l. c._, p. 251 _et seq._

[20] It paid him £1,400 = about $7,000.

[21] "Le Docteur Pascal," Paris, Charpentier and Fasquelle, 1893, 18mo,
390 pages; some copies on special papers; eighty-eighth thousand in
1893, soon after publication; ninety-fourth thousand in 1903.

[22] A translation of the address in question (made by the present
writer) appeared in "The New Review," No. 50, July, 1893, under the
title of "Life and Labour." Besides expounding the gospel of work, Zola
answered the writers of Brunetière's _coterie_ who had started the
nonsensical cry of the "bankruptcy of Science."

[23] The writer holds several letters written to him by Zola at various
times, expressing similar reliance on his judgment. To print them all
would be to exaggerate their importance. The above will suffice as a
specimen.

[24] Mr. Petilleau has also been for many years President of the
National Society of French Masters in England. He is French professor
at Charterhouse.

[25] Sir Walter himself related that when "L'Assommoir" came into his
hands he sat up all night to read it, unable to put it down until he
had reached the last word.

[26] Vizetelly met him at Calais.

[27] From a draft of the French text.

[28] "National Observer": "Realist and Ranter," October 14, 1893. Pp.
551-552.

[29] See notably the issues of October 14 and 28, 1903.

[30] See Édouard Fournier's "L'Esprit dans l'Histoire," Paris, 1860, p.
229.

XI

A CRITICAL GLANCE

1893

Zola's short stories--His early novels--His sense of poetry and his
realism--Poetry and science--The futility of literary dogmas--The
law of change--The influence of science on literature--Why Zola
became a novelist--His attitude towards life and his fellow-men--The
Rougon-Macquart series--The order in which it was published
and the order in which it should be read--"Rougon-Macquart"
and "Robert Macaire"--A survey of the volumes--Their human and
animal characters--Great variety of their contents--How they were
prepared--Zola's alleged ignorance--His handwriting--His style--Some
fine pages--Some blunders--Various critical remarks--The series as a
whole--A living psychology--Some remarks on translations--A glance at
Zola as a playwright.

In previous chapters one has enumerated the many books--novels, volumes
of tales and essays--put forth by Zola from the time he began to write
until he completed the Rougon-Macquart series. That completion marks
a date in his career, and it is now fit one should glance back at the
work he had accomplished. His minor writings may be noticed briefly.
His first volume, "Les Contes à Ninon," suggests the influence of
Victor Hugo largely tempered by that of Alfred de Musset, with here
and there, too, some sign of incipient realism. It is immediately
apparent that much time and care were spent on the writing of these
tales, the style of which is often perfect and always charming. The
companion volume, "Nouveaux Contes à Ninon," published ten years later,
is inferior to the earlier one, much of the matter contained within its
covers being but newspaper work. Nevertheless "Les Quatre Journées de
Jean Gourdon" is in its way admirable; and in "Le Petit Manteau bleu"
one recognises the spirit which presided over the former tales. Realism
is often quite manifest in this second volume, and the explanations
given in its preface are almost superfluous, for one can easily tell
that it is the work of a man who has passed through the furnace,
whereas the first volume was all youth, buoyant, aspiring, with wings
unclipt.

Zola's other tales, those in the volumes entitled "Le Capitaine
Burle" and "Naïs Micoulin," belong to a later date and are very
different from the early ones. If the influence of the poets appears
in them at intervals, it is in diction rather than ideas. Even the
poetic suggestion lurking in the tale "Pour une nuit d'amour," which
Poe might almost have written, can only be traced with difficulty,
for it is wrapped in a ghastly realism. The story of "Nantas" is
perhaps the best of these later little efforts, as it is certainly
the most powerful; but "Naïs Micoulin" is also one of the present
writer's favourites, perhaps because, whatever its ardour, it does
no violence to possibilities. Placed beside the tales of Guy de
Maupassant, those of Zola, in spite of all the naturalism of their
details, strike one as being more romantic, more imaginative; and
this is as it should be, for Zola was largely a child of the sun,
whereas Maupassant, however passionate his temperament, was always a
Norman, deficient in the purely imaginative faculty but possessed of
great shrewdness--intuition, so to say,--which assisted his powers
of observation and his superb craftsmanship. Thus he excelled in
transcribing the human document such as it appears to most Northern
minds.

