Zola in his Study

On May 22, 1885, France lost her great poet, Victor Hugo. He had been sinking for some time; nevertheless the news that he was really dead quite startled Paris. During his last illness he had declined the ministrations of "any priest of any religion," and the announcement that he would be buried without rites or prayers angered the Church party exceedingly, and led to unseemly scenes in the Chamber of Deputies when it was proposed that the Pantheon should be restored to its former destination as the resting-place of the great men of France, and that Hugo's remains should be laid in it. This proposal having been shelved by the Chamber, the popular indignation became so great that President Grévy virtually took the law into his own hands, and issued a decree in accordance with public opinion. The obsequies became a great anticlerical demonstration. Of course, for years past, many free-thinkers had been buried without the celebration of religious rites, but there had been only a few great secular public funerals, such as that of Félicien David, the composer, in 1876, later that of M. Hérold, Prefect of the Seine, and, later still, that of Gambetta. The enterrement civil of Victor Hugo marked another step in the same direction and it impressed thousands. More, even, than any of its forerunners, it set an example largely followed in later years.

When Zola heard of the death of Hugo he felt deeply stirred. He remembered the days of long ago, the happy days of Provence when he had learnt by heart page after page of the poet's writings. He had then drunk deeply of Hugo's sonorous rhetoric, and he had not ceased to admire his genius. The virtual failure of "Le Roi s'amuse" when it was revived in 1882 had pleased him from the Naturalist standpoint; yet he had not concealed his opinion that many passages of the play deserved applause, and in fact he had applauded them. "Why not, indeed?" he had ejaculated, turning to Edmond de Goncourt who had accompanied him to the Théâtre Français. And whatever criticism Zola had levelled at the productions of Hugo's declining years, whatever reservations he might make respecting even some of the poet's prime, he knew that this man had been a Master, the most powerful that his age had produced in France. So Zola immediately despatched the following telegram to M. George Hugo, the poet's young grandson:

You will learn, perhaps, some day, Monsieur, that even with respect to Victor Hugo, I claimed the rights of criticism. And this is why, amid the frightful grief that has befallen you, I desire to tell you that every heart has broken with yours.

Victor Hugo was my youth. I remember what I owe him. No discussion is possible on such a day as this; all hands must unite, all the writers of France must rise to do honour to a Master, and affirm the absolute triumph of literary genius.

Pray believe, Monsieur, in my deep and dolorous sympathy,

ÉMILE ZOLA.[59]

PARIS, May 22, 1885.

Besides writing his novel "L'Œuvre" that year, Zola helped M. Busnach to adapt "Germinal" for the stage; but when the play was ready in the autumn, the censorship forbade its performance on the ground that it would excite revolutionary passions. Zola's indignation boiled over at this rebuff, and with the approval of Alphonse Daudet and Edmond de Goncourt, whom he consulted, he issued a protest in "Le Figaro," trouncing M. René Goblet, the responsible Minister, a fussy little advocate who played the part of a Radical when it suited his purposes, but who was really a Philistine dans l'âme. However, the protest had no effect, nor had an offer to allow all reasonable alterations in the play for the sake of M. Busnach, whose interests were chiefly at stake; and it was only in the spring of 1888, when other ministers were in office, that "Germinal" was at last produced at the Théâtre du Châtelet. It may be convenient to mention here that for some years subsequent to the publication of "Germinal" as a novel there was never a strike in France without some foolish and prejudiced journalists casting the blame on Zola and his book. When in 1887 Décazeville became the scene of some terrible disturbances, Zola was charged in many directions—even in the Chamber of Deputies by some of its reactionary members—with the responsibility of those misfortunes. He disdained to reply to such ridiculous accusations; but it so happened that a few months previously (December 27, 1886) when authorising "Le Petit Rouennais" to publish "Germinal" serially, he had written the following prefatory note, in which he explained the book's real purport, which of course had never been doubtful for sensible minds:

"'Germinal' is a work of compassion, not a revolutionary work. In writing it my desire was to cry aloud to the happy ones of this world, to those who are the masters: 'Take heed! Look underground, observe all those unhappy beings toiling and suffering there. Perhaps there is still time to avoid a great catastrophe. But hasten to act justly, for, otherwise, the peril is there: the earth will open, and the nations will be swallowed up in one of the most frightful convulsions known to the world's history.'

"I descended into the hell of Labour, and if I concealed nothing, not even the degradation of that sphere, the shameful things engendered by misery and the huddling of human beings together as if they were mere cattle, it was because I wished the picture to be complete, with all its abominations, so as to draw tears from every eye at the spectacle of such a dolorous and pariah-like existence. Those things, no doubt, are not for young girls, but family people should read me. All of you who work, read what I have written, and when you raise your voices for pity and justice my task will be accomplished.

"Yes, a cry of pity, an appeal for justice, I ask no more. Should the soil still crack, should the disasters predicted convulse the world to-morrow, it will be because my voice will have remained unheard."

Thus, in "Germinal," Zola gave rein to his humanitarian feelings, and in recognition thereof prudes shrieked indignantly: "That man is at it again! What a beast he must be!" And on their side capitalists, battening on the labour of the poor and alarmed for the safety of their pelf, howled in chorus: "This book ought to be suppressed, it certainly must not be allowed as a play. It means revolution, robbery, rascality of every kind."

But Zola, though he suffered secretly,—all unjust attacks brought him the keenest suffering,—hid it, and passed on.

