schools do not immediately welcome a new one. For the most part they
defend their acquired position with all the vigour they possess. And
the battle may go on for some years before a new formula triumphs,
soon to find, perhaps, yet another one preparing to challenge its
hard-earned victory. When Zola, whose eyes treasured memories of the
bright sunlight of Provence, who could recall the limpid atmosphere
of the hillsides that girdled Aix, entered the lists to do battle for
the new realists of that time he encountered a terrific opposition.
It had been arranged with Villemessant that he should write from
sixteen to eighteen articles, passing the entire Salon in review;
but he penned and published seven only--the first two, which dealt
with the exhibition jury and its system of admitting and excluding
pictures, being written prior to May 1, the opening day. These
articles, which accused the jury of manifest injustice in excluding
Édouard Manet, and almost every artist who shared his tendencies,
created quite an uproar in the Parisian art-world, which increased when
a third article denounced the absolute mediocrity of some eighteen
hundred and ninety of the two thousand pictures which had been
"hung." A fourth article, in vindication of Manet and his methods,
and a fifth praising Claude Monet's "Camille," and attacking Vollon,
Ribot, Bonvin, and Roybet as spurious realists, brought matters to a
climax. Villemessant and Zola himself were assailed with letters of
complaint, some hundreds of readers (inspired for the most part by
the artistic enemies of the "Open-Air" school) demanding the critic's
immediate dismissal or withdrawal. Zola's articles, it may be said,
were signed with the _nom de plume_ of "Claude,"--in memory, no doubt,
of "Claude's Confession," and in anticipation of the "Claude Lantier"
of "L'Œuvre,"--nevertheless, his identity having been divulged, he
was freely abused by the critics of rival newspapers, and was even
threatened with a duel.
At that time, it should be mentioned, Édouard Manet, whose high talent
needs no praise nowadays, was generally regarded as a mystifier, an
impudent scamp who delighted to play jokes with the public, and it
followed that this man Zola, who defended him, must be either another
mystifier or else a mere ignorant jackass. Villemessant, however,
less alarmed than amused by the storm which had been raised, was
unwilling to dismiss him. In lieu thereof he decided to run a second
series of articles on the Salon, one of the orthodox type, by Théodore
Pelloquet, which it was thought would counterbalance the revolutionary
utterances emanating from Zola. But this decision, although almost
worthy of Solomon, did not satisfy the readers of "L'Événement." They
would not have Zola as art critic at any price, and so he brought his
campaign to an end after two more strongly written articles. In the
first, truthfully enough, and in a regretful spirit, he pointed out
the decline of Courbet, Millet, and particularly Théodore Rousseau,
whose pictures that year were of an inferior quality, while, in the
second, after attacking Fromentin for painting Oriental scenes with
plenty of colour, but with an absolute lack of light, he turned the
now-forgotten Nazon's sunsets into ridicule, and dismissed Gérome
and Dubuffe with a few stinging words. On the other hand, he praised
Daubigny, Pissarro (then a newcomer among the realists), and Corot,
observing of the last, however, that he would like his work far
better if he would only slaughter the nymphs with which he peopled
his woods, and set real peasants in their places. And he wound up as
follows, in words which, applied to much of his after-life, were almost
prophetic:----
"In these articles I have defended M. Manet as, throughout
my life, I shall always defend every frank personality
that may be assailed. I shall always be on the side of
the vanquished. There is always a contest between men of
unconquerable temperaments and the herd. I am on the side
of the temperaments, and I attack the herd. Thus my case
is judged, and I am condemned. I have been guilty of such
enormity as to fail to admire M. Dubuffe, after admiring
Courbet--the enormity of complying with inexorable logic.
Such has been my guilt and simplicity that I have been unable
to swallow without disgust the _fadeurs_ of the period, and
have demanded power and originality in artistic work. I have
blasphemed in declaring that the history of art proves that
only temperaments dominate the ages, and that the paintings
we treasure are those which have been lived and felt. I
have committed such horrible sacrilege as to speak with
scant respect of the petty reputations of the day and to
predict their approaching demise, their passage into eternal
nothingness. I have behaved as a heretic in demolishing the
paltry religions of coteries and firmly setting forth the
great religion of art, that which says to every painter:
'Open your eyes, behold nature. Open your heart, behold
life.' I have also displayed crass ignorance because I have
not shared the opinions of the patented critics, and have
neglected to speak of the foreshortening of a torso, the
modelling of a belly, draughtsmanship and colour, schools and
precepts. I have behaved, too, like a ruffian in marching
straight towards my goal without thinking of the poor devils
whom I might crush on the way. I sought Truth and I acted so
badly as to hurt people while trying to reach it. In a word,
I have shown cruelty, foolishness, and ignorance, I have been
guilty of sacrilege and heresy, because, weary of falsehood
and mediocrity, I looked for men in a crowd of eunuchs. And
that is why I am condemned."