As it is with Zola's short stories so it is with his earlier novels:
"La Confession de Claude" is a struggle between poetry and reality, the
presentment of a soul longing for the empyrean but forced to surrender
to all the horrors of degradation. The fragmentary "Vœu d'une Morte"
contains indications of the same battle continuing. "Les Mystères de
Marseilles" is a thing apart; but, at last, in "Thérèse Raquin" and
"Madeleine Férat" realism triumphs brutally and in its first victorious
hour blackens the canvas to excess. Average truth is disregarded--as
Zola himself admits--and the agony is piled on to the point of
nightmare. This is done, perchance, by the realist in Zola in order
that no loophole may be left for the poet, also within him, to rise
again.

But take the Rougon-Macquart series, and there, amid all the realism of
twenty volumes, a revival of the poetic sense will be found displaying
itself repeatedly. Remember the idyll of Silvère and Miette, that of
Marjolin and Cadine, that of Angélique and Félicien, that of Serge
and Albine, the Paradou, Hélène and Henri, the vistas of Paris from
the heights of Passy, the love of Goujet for Gervaise, even that of
Georges Hugon for Nana, the epic march of the miners in "Germinal," the
epic charge of the cavalry at Sedan, Clotilde's communion with herself
while giving suck to her babe, and all the other instances. There may
be no trace of poetry and romance in "Thérèse Raquin," but Zola when
writing that book must have known full well that he had only scotched,
not killed, his poetic tendencies. To understand him aright, let us
remember that he made his _débuts_ at a time when science was enlarging
her domain daily. For him she exercised a fascination equal to that
of art. In his youth he had turned eagerly to certain scientific
studies even while he was steeping himself in poetry, and later he
devoured Flourens, Zimmermann, translations of the great scientists
of England and Germany. He saw that there was often a deep poetry
in science; he dreamt of making it manifest,--of going further,--of
associating science and art, of establishing their co-relation,
welding them together even in instances when to some folk they seemed
to be antagonistic. His nature, as one has remarked previously, was a
compound, a hybrid one, by no means unique, but such as is not often
observed. "Lewis Carroll" supplies a somewhat approximate instance:
in him one found the mathematician elbowing the romancer, only he did
not dream of importing "Euclid" into "Alice." Zola, in doing so, or
rather in doing something similar, was not entirely influenced by his
own special nature, but was carried along by the spirit of his age, in
which everything tended towards science. Those who remember Darwin and
Faraday and Huxley and the others, and the thirst that came on so many
young men in those days, will not gainsay it.

The literary critics declared, of course, and many of them declare
still, that Zola was altogether wrong. Regarding Art as being so
distinct, so different from Science that no amalgam could be effected,
they laid down and still lay down certain rules as being necessary to
salvation. That attitude was and is preposterous to the open mind which
holds that no dogmas are of any account, and that of those who frame
them one may say in Dante's words:

    "Non ragionam di lor, ma guarda e passa."

It is true that some critics have asserted that if there be no finality
in science there is a finality in art. But in fiction, with which
alone one is concerned here, the form has changed repeatedly, and on
each such occasion the loud protests raised by the representatives of
old and recognised schools have proved ineffectual. One rule, one dogma
after another, has been set aside, and still and ever the evolution has
continued. To say that the artist in fiction must do this and must not
do that is to expose oneself to the ridicule, at times, even of one's
contemporaries, and certainly of posterity. Take a comparatively recent
epoch and think of the dogmas and the protests brought forward by the
Classiques in their great contest with the Romantiques in France, and
remember who, in the end, were vanquished. Thus men of conservative
views may protest, but if there be a good cause for any evolution,
which one or another writer may essay, it will end by triumphing in
spite of all the opposition offered to it.