There was a touch of humanitarianism even in his next book, "L'Œuvre," for it set forth many of the evils of bohemian life, and embraced an appeal for woman in the person of the unhappy Christine, its heroine. Critics may shake their heads, indeed some have done so, and say sapiently: "All this was not art." They may laugh, too, at the idea of reforming the world by novels. But even if, judging Zola by some of his books, one may occasionally feel inclined to set no very lofty estimate on his artistry, surely the trend of his works, the knowledge of their aim, the circumstances under which they were written, must increase one's respect for their author as a man. And, after all, what is the mere artist? As often as not he is penned within a fanatical creed, bound to narrow formulas, blind to everything beyond them, full of prejudice, and even more ridiculous at times than the Philistines at whom he rails.

As "L'Œuvre" dealt chiefly with the art-world of Paris at a certain period of the Second Empire, it revived some of the passions which Zola had kindled by his championship of Manet. By certain painters the book was roundly abused when M. Charpentier published it early in 1886,[60] on the completion of the issue in the "Gil Blas." This time the demand was not great, for by its nature "L'Œuvre" appealed more particularly to a limited class of readers. Perhaps its sales would have been even smaller had not Zola woven into his narrative so much interesting information concerning himself in his earlier years.

No sooner was he delivered of this book than he turned to the novel on the French peasantry which had been in his mind at the beginning of 1884. Already at that time he had given it considerable thought, made notes, studied his subject in books and periodicals; and he now took up the work of preparation in real earnest. At the very outset he had decided to lay the scene in or near the great grain-producing region of La Beauce, in some degree because this would enable him to deal, en passant, with certain economic questions, such as the importation of American wheat, but more particularly because both his mother and his grandmother, Madame Aubert, had been Beauceronnes, and in his younger days he had often heard them talk of that part of the country, which presents various features of interest. La Beauce proper is certainly flat and monotonous, but its confines are picturesque, and Dourdan, Auneau, Orgères, and other localities are associated historically with the horrible crimes of the desperadoes known as chauffeurs, who roamed the region early in the nineteenth century. A strain of brutishness was long to be observed among some of the inhabitants. Withal, they are essentially French, that is of the borders of the Ile de France, for there is no fixed type of French peasant. Those of Provence, Languedoc, Burgundy, Normandy, Brittany, and other parts, all differ from one another in important characteristics. Thus generalisations on the subject of the French peasantry may occasionally become ridiculous.

Nevertheless, at the period selected for Zola's work, that of the Second Empire, a general resemblance was to be found among them in two respects. In the first place their ignorance was very great. The Imperial Government which did a good deal to ameliorate their lot materially, did as little as possible to enlighten and elevate their minds. They were, so to say, the backbone of the régime, and their ignorance was its safeguard. At the elections they were led like sheep to the polling places to vote for the official candidates. All that, however, belongs to the past. Many changes have occurred during the last thirty years, and without entering here into the question of the religious and secular schools, it may be said that under the Third Republic more has been done than at any previous time for the education of the peasantry. Some brutishness persists in various regions, but all who remember how widespread was illiteracy before the War of 1870 know that great improvement has been effected.

To-day, however, even as was formerly the case, there is still one trait common to the French peasantry generally. As in other countries there has been, and is still, a great exodus from the rural districts to the towns; but those who remain at home are distinguished by their earth-hunger, their all-consuming passion for the soil. The historical explanation of this is perhaps as follows: For centuries the peasantry possessed little or nothing, and when the Revolution at last placed the land in their hands absolutely, a craving which had descended from generation to generation was satisfied. They seized the land eagerly, they clung to it fiercely, fearful lest it should be taken from them, as, for instance, when the Bourbons returned, and many of the old noblesse sought the resumption of their estates. And old-time feelings, the covetous cravings of ancestors, the desperate tenacity of the generation of 1815, have descended to the peasants of to-day, and were perhaps even stronger among those of the Second Empire, with whom Zola proposed to deal in his novel "La Terre."

It was in part on the peasant's brutish ignorance, and more particularly on his earth-hunger, that he resolved to base his book. The following extract from one of his letters[61] will show his intentions:

"'La Terre' will treat of the French peasant's passion for the soil, his long struggle to acquire possession of it, his crushing labour, his brief joys and his great wretchedness. He will be studied too in connection with religion and politics, his present condition being explained by his past history; even his future will be indicated, that is the part he may possibly play in a Socialist revolution. All that, of course, will lie beneath the drama unfolded in the book, the drama of a father dividing his land among his children before his death, whence slow and abominable martyrdom will ensue, a perfect tragedy setting some sixty characters, an entire village of La Beauce, in motion; without counting a secondary plot, the passionnel side of the story, a quarrel between two sisters, separated by the advent of a man, still and ever in connection with a question of land. To sum up, I wish to do for the peasant what I did in 'L'Assommoir' for the Paris workman, that is, recount his history, manners, passions, and sufferings, such as environment and circumstances have fatally made them."

In the spring of 1886 Zola started on a tour of investigation. He already had some personal knowledge of the region where he proposed to lay the scene of his story, having gone there in his mother's time, but that was long before he thought of writing "La Terre." Among the places he now visited was Châteaudun, where one finds him early in May, whence he writes a friend an interesting letter which Mr. Sherard prints, and a portion of which one may venture to quote here:

"I have been here [Châteaudun] since yesterday, and have found the spot I need. It is a little valley, four leagues hence, in the canton of Cloyes, between Le Perche and La Beauce, and on the confines of the latter. I shall introduce a little brook into it, which will flow into the Loir—such a brook, by the way, exists. I shall there have all I require—large farms and small, a central spot, thoroughly French, a typical and very characteristic horizon, gay people speaking patois—in short what I always hoped for.... I shall return to Cloyes to-morrow and shall go thence to visit my valley and my bit of Beauce frontier in detail. For the day after to-morrow I have an appointment with a farmer living three leagues from here, in La Beauce, and shall visit his farm in detail.... I remained to-day at Châteaudun to attend a big cattle-market."[62]