Such writing as this was bound to ruffle many dovecotes. There had
previously been various efforts on behalf of the new school of
painting, the complaints of injustice having led one year to the
granting of a Salon des Réfusés, but never had any writer hit out so
vigorously, with such disregard for the pretentious vanity of the
artistic demigods of the hour. If, however, Zola was banished from
"L'Événement" as an art critic, he was not silenced, for he republished
his articles in pamphlet form,[10] with a dedicatory preface addressed
to Paul Cézanne, in which he said: "I have faith in the views I
profess; I know that in a few years everybody will hold me to be right.
So I have no fear that they may be cast in my face hereafter." In this
again he was fairly accurate: at least several of the views then held
to be not merely revolutionary but ridiculous have become commonplaces
of criticism.
Though this campaign did not improve Zola's material position, it
brought him into notoriety among the public, and gave him quite a
position among the young men of the French art-world. At this time he
still had his home in the Rue de Vaugirard, overlooking the Luxembourg
gardens, but in the summer of 1866 he was able to spend several weeks
at Bennecourt, a little village on the right bank of the Seine,
near Bonnières, and--as the crow flies--about half-way between Paris
and Rouen. Here he was joined at intervals by some of his Provençal
friends, Baille, Cézanne, Marius Roux, and Numa Coste;[11] and they
roamed and boated, rested on the pleasant river islets and formed the
grandest plans for the future, while Paris became all excitement about
the war which had broken out between Prussia and Austria. The crash of
Kœnigsgratz echoed but faintly in that pleasant valley of the Seine,
among those young men whose minds were intent on art and literature.
But politically the year was an important one for France, for, from
that time, the Franco-German War became inevitable. The Napoleonic
_prestige_ was departing. The recall of the expeditionary force from
Mexico had become imperative. In vain did the unhappy Empress Charlotte
hasten to Paris and beg and pray and weep; Napoleon III, who had placed
her husband Maximilian in his dangerous position, would give him no
further help, and she, poor woman, was soon to lose her reason and sink
into living death.
The year which had opened so brightly for Zola was to end badly for
him also. After shocking the readers of "L'Événement" as an art
critic, he imagined he might be more successful with them as a story
writer. So he proposed a serial to Villemessant, who after examining
a synopsis of the suggested narrative, accepted the offer. The story
which Zola then wrote was called "Le Vœu d'une Morte," but it met
with no more success than the art criticisms, and after issuing the
first part, Villemessant stopped the publication. The second part was
never written; yet the abortion--for it was nothing else--was issued
in volume form,[12] and of recent years has even been translated
into English,[13] and reviewed approvingly by English critics! Zola
himself always regarded it as the very worst of his productions. "What
a wretched thing, my friend!" he remarked in a letter to M. George
Charpentier twenty years after this story's first appearance. "Nowadays
young men of eighteen turn out work ten times superior in craftsmanship
to what we produced when we were five and twenty."
This second failure to catch the public fancy injured Zola
considerably in the opinion of Villemessant, but the latter continued
to take various articles from him, such as a series of literary
character-sketches, entitled "Marbres et Plâtres," in which figured
such men as Flaubert, Janin, Taine, Paradol, and About. These articles
were merely signed "Simplice,"--Zola's name having become odious to the
readers of "L'Événement,"--and portions were worked by the author into
later studies on French literary men.
About this time Villemessant found himself in serious difficulties
with the authorities, through having sailed too near to politics in
a journal only authorised for literature and news. "L'Événement" was
suppressed, but its editor turned "Le Figaro" into a daily organ, and
Zola's services were transferred to the latter journal. He contributed
to it a number of Parisian and other sketches, portions of which will
be found under the title "Souvenirs," in a second volume of "Contes à
Ninon," published in 1874.
In the latter part of 1866 his pecuniary position was a declining one.