The art of the novelist has been often likened to that of the painter,
but it does not follow that this is the only possible comparison.
A novelist may liken himself to a sculptor, in fact to anybody he
chooses. Nothing, moreover, is final. The world, as modern scientists
have just rediscovered, and as Heraclitus asserted three and twenty
centuries ago, is not a being but a becoming. Change is the universal
law, even in matter; and if some minds, imprisoned within narrow
ideas and formulas, find it impossible to contemplate the possibility
of certain changes, they must yield to the broader minds for which
everything is possible. The world's changes are reflected in its
literature. Science within our own time has profoundly modified the
study and the writing of history. As for the novel, the Romanticists
spoke no last word, for it was not in their power to do so. Whether
Zola had arisen or not, it was fatal that the novel should at last
embrace many things which earlier writers of fiction had never dreamt
of including in it, that it should, in a word, follow the trend of the
modern mind.

Among writers, moreover, there are always many whose aim is not mere
amusement. Some openly declare instruction, enlightenment, to be their
purpose. Some are only half conscious of their mission, some not at
all, and it happens not unfrequently that a lesson is conveyed in books
where it has been never intended. At one time the drama was the form
of literature which appealed most successfully to the greater number.
The novel at last acquired a similar position, and it followed that
the writer who wished to reach the greater number had to approach
them as a novelist. That had been done long before the time of Zola,
who was both a writer with a purpose and one who wished to reach the
majority. Now, if an author desire to bring about some reformation of
the community, it is natural that he should begin by portraying it.
If he wish to elucidate certain social, scientific, and psychological
problems for the common good, it is essential that he should in the
first case state them. In that event, say some pedants, he must confine
himself to treatises of the accepted form. But the author answers no,
for such treatises would not reach the greater number, and his purpose
would then remain unfulfilled. To reach them he must approach them in
the only literary form for which they care: he must embody his views in
novels. "I have, in my estimation," said Zola, "certain contributions
to make to the thought of the world on certain subjects, and I have
chosen the novel as the best means of communication. To tell me that I
must not do so is nonsense. I claim it as my right, and who are you to
gainsay it?"

But let us pass to another point. The oft-repeated assertion that
Zola confined himself to portraying the ulcers and sores of life is
contrary to fact. He undoubtedly found more evil than good in the
community, and he insisted on the evil because it was that which needed
remedying. But he blamed nobody for extolling the higher side of life.
He denounced the writers who cast a deceptive and often poisonous
glamour over the imperfections of the world, he railed at many of
the people who pretended to be very good, for he was not deceived by
hypocrisy and cant; but, at the same time, he never held that mankind
was naturally evil. He attributed its blemishes to its social systems,
its superstitions, the thousand fallacies amid which it was reared, and
his whole life was a battle with those fallacies, those superstitions,
and those systems.

As he contended against so many generally accepted opinions it was
inevitable that his work and even his purpose should be greatly
misjudged. Critics took in turn one and another volume of his
Rougon-Macquart series, and pronounced condemnation on it. It was
only when, after long years, the series was at last finished that
some little justice was shown to the author. It should be remembered
that no volume of the series is in itself a really complete work. The
series indeed is the book, the volumes are but chapters of it. Besides,
they ought not to be taken nowadays in the order in which they were
originally published. It occasionally happens that writers are unable
to produce their works in proper sequence. There have been instances
when the second and fourth volumes of some literary undertaking have
been published before the first and the third. So it was with the
Rougon-Macquart novels. Zola was no walking encyclopædia. Every now
and again it happened that he was not ready for the volume which by
rights should have followed the one he had just finished. He lacked,
at the moment, sufficient knowledge of the subject which that next
volume was to embrace. Or else, as also happened at times, his fancy or
his feelings or some combination of circumstances carried him onward,
inducing him to skip a volume for a time. But he always reverted to it
afterwards, like an author who, writing not twenty volumes, but one,
has passed over some troublesome chapter, yet harks back and writes
it at last, well knowing that his work will lack completeness and
intelligibility if the gap be not filled up.