In June Zola returned to Médan, and throughout that year and indeed until August, 1887, one finds him busy with this book from which he turned only for a short time in February and April to attend to the production, first of a dramatic version of "Le Ventre de Paris,"[63] which had at least a succès de curiosité, and secondly of a play called "Renée"—based on "La Curée"—which proved a resounding failure and was attended by an acrimonious controversy in the press. In the opinion of the critics, apparently, Racine's "Phædra" sufficed for all time, and the idea of a modern one in the person of "Renée" was monstrous: thus Zola sinned both against the great classic writer and against modern society.[64]

While he was dividing his attention between those plays and his novel "La Terre," France was becoming more and more absorbed in political questions. General Boulanger, who had been Minister of War in the Freycinet administration of 1886 had lost that position, but his popularity remained extreme, fanned as it was by a large party of malcontents of various political schools. Many were actuated solely by patriotic considerations, for there had been trouble with Germany over an Alsatian frontier incident known historically as the Schnæbelé Affair. Some people who believed the general to be sincerely Republican only wished him to relieve them of certain men of the hour, such as President Grévy, for rumours were already abroad respecting the nefarious practices of the latter's son-in-law, M. Wilson. But others were intent on purposes of their own, the overthrow of the Republic and the establishment of a monarchy or a dictatorship, into which enterprise they hoped to inveigle the popular ex-Minister of War. Briefly, at this time a great crisis was gradually approaching.

Nevertheless, though the unrest penetrated to the literary world, the latter did not neglect the subjects which more particularly concerned it, and there was some commotion among men of letters when on August 18 that year (1887) "Le Figaro" published a manifesto directed against Zola's new work, which had been appearing in the "Gil Blas" since May, and the concluding pages of which were at that very moment being written at Médan. This manifesto (which, when one recalls the presumptuous preface to "Les Soirées de Médan," may be regarded as a Roland for an Oliver) was signed by five young writers, Paul Bonnetain, J. H. Rosny, Lucien Descaves, Paul Margueritte, and Gustave Guiches, who, "in the name of their supreme respect for art, protested against a literature devoid of all nobility." The factum was of some length, diffuse, bristling with scientific jargon, and disfigured by a ridiculous attack on the personal appearance of Zola, whose leadership these young men solemnly renounced.

At that time the best known of the five was Paul Bonnetain, a Provençal of Nîmes, and a friend of Alphonse Daudet, who came from the same city. Bonnetain had then published four or five books, the first of which, "Chariot s'amuse," had so out-Zola'd anything written by Zola himself that its author had been prosecuted for it. M. Rosny on his side had at that date written two books, "Nell Horn," a ridiculous story of "English manners," and "Le Bilatéral," a study of Anarchism and Collectivism which showed marked improvement. M. Gustave Guiches was the author of three volumes, none of which had attracted attention, while Lucien Descaves had published four novels, and was gradually emerging from obscurity, though another two years were to elapse before his venturesome book, "Sous-Off,"—for which he was tried and acquitted—made his name at all widely known. Finally, M. Paul Margueritte—destined like M. Rosny to acquire a high position in literature, in conjunction, be it said, with his younger brother, Victor—was as yet only known by an estimable book on his father, the gallant general killed at Sedan, and a couple of works of fiction, "Tous Quatre" and "Une Confession posthume." The eldest of the band, Bonnetain, was in his thirtieth year, the others were six or seven and twenty.

A comical feature of the affair was that of these five indignant writers, who so solemnly disowned "the Master of Médan," only one, Bonnetain, was personally known to him. They had met just twice. With the others Zola had no acquaintance at all. This appears clearly from the statements he made to M. Fernand Xau of the "Gil Blas," who, directly the manifesto appeared and Zola's enemies raised a cry of jubilation at the so-called "great Naturalist schism," hurried to Médan to interview the author of "La Terre." A portion of Zola's declarations to M. Xau may well be given here:

"I do not know what is thought in Paris of this protest which has brought me some very kind letters from my confrères, but it has stupefied me. I do not know those young men. They do not belong to my entourage, they have never sat at my table, they are not my friends. If they are disciples of mine—and remember I do not seek to make disciples—they are so without my knowledge. Why then do they repudiate me? The situation is original. It is as if a woman with whom a man never had any intercourse were to write him: 'I have had quite enough of you, let us separate!' The man would certainly reply to that: 'It's all one to me.' Well, the position is very similar.

"If friends of mine, if Maupassant, Huysmans, and Céard, had addressed me in such language publicly, I should certainly have felt somewhat offended. But this declaration can have no such effect on me. I shall make no answer to it at all. It would be giving importance to a matter which has none. When I am fighting a theatrical battle I write an open letter to Sarcey because Sarcey certainly exercises great authority. In some literary discussions I have written in a similar way to Albert Wolff, because he is an old chroniqueur to whom people listen. But whatever may be my feelings towards the five gentlemen who have signed the document we are speaking of, they must excuse me if I don't answer, for I have nothing to say to them.... One thing I cannot understand is why these young men should pass themselves off as soldiers of mine deserting my flag. The only one I know a very, very little is Bonnetain, whose 'Opium' I have read, and whose talent I esteem. He once called on me; and when he appeared before the Tribunal of Correctional Police, after 'Chariot s'amuse,' he wrote asking me to let him have a letter to be read in court. I sent him one, but I advised him not to use it, for the judges, I fancy, hold me in slight esteem. Well, I met Bonnetain again at Daudet's, at the 'Sapho' dinner, and that is all!... The comical part of the affair is that people used to reproach me with what they called 'my tail.' They were willing to tolerate what I wrote, but they refused to accept the productions of the young men who claimed to be my disciples—though I cried from the house roofs that I had none. 'Cut your tail off!' people repeated. Well, it is cut off at last. It has taken itself off of its own accord, and now, perhaps, folk will be satisfied."[65]

