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

1888-1893

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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