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Latins； and the Italians are the first。 To his Italian origin
Zola owed not only the moralistic scope of his literary ambition；
but the depth and strength of his personal conscience； capable of
the austere puritanism which underlies the so…called immoralities
of his books； and incapable of the peculiar lubricity which we
call French； possibly to distinguish it from the lubricity of
other people rather than to declare it a thing solely French。 In
the face of all public and private corruptions； his soul is as
Piagnone as Savonarola's； and the vices of Arrabbiati； small and
great； are always his text； upon which he preaches virtue。
II
Zola is to me so vast a theme that I can only hope here to touch
his work at a point or two； leaving the proof of my sayings
mostly to the honesty of the reader。 It will not require so
great an effort of his honesty now； as it once would； to own that
Zola's books； though often indecent； are never immoral； but
always most terribly； most pitilessly moral。 I am not saying now
that they ought to be in every family library； or that they could
be edifyingly committed to the hands of boys and girls； one of
our first publishing houses is about to issue an edition even of
the Bible 〃with those passages omitted which are usually skipped
in reading aloud〃； and it is always a question how much young
people can be profitably allowed to know； how much they do know；
they alone can tell。 But as to the intention of Zola in his
books； I have no doubt of its righteousness。 His books may be；
and I suppose they often are； indecent； but they are not immoral；
they may disgust； but they will not deprave； only those already
rotten can scent corruption in them； and these； I think； may be
deceived by effluvia from within themselves。
It is to the glory of the French realists that they broke； one
and all； with the tradition of the French romanticists that vice
was or might be something graceful； something poetic； something
gay； brilliant； something superior almost； and at once boldly
presented it in its true figure； its spiritual and social and
physical squalor。 Beginning with Flaubert in his 〃Madame
Bovary；〃 and passing through the whole line of their studies in
morbid anatomy； as the 〃Germinie Lacerteux〃 of the Goncourts； as
the 〃Bel…Ami〃 of Maupassant； and as all the books of Zola； you
have portraits as veracious as those of the Russians； or those of
Defoe； whom； indeed； more than any other master； Zola has made me
think of in his frankness。 Through his epicality he is Defoe's
inferior； though much more than his equal in the range and
implication of his work。
A whole world seems to stir in each of his books； and； though it
is a world altogether bent for the time being upon one thing； as
the actual world never is； every individual in it seems alive and
true to the fact。 M。 Brunetiere says Zola's characters are not
true to the French fact； that his peasants； working…men；
citizens； soldiers are not French； whatever else they may be； but
this is merely M。 Brunetiere's word against Zola's word； and Zola
had as good opportunities of knowing French life as Mr。
Brunetiere； whose aesthetics； as he betrays them in his
instances； are of a flabbiness which does not impart conviction。
Word for word； I should take Zola's word as to the fact； not
because I have the means of affirming him more reliable； but
because I have rarely known the observant instinct of poets to
fail； and because I believe that every reader will find in
himself sufficient witness to the veracity of Zola's
characterizations。 These； if they are not true to the French
fact； are true to the human fact； and I should say that in these
the reality of Zola； unreal or ideal in his larger form； his
epicality； vitally resided。 His people live in the memory as
entirely as any people who have ever lived； and； however
devastating one's experience of them may be； it leaves no doubt
of their having been。
III
It is not much to say of a work of literary art that it will
survive as a record of the times it treats of； and I would not
claim high value for Zola's fiction because it is such a true
picture of the Second Empire in its decline； yet； beyond any
other books have the quality that alone makes novels historical。
That they include everything； that they do justice to all sides
and phases of the period； it would be fatuous to expect； and
ridiculous to demand。 It is not their epical character alone
that forbids this； it is the condition of every work of art；
which must choose its point of view； and include only the things
that fall within a certain scope。 One of Zola's polemical
delusions was to suppose that a fiction ought not to be
selective； and that his own fictions were not selective； but
portrayed the fact without choice and without limitation。 The
fact was that he was always choosing； and always limiting。 Even
a map chooses and limits； far more a picture。 Yet this delusion
of Zola's and its affirmation resulted in no end of
misunderstanding。 People said the noises of the streets； which
he supposed himself to have given with graphophonic fulness and
variety； were not music； and they were quite right。 Zola； as far
as his effects were voluntary； was not giving them music； he
openly loathed the sort of music they meant just as he openly
loathed art； and asked to be regarded as a man of science rather
than an artist。 Yet； at the end of the ends； he was an artist
and not a man of science。 His hand was perpetually selecting his
facts； and shaping them to one epical result； with an orchestral
accompaniment； which； though reporting the rudest noises of the
street； the vulgarest； the most offensive； was； in spite of him；
so reporting them that the result was harmony。
Zola was an artist； and one of the very greatest； but even before
and beyond that he was intensely a moralist； as only the
moralists of our true and noble time have been。 Not Tolstoy； not
Ibsen himself； has more profoundly and indignantly felt the
injustice of civilization； or more insistently shown the falsity
of its fundamental pretensions。 He did not make his books a
polemic for one cause or another； he was far too wise and sane
for that； but when he began to write them they became alive with
his sense of what was wrong and false and bad。 His tolerance is
less than Tolstoy's； because his resignation is not so great； it
is for the weak sinners and not for the strong； while Tolstoy's；
with that transcendent vision of his race； pierces the bounds
where the shows of strength and weakness cease and become of a
solidarity of error in which they are one。 But the ethics of his
work； like Tolstoy's； were always carrying over into his life。
He did not try to live poverty and privation and hard labor； as
Tolstoy does； he surrounded himself with the graces and the
luxuries which his hone