While conversing with M. Xau, Zola mentioned that some of his friends believed the manifesto to be an echo of the opinions of certain persons whom he held in high esteem, both personally and from a literary standpoint; but he had reason to know that the persons in question were really grieved by the factum to which they had given neither inspiration nor assent. The allusion was in part to Alphonse Daudet, by reason of his friendship with Bonnetain, but more particularly to Edmond de Goncourt, as the latter's "Journal" explains. Goncourt's house, his grenier, as one said in those days, had become the meeting-place of a number of young authors, who looked up to him much as others had looked up to Flaubert. And Goncourt, on reading the manifesto in "Le Figaro," had immediately exclaimed, "Diable, why four of them belong to my grenier!"[66] It naturally occurred to him that Zola might think the plot had been hatched there, under his auspices, and he felt extremely annoyed. A journalist who called on him suggested an article showing that he had no responsibility in the matter, but Goncourt declined to hide behind others. If anything had to be said he would say it himself. However, he went to dine at Champrosay with Daudet, and after they had decided that the manifesto was very badly written and outrageously insulting, they communicated privately with Zola, who was thus able to tell M. Xau that whatever might be said elsewhere, he knew that "the certain persons whom he held in high esteem" had nothing to do with the affair.

On the other hand, some minor literary men adhered to the protest, and the incident was so sedulously exaggerated by Zola's enemies that one might have imagined the manifesto had come from novelists of high reputation instead of from beginners, who, with the exception of Bonnetain, had not yet half-won their spurs. The affair has been related in some detail here, first because a kind of legend has gathered round it, a legend repeated in many of the memoirs issued after Zola's death, and secondly because it ultimately had a notable result: the nomination of Zola as a knight of the Legion of Honour.

Before recounting how that occurred it must be mentioned that "La Terre" was published in volume form late in 1887.[67] The attacks made upon it ever since the so-called "Manifesto of the Five" then acquired yet greater intensity, which a little later was checked somewhat by the uproar attending the decorations scandal in which President Grévy's son-in-law was implicated, followed by the President's resignation, the election of Carnot, and the increase of the Boulangist propaganda. However, at every pause in that turmoil the denunciation of Zola began afresh.

It was still going on when M. Edmond Lockroy, who had known the novelist in the old days of "Le Rappel," became Minister of Public Instruction. Married to Charles Hugo's widow, guardian of the great poet's grandchildren, artist, author, Garibaldian volunteer, politician, deputy, and minister, M. Lockroy was—and is still—a man of very broad views. He had formed a poor opinion of the "Manifesto of the Five" at the time of its appearance, and he was disgusted by the ensuing attacks, which emanated for the most part from the reactionary press. In these circumstances he resolved on a somewhat bold course, that of offering the red ribbon to the much-abused author, as an official recognition of his literary attainments, and as a kind of solatium for the insults heaped upon him.

At the same time M. Lockroy realised that as Zola, angered by the behaviour of Bardoux in 1878, had then declared he would not accept a decoration, it would be advisable to sound him unofficially in the first instance. The minister ended by selecting as his intermediary a lady who knew the novelist well, and she at once repaired to Médan to ascertain his views.[68] At her first words Zola began to protest, reminding her of the public declaration he had formerly made, and adding that if he now accepted the red ribbon he would surely cover himself with ridicule. But the minister's messenger insisted, pointing out, notably, that prejudiced and ignorant people were on all sides accusing him of deliberate immorality, even obscenity, and that his official nomination to the Legion of Honour might act as a check on his insulters and rehabilitate him in the eyes of the vulgar. At last Zola began to waver, and after consulting his wife, who favoured the proposal, he gave his assent to it. At the same time, mindful of M. Bardoux' shilly-shallying, he insisted that he should have a formal promise from the minister immediately. It was given him, and very soon afterwards, the time having come to draw up the list of those who should be decorated on the occasion of the National Fête that year, 1888, M. Lockroy brought Zola's name before the Council of Ministers. Later, the decree having been signed and gazetted, he personally fixed the red ribbon to Zola's buttonhole in the drawing-room of the lady who had acted as intermediary.

She, it would appear, was not a little astonished some time afterwards when on receiving a visit from the novelist he told her that he had decided to offer himself as a candidate for the French Academy. And he explained the position thus: "I had the choice of two paths, one leading to the recognition of my readers only, the other leading to official recognition also. I never troubled about the latter, but you turned me into that path, and I am not the man to halt half way on any road. As there is an Academy I shall offer myself as a candidate directly a suitable opportunity occurs. And," he added jocularly, "as there is a Senate also I may even offer myself as a candidate for that as well. Why not? Ste.-Beuve was a senator, and perhaps I myself shall be one."

Émile Zola 1888-1890.—Photo by Nadar.

Neither of those aspirations was realised; and, in later years, even, Zola's decoration of the Legion of Honour was almost taken from him. It had come to him, not as some have said as the result of "Le Rêve," which was not published till some months afterwards, but as the result of "La Terre." Elsewhere, however, that same book had very different consequences for another man, for it led to proceedings at law which ruined him, cast him into prison, and hastened his death. How that happened the following chapter will tell.