As he wrote to his friend, Antony Valabrègue, he found himself in a
period of transition. He had penned a pretty and pathetic _nouvelle_,
"Les Quatre Journées de Jean Gourdon," for "L'Illustration,"[14] but
he was chiefly turning his thoughts to dramatic art, going, he said,
as often as possible to the theatre--with the idea, undoubtedly, that,
as he had failed to conquer Paris as an art critic and a novelist,
he might yet do so as a playwright. The young man was certainly
indomitable; after each repulse he came up, smiling, to try the effect
of another attack. Already in 1865, although his comedy, "La Laide,"
had been declined by the Odéon Theatre, he had started on a three-act
drama, called "La Madeleine," and this now being finished he sent it to
Montigny, the director of the Gymnase Theatre, who replied, however,
that the play was "impossible, mad, and would bring down the very
chandeliers if an attempt were made to perform it." Harmant of the
Vaudeville also declined "La Madeleine," but on the ground that the
piece was "too colourless," from which, as Alexis points out, one may
surmise that he had not troubled to read it.
After this experience Zola slipped his manuscript into a drawer and
turned to other matters. In December, 1866, he is found informing
Valabrègue that he has received a very flattering invitation to the
Scientific Congress of France,[15] and asking him, as he cannot attend
personally, to read on his behalf a paper he has written for it. This
was a "definition of the novel," prepared, said Zola, according to
the methods of Taine,[16] and it embodied at least the germs of the
theories which he afterwards applied to his own work. When writing to
Valabrègue on the subject he was in a somewhat despondent mood, for
his position on "Le Figaro" had now become very precarious. He wished
to undertake some serious work, he said, but it was imperative that
he should raise money, and he was "very unskilful in such matters."
Indeed, in spite of every effort, he did not earn more than an average
of three hundred francs a month. Nevertheless, he still received his
friends every Thursday, when Pissarro, Baille, Solari, and others went
"to complain with him about the hardness of the times."[17] And he at
least had a ray of comfort amid his difficulties, for he was now in
love, was loved in return, and hoped to marry at the first favourable
opportunity. The young person was tall, dark haired, very charming,
very intelligent, with a gift, too, of that prudent thrift which makes
so many Frenchwomen the most desirable of companions for the men who
have to fight for position and fame. Her name was Alexandrine Gabrielle
Mesley; before very long she became Madame Zola.
In 1867 Zola put forth a large quantity of work. Early in the year he
quitted "Le Figaro," and bade good-bye to the Quartier Latin, removing
to Batignolles, quite at the other end of Paris; his new address being
1, Rue Moncey, at the corner of the Avenue de Clichy. He was now near
his artistic friends of Montmartre, and complained to Valabrègue of
having only painters around him, without a single literary chum to
join him in his battle. His association with artists led, however,
to the production of a fresh study on Manet,[18] and to another
abortive effort to write a "Salon," this time in a newspaper called
"La Situation," which the blind, despoiled King of Hanover had started
in Paris for the purpose of inciting the French against the Prussians.
This journal was edited by Édouard Grénier, a _publiciste_ and minor
poet of the time, who was well disposed towards Zola, but the latter's
articles again called forth so many protests, that Grénier, fearing
the newspaper would be wrecked when it was barely launched, cast his
contributor overboard.
Zola fortunately had other work in hand, having arranged with the
director of a Marseillese newspaper, "Le Messager de Provence," to
supply him with a serial story, based (so Zola wrote to Valabrègue),
on certain criminal trials, respecting which he had received such
an infinity of documents that he hardly knew how to reduce so much
chaos to order and invest it with life. He hoped, however, that the
story, which he called "Les Mystères de Marseille," might give him a
reputation in the south of France, even if from a pecuniary standpoint
it provided little beyond bread and cheese, the remuneration being
fixed at no more than two _sous_ a line. That, perhaps, was full value
for such matter, at all events the London Sunday papers and halfpenny
evening journals often pay no more, if indeed as much, for the serials
they issue nowadays, the majority of which are no whit better than was
Zola's tale. It was not literature certainly, but it was clearly and
concisely written, and generally good as narrative, in spite of some
sentimental mawkishness and sensational absurdity. As often happens
with hack work of this description the tale opens better than it ends.
