If Zola had lived another year he would have dealt exhaustively with that subject of social justice,—equity between class and class, man and man. It was to have been treated in the last volume of his "Évangiles." Only two days before his death, on the eve of his return from Médan to Paris, he wrote to his publisher, M. Fasquelle, that on the following Monday morning he should begin to prepare that concluding work. He was unable to do so, for on the morning stated he died; and foul-minded bigots, on hearing of his intention, repeated with a sneer, "He was going to begin 'Justice'—well, justice has been done to him." But whatever vileness may have come from men who ever had the words "We are Christians" on the tip of their tongues or at the point of their pens, all those who are in any degree oppressed may well regret that the hand of death robbed them of a powerful statement of their rights.[2]
It would not appear that the flagellation of vice which one finds in the Rougon-Macquart novels has had any widespread effect in France, though it has undoubtedly done good in individual cases. From the general standpoint Paris shows little sign of improvement in some matters. The number of illegitimate births and the number of divorce cases remain extremely large. It may be said, however, that these point less to absolute immorality than to new conceptions of marriage and discontent with existing laws. With respect to the illegitimate births one finds the fathers of the children constantly recognising their paternity in the official declarations of birth, and thereby making themselves responsible for the upbringing of the little ones. The fact is that cohabitation without marriage seems to increase, while there is a falling off both in the number of marriages and in the cases of desertion following seduction.
As regards "L'Assommoir," respecting which the writer has often cordially re-echoed the opinion that it is one of the greatest temperance tracts ever written, one can only say that, like other books of Zola's, it has done good in individual instances, but has failed to stem the general passion for strong drink. The sobriety of the French nation was at one time almost proverbial, but there has been a great change in that matter since the War of 1870. The efforts of various kinds made to check the consumption of alcohol in Paris itself have in a measure proved successful, the average having been reduced during recent years from nine to seven quarts per annum per head of the population. But Normandy tells a terrible tale: At Caen the consumption is fifteen quarts per head, at Rouen it is over sixteen, at Havre it is seventeen, and at Cherbourg, eighteen. It is not surprising, therefore, to find that the depopulation of Normandy is proceeding apace, that the women, who are as much addicted to drink as the men, can seldom bear children, and that even when they become mothers they are unable to suckle their babes. Thus one of the sturdiest races of France is perishing, destroyed by cider and potato spirit. The very children often drink on their way to school, insanity flourishes, and immorality is widespread.[3]
But reforms are not accomplished in a day; and in many instances authors may write in vain, even as the clergy may preach, if legislation does not come to their aid. In some matters even legislation is futile, and then reform can only come gradually, as the result of example and knowledge. To improve the nation you must usually begin by improving the individual. If, then, Zola succeeded in his aims in individual cases—and the writer holds strongly that he did—he effected all that he could reasonably hope for. He did not stamp out vice in France. Neither has the State done so, nor has the Church, nor has any other powerful and wealthy organisation. Zola had only his brain and his pen, and with those weapons he did his best, according to his lights. He was all sincerity; hypocrisy was the thing he most detested. He fought the good fight. After setting forth the evil that was, he preached the cleanly and the fruitful life, brotherliness, equity, rectitude, and truthfulness. He desired the suppression of all noxious agents, and it was because he regarded the Roman Church as such that he assailed it so fiercely. Moreover, he did not share the delusion which imagines a heaven beyond the skies; he wished to set a heaven in this our planet. That was his ideal. He did not believe in resignation. He placed his faith in work and effort. He loved his Mother Earth, he pictured her beauties. He loved his fellowmen; in his harshest moments he sought their good only. The one error of his life showed how human he was. If he were ambitious it was that he might advocate the principles in which he believed, with more and more authority. In a dim and dolorous hour,
"when God himself seemed dumb
And all his arching skies were in eclipse,"
this abused and insulted novelist turned from his work and smote for truth and justice. Others shall decide whether he was a man of genius; suffice it for us that, all his life, he was a man of bravery. He feared none. If there was tragedy in his career, he knew how to bear it. He felt, he prophesied, the day would come when justice would be done to him. That day is hastening; and in whatever estimation his writings may be held hereafter, whether some survive, whether all sink into oblivion, his memory will assuredly abide for many generations, for the world does not willingly forget those who teach it courage,—the first, the foremost quality that life demands of man.
[1] As the result of constant exercise, his mind often worked with great rapidity in these matters, the various aspects of a case and its possibilities coming to him almost in a flash.
[2] Zola left behind him the libretto of a drame lyrique, "L'Enfant Roi," which M. Bruneau has since set to music, and which is to be performed at the Opéra Comique in Paris.
[3] In the autumn of 1902 the writer was a guest at one of the monthly dinners of the French Society of Anthropology. Several members had lately returned from Normandy where they had been making exhaustive inquiries into the subject referred to above. The consensus of opinion was that the drink curse had caused greater ravages in Normandy than in any other part of Europe.