IX

THE BRITISH PHARISEES

1884-1893

First English translations of Zola—Attacks on Zola in England—The Vizetellys, glassmakers and printers—Henry Vizetelly and his career—His publishing business—The six-shilling novel—Ernest Vizetelly's work for Vizetelly & Co.—His acquaintance with Zola—His opinion of the Zola translations—He becomes reader and editor to Vizetelly & Co.—He partially expurgates the English version of "La Terre"—W. T. Stead solicits information from Vizetelly—The sales of the Zola translations—The "National Vigilants"—"The Maiden Tribute"—Publicity v. Secrecy—Zola's aim—Mendacity of some English newspapers—Vizetelly's catalogue—Samuel Smith, M. P., and "pernicious literature"—A debate in the House of Commons—More newspaper lies—Vizetelly committed for trial—"The Decameron" prosecuted—The Government takes up the Vizetelly prosecution—Vizetelly's letter to Sir A. K. Stephenson—"Heaven save us from our friends!"—Vizetelly's difficulties—His trial, October, 1888—Purity of the rural districts of England—The case stopped—Sentence—Vizetelly's undertaking respecting the Zola books—Zola's view of the case—Expurgation and reissue of the translations—Vizetelly again summoned—He assigns his property to his creditors—Mr. George Moore on the "National Vigilants"—Mr. Frank Harris's offer—Ernest Vizetelly and the responsibility of the new trial—Mr. Cock, Q. C.—His notion of duty to a client—The trial, May 30, 1889—The plea of "guilty"—Vizetelly's collapse—Sir E. Clarke and Ernest Vizetelly—Sentence on Henry Vizetelly—He is sent to the wrong prison—The legerdemain of the Prison Commissioners—A question for the House of Commons—A letter from Mr. Labouchere—A memorial for Henry Vizetelly's release—Robert Buchanan defends him—His last years and death.

The earliest versions of Zola's novels in our language offered for sale in Great Britain were of American origin. Some American translations are ably done—that is well known—but the particular ones here referred to were for the most part ridiculous, full of errors, and so defaced by excisions and alterations as to give no idea of what the books might be like in French. There were translations of much greater merit in Germany, Italy, and Russia, but until a Mr. Turner produced in London a version of "Au Bonheur des Dames,"[1] the English reader, ignorant of French, really had no opportunity of forming any personal opinion of Zola's writings. He had to rest content with the views expressed in various newspapers and periodicals by men who had read Zola in the original. Among those who wrote on him in the English reviews were Mr. Andrew Lang and Mr. Henry James, but most of the articles that appeared were conveniently anonymous, and therefore, perhaps, essentially abusive, as, for instance, an unsigned paper in "Blackwood's Magazine," the writer of which, not content with attacking Zola's books, thought it as well to libel him as a man. At long intervals there appeared some article in his defence, some statement of his principles and his aims, the best of these being another anonymous paper called "The Literary Creed of Émile Zola,"[2] though even this had a foolishly worded "note" attached to it, showing how little Zola was understood by the average English editor. Such, then, was the position: a dozen or more worthless American versions on the market, and frequent attacks in reviews, magazines, and newspapers, when, in 1884, the first English series of Zola translations was begun by a London publisher, Henry Vizetelly, who, assisted by two of his sons, traded as "Vizetelly & Co."

Before proceeding further the writer desires to enter a plea pro domo sua. He, like others, has his weak spot, and the present may be the only opportunity he will ever have of setting forth certain facts concerning his family, which, in spite of considerable association with English journalism and literature, has frequently been described—chiefly in connection with Zola and his writings—as Greek, Hungarian, Polish, Italian, or Jewish. That the Vizetellys are of Italian origin is indisputable, but one may well inquire how long it takes to make a family English? Some are accepted as such after a few years. Surely, then, four centuries ought to suffice.

The forerunners of Henry Vizetelly came from Venice[3] to England in the spacious days of Queen Elizabeth; and until the end of the seventeenth century were concerned in the manufacture of glass. One of them became connected with some works established at Lambeth in or about 1673 by George Villiers, second Duke of Buckingham. The first sheets of blown glass for mirrors and coach-windows made in Great Britain came from those works, which Evelyn visited, as mentioned in his "Diary" But in the early part of the eighteenth century the Vizetellys became printers, and the family papers describe them as of "the parish of St. Bride's in the city of London." The Vizetelly, or Vizzetelli, of Elizabethan days having been called James (Jacopo), it became until recent years the family rule that the eldest son of the eldest son should bear that Christian name.

Another name, given to daughters, was the Biblical one of Mehetabel, a survival, perhaps, of some family Puritanism in Commonwealth days. But if there were a Puritan, there was certainly no Jewish strain in the family, the men of which in the eighteenth century married girls with good old English names, some of them London born and others coming from counties as far away as Cheshire. Thus, although the Vizetellys seem to have never forgotten their origin and to have cultivated friendship with sundry notable Italians who settled in England, it is certain that, as generation followed generation, English blood predominated in their veins.

The status of the eighteenth-century Vizetellys as printers is difficult to determine. They were apparently in fair circumstances, but the writer knows of no eighteenth-century book bearing their imprint. He believes they were associated in business with others whose names alone appeared. The first found actually trading in his own name was James Henry Vizetelly,[4] born in 1790, and son of James Vizetelly, "printer, of St. Bride's parish and of Duke Street, Lincoln's Inn Fields." James Henry's eldest son, James Thomas George, was apprenticed to him as a printer; and his second son, Henry Richard, after acquiring a knowledge of the same trade, was placed first with Bonner and afterwards with Orrin Smith, two noted wood-engravers. He proved one of the latter's best pupils, and ultimately joined his brother James in the printing and engraving firm known as Vizetelly Brothers.