In the chronicle of Zola's career given in our previous chapters, the
Rougon-Macquart volumes have been mentioned in their chronological
order; but the example of the critics who, even since the completion
of the series, have followed that same order in judging Zola's work is
not one to imitate. By adopting that system one may certainly trace the
variations in Zola's general style over a term of years; but if the
series is to be judged as a whole one must take its sections in the
order in which the author himself desired they should be read. This he
indicated in "Le Docteur Pascal," and confirmed by word of mouth to
the present writer; and it is unfortunate, perhaps, that the French
publishers should still "list" the volumes chronologically, thereby
leading many readers astray. Some volumes of course--notably the first
and the last--occupy their proper places in the lists, but others have
to be taken in a very different order.

Before passing the series in review one may say a few words respecting
the two names, Rougon and Macquart, which, linked together, have
supplied it with a general title. Some years ago those names were
noticed by the present writer in sundry old documents relating to
an abbey in Champagne, but Zola declared them to be common names in
Provence. As for Macquart--long familiar to Parisians in connection
with the knacker's trade--it is a suggestive circumstance that in
Zola's younger days there was a bookseller at Aix, named Makaire,
whom he may well have known. Makaire, of course is merely a variant
of Macaire; and it is not necessary to be familiar with the famous
"Auberge des Adrets," and the wonderful impersonation of Frédérick
Lemaître, to know that "Robert Macaire" is regarded by the French
as a type of braggart rascal, as cynical, as impudent as "Tartuffe"
is hypocritical and sneakish. Zola, then, in the writer's opinion,
adopted that vulgar name Macquart because it resembled Macaire, and put
Rougon before it in lieu of Robert. He pictured the Rougon-Macquarts
as the Robert-Macaires of the Second Empire, and the idea came to
him, perhaps, the more readily as Napoleon III. had been repeatedly
caricatured as Robert Macaire, a brazen knave repeating _abracadabrant_
axioms amid the applause of his followers. Thus the title of the
Rougon-Macquarts, if taken as synonymous with the Robert-Macaires, will
suffice to explain a good deal of Zola's series.

Let us now glance at the volumes. In "La Fortune des Rougon" (I)
the author describes the origin of the Rougons and the Macquarts.
One Adélaïde Fouque, a woman of hysterical nature who eventually
goes mad,--a variety of disorders being transmitted to most of her
descendants,--marries a man named Rougon, and on his death lives with
another named Macquart. By the former she has a son, Pierre Rougon;
by the latter a son, Antoine, and a daughter, Ursule Macquart. This
daughter marries a hatter named Mouret, and thus at the outset of the
series the second generation of the family is shown divided into three
branches. In the third generation it increases to eleven members;
in the fourth to thirteen. In the fifth it dwindles, its vitiated
energies now being largely spent; and though there are indications of
its continuance in sundry children who do not appear on the scene,
the hope of regeneration rests virtually in only one child, a boy
three months old when the curtain finally descends. In "La Fortune des
Rougon," then, we are shown old Adélaïde Fouque, her children and some
of theirs, all more or less poverty-stricken and striving for wealth,
which comes with the foundation of the Second Empire. The scene is laid
at Plassans--Aix, as was formerly explained--and one sees the Imperial
_régime_ established there by craft and bloodshed.

Next comes "Son Excellence Eugène Rougon" (II) which carries one to
Paris, where the fortunes of the eldest of the Rougon brothers, first
an advocate and at last an all-powerful minister of state, are followed
in official and political circles. The court of Napoleon III appears
at the Tuileries and at Compiègne, where one meets, among others,
a beautiful Italian adventuress, Clorinde Balbi--suggestive of the
notorious Countess de Castiglione--with a mother reminiscent of Madame
de Montijo. And in other chapters of the volume the scheming and
plotting of the reign, the official jobbery and corruption, are traced
for several years.