Long, indeed, before it was finished, the writer had grown heartily
tired of it, as many of its readers must have perceived. At the same
time it was not a work to be ashamed of, particularly in the case of
an author fighting for his daily bread, and Zola, when at the height
of his reputation, showed that he was not ashamed of it, for on his
adversaries casting this forgotten "pot boiler" in his face, he caused
it to be reprinted, with a vigorous preface, in which he recounted
under what circumstances the story had been written.[19]
The money paid for it had been very acceptable to him, for it had meant
an income of two hundred francs a month for nine months in succession;
and it had enabled him to give time to some real literary work, the
writing of his first notable novel, "Thérèse Raquin." This he had
begun in 1866; the idea of it then being suggested to him by Adolphe
Belot and Ernest Daudet's "Vénus de Gordes," in which a husband is
killed by the wife's lover, who, with his mistress, is sent to the
Assizes. Zola, for his part, pictured a similar crime in which the
paramours escaped detection, but suffered all the torment of remorse,
and ended by punishing each other. An article, a kind of _nouvelle_
which he contributed to "Le Figaro" on the subject, led him to develop
this theme in the form of a novel. In parts, "Thérèse Raquin," as the
author afterwards remarked, was neither more nor less than a study of
the animality existing in human nature. It was, therefore, bound to
be repulsive to many folk. But if one accept the subject, the book
will be found to possess considerable literary merit, a quality which
cannot be claimed for Émile Gaboriau's "Crime d'Orcival," with which
it has been compared by Mr. Andrew Lang. Gaboriau was a clever man in
his way, but he wrote in commonplace language for the folk of little
education who patronised the _feuilletons_ of "Le Petit Journal." No
French critic, except, perhaps, the ineffable M. de Brunetière, who has
declared the illiterate Ponson du Terrail to be infinitely superior to
the Goncourts, would think of associating Gaboriau's name with that of
Émile Zola.
Under the title of "Un Mariage d'Amour," "Thérèse Raquin" was published
during the summer and autumn of 1867, in Arsène Houssaye's review,
"L'Artiste," which paid Zola the sum of six hundred francs[20] for
the serial rights. There was some delay and difficulty in the matter.
Houssaye, who was _bien en cour_, as the French say, and desirous
of doing nothing that might interfere with his admission to the
Tuileries, informed Zola that the Empress Eugénie read the review,
and on that ground obtained his assent to the omission of certain
strongly worded passages from the serial issue. But the author
rebelled indignantly when he found that Houssaye, not content with
this expurgation, had written a fine moral tag at the end of the last
sheet of proofs. Zola would have none of it, and he was right; yet for
years the great quarrel between him and his critics arose less from
the outspokenness with which he treated certain subjects than from his
refusal to interlard his references to evil with pious ejaculations
and moral precepts. But for all intelligent folk the statement of
fact should carry its own moral, and books are usually written for
intelligent folk, not for idiots. In the case in point the spectacle
of Arsène Houssaye, a curled, dyed, perfumed ex-lady killer, tendering
moral reflections to the author of "Thérèse Raquin," was extremely
amusing. Here was a man who for years had pandered to vice, adorned,
beautified, and worshipped it, not only in a score of novels, but also
in numerous semi-historical sketches. For him it was all "roses and
rapture," whereas under Zola's pen it appeared absolutely vile. In the
end Houssaye had to give way, and the moral tag was deleted.
