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."