"La Curée" (III) follows, and one turns to Eugène Rougon's younger
brother, Aristide, who has assumed the pseudonym of Saccard. With him
the reader joins in the great rush for the spoils of the new _régime_.
A passion for money and enjoyment seizes on one and all, debauchery
reigns in society, and a fever of reckless speculation is kindled by
the transformation of Paris under Baron Haussmann and his acolytes.
Men and women sell themselves. Renée, Saccard's second wife, passes
from mere adultery to incest, becoming a modern Phædra, while Saccard
himself leads the life of an eager, gluttonous bird of prey, which he
continues in the ensuing volume, "L'Argent" (IV), where the Bourse--the
money-market--is shown with all its gambling, its thousand tricks and
frauds.

So far the series might seem a mere record of roguery, vice, and
corruption, but those who know the books are aware that such is not the
case. Silvère and Miette stand for love and all the better qualities
of humanity in the first volume; there are at least the Martinots
and the Berauds in the second and third; and the devoted Madame
Caroline, the honest Hamelin, the pious Princess d'Orviedo, the dreamy,
generous-hearted Sigismond, the loving Jordans, and the unfortunate
Mazaud, all figure in the fourth, amid the scramble for gold in which
the other characters participate.

[Illustration: Photo by Émile Zola--Denise and Jacques]

In sharp contrast with that greed for gain is the picture offered by
the next volume, "Le Rêve" (V), where an immaculate lily arises from
the hot-bed of vice, whence later, and as a further contrast, a type
of foul shamelessness, Nana, the harlot, is also to spring. But
it is best not to anticipate. In the first four volumes the Rougons,
under the influence of heredity and surroundings, have shown themselves
scoundrels, whereas in Angélique, the heroine of "Le Rêve," a girl of
their blood appears who is all purity and candour. She comes upon the
scene, precisely at this moment, to emphasise the author's conviction
that, whatever he may have had to depict in his solicitude for truth,
all is not vice, degradation, and materialism, that there are other
aspirations in life besides the thirst for wealth, enjoyment and power.
And here, too, the priesthood is shown in its better aspect: the good
Abbé Cornille, the proud, heartbroken Bishop d'Hautecœur, in contrast
with whom the scheming, unscrupulous Abbé Faujas appears in the next
section of the series.

This is "La Conquête de Plassans" (VI) which retains one in the
provinces (whither one is carried from Paris in "Le Rêve"), and one is
confronted by a carefully painted picture of middle-class society in a
small town, this in its turn contrasting with the previous pictures of
life in Paris. And now the baleful results which may attend marriages
between cousins are exemplified. Marthe Rougon has married François
Mouret, and both have inherited lesions from their common ancestress,
Adélaïde Fouque. One of their children, Désirée, physically strong and
healthy, is mentally an "innocent"; and they themselves are unhinged,
the workings of their heredity being accentuated and hastened by the
wiles of Faujas, the priest, who gains access to their home. He is
a secret agent of the imperial government, and thus one again sees
the Empire at work in the provinces, utilising the clergy to enforce
its authority, and as often as not betrayed by it. In the end all
collapses. The maddened Mouret sets fire to his home and perishes in
the flames with Abbé Faujas, while Marthe dies of a disorder springing
from her inherited hysteria.

Then, the middle class of the provinces having been sketched, that of
the metropolis is depicted with an unsparing hand. The career of the
Mourets' eldest son, Octave, is followed, first through the pages of
"Pot-Bouille" (VII), in which he appears as a kind of modern Don Juan,
a Don Juan stripped of all poetry, all glamour, a sensualist of our
great cities, the man who prowls, not among the unhappy creatures of
the streets, but among the women of outward respectability who may
help him to acquire position and fortune. The scene is laid in a house
of the Rue de Choiseul, in the centre of Paris; and all around Octave
gravitate depraved, venal, egotistical, and sickly beings, adulterous
households, unscrupulous match-making mothers, _demi-vierges_ who will
only marry for money, dowry hunters, slatternly servant girls, and that
type of the middle-class debauchee who makes those girls his prey.
And the pleasing figures in the work are few--poor old Josserand, for
instance, and the charming Madame Hédouin, with the prosperous author
on the first floor, who drives in his carriage and has two handsome
children. At the same time the book pours a stream of light first on
all the ignoble shifts to which middle-class folk of small means are
put in their insane endeavours to ape their wealthier neighbours,
and secondly on the evils that arise from that dowry system which
superficial people regard as proving the foresight and wisdom of
the French when they embark on the sea of matrimony. As a matter of
fact, it frequently happens that this dowry system entirely blights
married life. As often as not the dowry itself is a mere snare and
delusion--the bride's parents retaining the principal, and merely
serving the interest until their death, when, as in the case of Zola's
old Vabre, the parental fortune may have entirely disappeared!