Zola took his story to M. Albert Lacroix, who in the autumn of 1867
published it as a volume. Naturally it was attacked; and notably by
Louis Ulbach, a writer with whom Zola frequently came in contact, for
Ulbach did a large amount of work for Lacroix, and was often to be met
at the afternoon gatherings at the Librairie Internationale. It was he
who had initiated the most popular book of that year: Lacroix's famous
"Paris Guide by the principal authors and artists of France"; but at
the same time he did not neglect journalism, and just then he was one
of the principal contributors to "Le Figaro," for which he wrote under
the pseudonym of "Ferragus." In an article printed by that journal he
frankly denounced "Thérèse Raquin" as "putrid literature," and Zola,
with Villemessant's sanction, issued a slashing reply. This certainly
attracted attention to the book, with the result that a second
edition was called for at the end of the year, which had not been a
remunerative one for the book-selling world, for it was that of the
great Exhibition when Paris, receiving visits from almost every ruler
and prince of Europe, gave nearly all its attention to sight-seeing and
festivity.[21]
Zola had sent a copy of his book to Ste.-Beuve, for whom, as for Taine,
he always professed considerable deference, though he reproached him
somewhat sharply for having failed to understand Balzac, Flaubert, and
others. Ste.-Beuve, having read "Thérèse Raquin," pronounced it to be
a "remarkable and conscientious" work, but objected to certain of its
features. Some years afterwards Zola had occasion to refer to this
subject, and the remarks he then penned[22] may be quoted with the more
advantage as they embody his own criticism of his book:----
"I had sent 'Thérèse Raquin' to Ste.-Beuve, and he replied
to me with a critical letter, in which I find that desire
for average truth, of which I have just spoken. Nothing
could be fairer than that criticism. For instance, he
remarked of my description of the Passage du Pont Neuf [the
chief scene of the novel]: 'It is not accurate, it is a
fantastic description, like Balzac's of the Rue Soli. The
passage is bald, commonplace, ugly, and, in particular,
narrow, but it has not the dense blackness, the shades _à
la Rembrandt_ which you impute to it. This also is a way
of being unfaithful [to the truth].' He was right; only it
must be admitted that places merely have such mournfulness
or gaiety of aspect as we may attribute to them. One passes
with a shudder before the house where a murder has just
been committed, and which seemed quite commonplace only the
previous day. None the less, Ste.-Beuve's criticism holds
good. It is certain that things are carried to the point of
nightmare in 'Thérèse Raquin,' and that the strict truth
falls short of so many horrors. In making this admission I
wish to show that I perfectly understand and even accept
Ste.-Beuve's standpoint of average truth. He is also
right when he expresses his astonishment that Thérèse and
Laurent [the wife and lover] do not content their passion
immediately after the murder of Camille [the husband]; the
case is open to argument, but in the ordinary course of
things they would live in each other's arms before being
maddened by remorse. It will be seen then that, in spite of
my own books, I share this respect for logic and truth, and
do not try to defend myself against criticism which seems
quite just. Yes, certainly, it is a bad thing to forsake the
substantial ground of reality to plunge into exaggerations of
draughtsmanship and colouring."
About the time of the publication of "Thérèse Raquin" Zola at last
obtained the coveted honours of the footlights. In conjunction with
his friend Marius Roux he wrote a drama based on his "Mystères de
Marseille," and the director of the Marseillese Gymnase consented
to stage it. It is possible that this arrangement was effected
during a visit which the director made to Paris, for, according to
some accounts, a trial performance of the play took place in the
capital.[23] Zola and Roux, being anxious to witness its production at
Marseilles, afterwards repaired thither, and superintended the last
rehearsals; but their hopes were scarcely fulfilled, for although, as
Alexis points out rather naïvely, the first performance[24] "proceeded
fairly well, enlivened by only a little hissing," no more than two
others were ever given. And while it is true that a "run" could hardly
be expected in a provincial city, particularly in those days, three
solitary performances, followed by no revival, could not be interpreted
as signifying success.
Perhaps it was the failure of this effort that caused Zola to abandon
for some years all hope of making his way as a dramatic author. Judging
by the comparative success of "Thérèse Raquin," novel writing seemed
the safer course for him. Accordingly, he transformed his rejected
play, "La Madeleine," into a novel, which he entitled "La Honte," and
offered as a serial to a certain M. Bauer, who had established a new
"Evénement." Bauer accepted it, but its minute descriptions of the
working of sensual passion in a woman shocked his readers, and the
publication ceased abruptly. On the whole, this story, written in a
large degree on the same lines as "Thérèse Raquin," was not a good
piece of work. When Lacroix published it, however, in volume form,
under the title of "Madeleine Férat," it soon went into a second
edition.[25]
This was the chief literary work accomplished by Zola in 1868, when he
also published a variety of articles in different Paris newspapers. And
as his books were now selling fairly well, he began to think of giving
some fulfilment to an old and once vague project, to which the example
of Balzac's works had at last imparted shape. Writing in May, 1867, to
his friend Valabrègue, he had then said: "By the way, have you read all
Balzac? What a man he was! I am reperusing him at this moment. To my
mind, Victor Hugo and the others dwindle away beside him, I am thinking
of a book on Balzac, a great study, a kind of real romance."
That book was never written, but the perusal of "La Comédie
Humaine" and its haunting influence at least largely inspired "Les
Rougon-Macquart."
[1] This was in the early sixties. Marx, who "interviewed" the boyish
Prince Imperial, Baron James de Rothschild, M. de Lesseps, and many
others, collected his articles in a volume entitled, "Indiscrétions
Parisiennes."
[2] Alexis, _l. c._, p. 67.
[3] The first volume had appeared in 1863.