While thus engaged, Henry Vizetelly[5] was approached by Mr. Herbert Ingram, a former news-agent of Nottingham, on the subject of founding an illustrated newspaper. The outcome (1842) was "The Illustrated London News," the first journal of its kind in any country. Vizetelly afterwards quarrelled with Ingram, and, in 1843, in conjunction with Mr. Andrew Spottiswoode, started an opposition paper, "The Pictorial Times," to which some notable men, including Douglas Jerrold and Thackeray, contributed. As, however, the printing and engraving business which he carried on with his brother was becoming a large one, Vizetelly eventually severed his connection with journalism for some years, and either with his brother, or later on his own account, produced a large number of illustrated books, which from typographical and other technical standpoints were often among the best of their time. He was also (this may interest American readers) the first to introduce Poe's "Tales" and—through C. H. Clarke—Mrs. Stowe's "Uncle Tom's Cabin," to the English public, and, having virtually discovered Birket Foster, he also did much to popularise Longfellow in England. Perhaps his best work as a wood-engraver was that done for the edition of "Evangeline," illustrated with Foster's designs.

Vizetelly also took a prominent part in the agitation for the repeal of the taxes on knowledge, such as the newspaper stamp and the paper duty, being honorary secretary to the society for the removal of the latter impost; and in 1855, conjointly with David Bogue, the publisher of most of the books he printed, he started "The Illustrated Times," on the staff of which, as had been the case with "The Pictorial Times," there were again many notable writers and artists.[6] This newspaper ran a very successful course for some years, but about 1860 Vizetelly—after losing a large sum over another venture, "The Welcome Guest"—sold his share in the proprietorship to Ingram of "The Illustrated London News." Ultimately, in 1865, he entered into an agreement to represent the last-named journal on the continent of Europe, with headquarters in Paris, to which city he removed with his family. He saw virtually all there was to be seen there during the last years of the Empire, the subsequent siege by the Germans, and, later, the Commune. He afterwards acted for "The Illustrated London News" as a "special" in different parts of Europe, and became British wine juror at various international exhibitions, for he had made a particular study of wines in the regions where they were produced, and wrote on them at length both in "The Pall Mall Gazette" and in a series of popular volumes. Other subjects also attracted his pen; the best of his numerous literary efforts being probably a work on the famous Diamond Necklace scandal, and another on Berlin as it was when Bismarck had constituted the new German Empire.

Such, then, was the man who in 1880 joined the ranks of the London publishers. He was at that time sixty years old but still full of energy, and he gave great personal attention to his business, though, as already mentioned, he had the assistance of two sons. He had been twice married, and of a numerous family four sons and a daughter were then living. The sons whom he had with him were the younger ones, Arthur and Frank Vizetelly;[7] their elder brothers, then abroad, being Edward[8] and Ernest, the present writer, who for convenience proposes to refer to himself by his Christian name throughout this particular narrative.

One of the first ventures of the new business, a series of sketches of English society, entitled "The Social Zoo," and published in parts, was badly launched and dropped before completion, but some sections of it, by E. C. Grenville-Murray, attracted great attention and sold widely on being reissued in volume form. Sala's "Paris Herself Again" and other books were also very successful, but when Vizetelly—who by reason of his long residence in Paris took great interest in French literature—produced a series of cheap translations of works of high repute in France—novels and tales by Daudet, Theuriet, About, Malot, Cherbuliez, George Sand, Mérimée, and others—there was little or no demand for them, though a large amount of money was spent in advertisements. Indeed it soon appeared that if French fiction was to be offered to English readers at all it must at least be sensational; and Vizetelly therefore started a cheap series of Gaboriau's detective stories, which found a large and immediate market. The business gradually expanded, and before long, in addition to miscellaneous works by Sala, Grenville-Murray, and others, the firm took up English fiction in a new form.

Mr. George Moore, the novelist, having found the circulating libraries opposed to some of his books, protested vigorously against the three-volume system which placed English fiction at the libraries' mercy. He held that all novels ought to be sold direct to the public, and many other writers agreed with him. Mr. Moore became one of Vizetelly & Co.'s authors, and the firm thereupon put the theory of direct sale to the public into practice. They abandoned the three-volume system altogether, issuing their new novels in one volume only, and it was Henry Vizetelly who fixed the price at six shillings, to be lowered, after the earlier editions, to three shillings and sixpence—those being the figures which still prevail to-day. When therefore in later years the three-volume novel was finally slain it was somewhat impudent on the part of certain publishers to issue advertisements claiming all the merit of the change; for long before they or others joined the movement, Vizetelly & Co., as their catalogues show, were issuing a whole series of novels at the popular price, and quoting, in cordial approval of their initiative, an extract from an article in "The Saturday Review." Doubtless the one-volume system has not done all that was predicted for it, but it has certainly been an improvement on the old one, and it may be fairly claimed that Mr. George Moore and Henry Vizetelly were its pioneers.