In "Au Bonheur des Dames" (VIII) Octave Mouret appears again, a
sensualist still but also a man of enterprise, at the head of a "Grand
Magasin de Nouveautés," a Temple of Temptation, which revolutionises
trade and panders to the feminine love of finery. Here the
_bourgeoisie_ is shown elbowing the class immediately below it, a world
of _employés_, clerks, shopmen and shop-girls, whose lives, likewise,
are full of evil. But again a girl of admirable rectitude, Denise
Baudu, comes forward to illumine the novelist's pages, and redeem and
ennoble the man who has hitherto regarded her sex as an instrument or a
toy.

When Zola has cast Octave Mouret at the feet of Denise, thereby
exemplifying a pure woman's influence over man, he again transfers his
scene from bustling Paris to a lonely region of the southern provinces,
there to follow the career of Octave's brother, Serge. In "La Faute
de l'Abbé Mouret" (IX) the battle is again one between woman, love,
and man; but a new factor appears--religion--for Serge is a priest,
bound by the unnatural vow of his calling, one of hysterical, mystical
temperament also, enslaved by the superstitions of his creed. In his
tumble-down parsonage and his little, decaying, forsaken church, amid
a semi-savage, brutish peasantry, he long strives to resist the cry of
nature. But she at last asserts her might, and the novelist carries the
reader into the enchanted garden of the Paradou, where love reigns
supreme. Yet the golden hours are brief: the priest is recalled to his
religion of death, and he cannot resist the call, for all the training
of years which has confirmed and increased his mystical tendency comes
back, and he is helpless. Thus the natural life is forsaken for the
illusions and dogmas of a creed; and Albine, whom Serge has loved, is
left forlorn with her unborn babe, to lie down and die amid the perfume
of the flowers with which she has strewn her bed. Serge it is who casts
the symbolical pinch of earth upon her coffin, for he has resumed his
ministry among the brutish peasants, dedicating all his efforts to slay
the sex given him by his God, for instead of living as a man he must
obey the command of his Church and live as an eunuch.

After that battle with nature and love, there comes a companion
picture: the fall of Hélène Mouret in "Une Page d'Amour" (X). She has
hitherto led an absolutely blameless life, but a sudden passion sweeps
her off her feet. A tragic sombreness attends the episode. No glamour
is cast over woman's frailty in Zola's pages. If Hélène tastes an hour
of intoxication she is punished for it as frightfully as any moralist
could desire. Jeanne, her fondly loved daughter, who is devoured by
jealous hysteria, dies as the result of her lapse, and it is only
afterwards, in pity as it were, that Hélène is granted the chance of
beginning her life afresh.

Then the series continues. All the Rougons--excepting one, Pascal, whom
the novelist keeps back till the end--have now been dealt with, the
Mourets also, and the chronicle of the bastard Macquart branch begins.
Antoine Macquart has three children, Lisa, Gervaise, and Jean, and it
is Lisa who supplies the next volume of the series, "Le Ventre de
Paris" (XI), which carries one through and around the great markets of
the French metropolis, as well as into the fine pork-butcher's shop,
which Lisa keeps with her husband, Quenu. This is a volume redolent of
victuals certainly, marked also by the egotism of the shopkeeping and
petty trading classes, with yet a glimpse of one of those conspiracies