After the establishment of his publishing business, Vizetelly had communicated with his son Ernest,[9] who was then living in Paris and had friends and acquaintances among writers, publishers, and booksellers there. Several suggestions which he made in the course of the next few years were adopted by the firm. However the idea of publishing English translations of Zola's works did not originate with him. As a journalist he had to keep himself informed respecting everything that occurred in Paris; and he was fairly familiar with what had been done, written, and said there over a long term of years, particularly as even in his school-days he had begun to assist his father as a newspaper correspondent. Thus he was already acquainted with the salient features of Zola's career, the novelist's long and arduous battle for mastery. He had not read all the Rougon-Macquart volumes then published, but he had followed the exponent of Naturalism in his various newspaper campaigns, and he had seen most of the plays based on his books. Again, he was the only member of his family who, at that time, had ever met the novelist. Not long after the Franco-German War Zola had been pointed out to him by an artist as "the man who had championed Manet"; and since then Vizetelly had seen and elbowed him on various occasions in places of public resort. But only once had there been any real conversation between them, in the presence of others, at the Théâtre des Folies-Bergère, with which Vizetelly had been for a time connected.[10]

It may be added that Vizetelly's life in France had inclined him to the outspokenness of the French, and that experience had shown him there was much rottenness in Parisian society. Thus he had no personal prejudice against Zola's writings, which contained, he knew, a vast amount of truth. But he also knew, likewise by experience, that whenever any horrible scandal arose in Paris, the English newspapers would only print a small portion of the truth, and he, as a correspondent, was thus often debarred from making a plain statement of facts of general interest, such as sometimes affected the moral status of men of very high position. Moreover, although Vizetelly had left England in his boyhood, and in subsequent years had only now and again spent a few days or weeks there (apart from one sojourn of about twelve months' duration), his own work, and the frequent perusal of English books and publications had kept him to a certain point in touch with his kinsfolk. And, so far as he could judge, English literature, like English journalism, was under the thumb of Mrs. Grundy. He had seen no sign indicating that Naturalism would even secure a hearing in England. When, therefore, in 1884, he suddenly heard that Vizetelly & Co. were about to produce "L'Assommoir" and "Nana" in an English dress, it seemed to him that the firm was taking an audacious course, and he did not hesitate to write and say so. He was answered, that, being resident abroad, he did not fully understand the position, and, as some difficulty had arisen with the translation of "L'Assommoir," he was asked to translate a small portion of it, some chapter towards the end of the book, which he did. That, for the time, was the extent of his share in the Zola translations.

The idea of publishing those translations originated, then, with Henry Vizetelly, unless, indeed, it was suggested to him by somebody else. In 1885 his son Ernest, on going to London, found the firm doing a large and increasing business. In addition to French and English writers, several Russian authors, Tolstoï, Dostoieffsky, and Lermontoff,—who were followed a little later by Gogol,—had been added to the firm's catalogue. A series of reprints of the old dramatists, the well-known "Mermaid Series," was being projected;[11] and the Zola translations, so far as they then went, were in wide demand. This surprised Ernest Vizetelly, whose anticipations had been so different. But he yielded to evidence, and even began to think that there was at last some prospect of English people dropping the hypocrisy which had clung to them so long and looking unpleasant facts in the face.

He returned to Paris, where he remained till 1887, when various reasons induced him to take up his residence in London. He had married some years previously, and though his wife was French he particularly desired that his children should retain his nationality. Moreover, he now had the offer of a great deal of work from his father, who was projecting various reprints of French eighteenth-century books, as well as expensive and sumptuous editions of "The Heptameron," "The Decameron," and the works of Rabelais. Some thousands of pounds were spent on those undertakings, but only the first-named eventually saw the light.[12] Arriving in London, Ernest Vizetelly became one of the readers and editors of his father's firm, but for one reason or another he still had little to do with the Zola translations. His father contemplating a new edition of the Gramont Memoirs, he revised the translation alleged to have been edited by Sir Walter Scott, and corrected some scores of errors which he found in it. For the rest, his time was largely spent in researches respecting the proposed version of "The Heptameron," of which he was editor.

Meanwhile Vizetelly & Co. were still issuing translations of modern French fiction, and Mr. George Moore, having occasion to go to Paris, spoke on the firm's behalf to Zola respecting "La Terre," which book the novelist was then preparing. An arrangement was made for the sale of the British rights to Vizetelly & Co., who then knew virtually nothing of the work, apart from the fact that it would deal with the French peasantry. Some time afterwards, however, Zola supplied a brief outline of his book in a letter which has been already quoted.[13] Then various delays ensued, several months elapsing before proofs of the earlier chapters were forwarded to Vizetelly & Co. Those proofs were handed to a translator with whom some difficulty arose, in such wise that they were transferred to another, and Ernest Vizetelly was requested to read and check the English proofs, a task which he occasionally undertook in connection with various translations. He was immediately struck by the boldness of Zola's story, which seemed to surpass in outspokenness any of the novelist's previous works. And at the very outset he deemed certain excisions and alterations advisable.

For instance, he found one of the characters, Hyacinthe Fouan, called by the nickname of "Jesus Christ," and afflicted with a nasty infirmity. The nickname did not particularly surprise him, for during the many years he had spent in Paris, he had known more than one young artist cultivating, notably as regards hair and beard, a resemblance to the traditional portraits of the Christ, and going by that nickname both in the studios and the cafés frequented by artists. It seemed to him quite possible that Zola had found it among the peasantry whom he described. But, however that might be, Vizetelly felt that the nickname would give offence to English readers, and so he did not hesitate to expunge it from the proofs submitted to him. He felt also, that although Hyacinthe's infirmity might be true to life, it would also give offence to people who no longer read Sterne, and who knew little or nothing of Rabelais. Accordingly expurgation again ensued.

But as successive instalments of the proofs reached Ernest Vizetelly, he found in them a good deal of matter, which in his opinion needed "toning" for the English reader. And he was confronted by a difficulty which pursued him subsequently when he himself translated some of Zola's works; that is to say, the French proofs arrived in sections, the translation was supplied in the same manner, and it was therefore difficult to determine what incidents and facts might be really essential, and how far expurgation might be carried without rendering the book unintelligible. Vizetelly spoke on the matter to one of his brothers, and ultimately he put the work on one side, deciding to wait for its completion. Considerable delay ensued in the publication of the translation. Meantime, towards the close of 1887, the original work appeared in Paris, and was virulently attacked by Zola's enemies; while a rumour, subsequently contradicted, spread to the effect that translations had been stopped in various countries. It therefore seemed advisable to proceed cautiously. Finally the matter was laid before Henry Vizetelly, the proofs of the English version were examined from beginning to end, and in conjunction with his son Ernest, he struck out or modified a very large number of passages, with the result that much of the work had to be reimposed. It may be said, then, that the translation as published was undoubtedly an expurgated one.

About this time, that is in March, 1888, Mr. W T. Stead, then editor of "The Pall Mall Gazette," who had made himself notorious some time previously by a series of articles on "The Maiden Tribute of Modern Babylon," applied to Vizetelly & Co. for some information respecting the sales of the various translations from the French, which the firm was publishing, and which certainly circulated widely and attracted great attention. When the matter was laid before Henry Vizetelly, his son Arthur, who took a large part in the management of the business, suggested that the request should not be entertained, for, said he, it was a very unusual one, and publishers were not in the habit of supplying the public with all sorts of particulars about their affairs. That, at the time in question, was quite true, but Henry Vizetelly, who saw no objection to the request, supplied Mr. Stead with an article in which he gave numerous particulars concerning the sales of his publications. The article, as the sequel showed, was somewhat injudiciously worded in various respects. For instance, it conveyed an impression that—unlike the crude and mangled American versions of Zola which were then in the market—the Vizetelly translations of that author were absolutely unmutilated. As a matter of fact, none of them was an exact replica of the original, all had been expurgated more or less, though care had invariably been taken to preserve the continuity of the narrative. Further, though Vizetelly had very good grounds for asserting that he reckoned it a bad week when the sale of the Zola translations fell below a thousand volumes, this statement, which seemed at first sight to indicate a very large circulation,[14] was again indiscreet, and was eagerly seized hold of and magnified by those who were already lying in wait to destroy him.

Of the inner workings of that conspiracy the writer might perhaps say a good deal, but for the purposes of this narrative, the facts which appeared on the surface are sufficient. A campaign was started, chiefly against Vizetelly & Co., and ostensibly for the purpose of protecting boys and girls, against what was called "pernicious literature." A society styling itself the "National Vigilance Association" eventually took the matter in hand. Its secretary, the person usually representing it in public, was a man named Coote; the agent for its publications was a Protestant fanatic named Kensit;[15] among those who gave it their countenance was W. T. Stead, then, as already mentioned, editor of "The Pall Mall Gazette." The publications of Kensit on "The High Church Confessional," and those of Stead on "The Maiden Tribute of Modern Babylon," would have seemed to indicate that both Kensit and Stead favoured the doctrine of outspokenness or publicity to which Zola gave effect in his novels, the doctrine which he summed up in the words, "Let all be set forth so that all may be healed." But although in the estimation of Kensit and Stead it was quite right that they should speak out, the idea of allowing Zola the same privilege was nonsense. He was Belial, whereas of them it might be said: "Mark the perfect men, and behold the upright." Thus they might circulate descriptions of vice,—even allow them, as in the case of "The Maiden Tribute," to be hawked about the streets in penny numbers[16]; but Zola must not picture vice in his books.

Among the members of the so-called "National Vigilance Association" were various parsons and priests who naturally abominated such an infidel as Zola, and some of whom subsequently traduced him freely. These might accept the outspokenness of a Stead, but, generally speaking, they represented the doctrine of reticence and secrecy as opposed to that of publicity. Theirs was the policy, pursued through the ages, of wrapping everything up, cloaking everything over, and they were lost in anger, horror, and amazement when they found a different course being pursued. They ignored Zola's position altogether, though for years he had been calling to them and those who resembled them: "You claim to reform the world, you preach and you prate; but although your endeavours may be honest you do little or no good. Evil exists on all sides, society is rotten at the core; but you merely cover up abominations, you even feign at times to ignore their existence, though they lie little below the surface and poison all around them. The system of reticence and concealment which you pursue is a profound mistake. It is one of the many consequences of that system that thousands of girls are cast every year into the arms of seducers, that thousands of young men kneel at the feet of harlots. Abortion is practised among the married as among the unmarried. Drunkenness is in your midst. Your prisons are full. Your gibbets and guillotines are always in use. Cheating and swindling are commonplaces of your every-day life. Well, I am resolved to tear the veil asunder, to set forth everything, to conceal nothing. I shall shock the world undoubtedly, but it is only by bringing things to light, by disgusting people with themselves and their surroundings, that there will be a possibility of remedying the many evils which prey on the community at large. Eighteen hundred years have elapsed since the carpenter of Nazareth walked the earth. You and your forerunners have had those eighteen hundred years at your disposal. What have you done in them? How much, or rather how little real good have you effected with all your organisations, your great authority, your exceeding wealth, your devotion, your piety, your talent, which at times has blossomed into genius? You have extirpated nothing whatever; your system has tended chiefly to the dissemination of hypocrisy and cant; you have failed egregiously; and to explain your failure you preach the ridiculous doctrine of the Fall, invented expressly to account for the impotency of priestcraft. I have nothing to say—as yet—on the subject of your belief in a future state, of your system of rewards or penalties after life, for good or evil conduct in the world, though it is one, half threat and half bribe, for which there should be no occasion. But I take human society as it is, and by exposing the errors of its ways I hope to set afoot, to encourage among practical reformers, a movement of social regeneration, which will perhaps achieve, in a few centuries, a happier result than you, even though appealing to the supernatural, have achieved in so many. And in any case I intend to try, whatever abuse you may shower on me, whatever mud you may fling at me, mud which will some day, perhaps, recoil upon yourselves."