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Tolstoy does； he surrounded himself with the graces and the
luxuries which his honestly earned money enabled him to buy； but
when an act of public and official atrocity disturbed the working
of his mind and revolted his nature； he could not rest again till
he had done his best to right it。
IV
The other day Zola died （by a casualty which one fancies he would
have liked to employ in a novel； if he had thought of it）； and
the man whom he had befriended at the risk of all he had in the
world； his property； his liberty； his life itself； came to his
funeral in disguise； risking again all that Zola had risked； to
pay the last honors to his incomparable benefactor。
It was not the first time that a French literary man had devoted
himself to the cause of the oppressed； and made it his personal
affair； his charge； his inalienable trust。 But Voltaire's
championship of the persecuted Protestant had not the measure of
Zola's championship of the persecuted Jew； though in both
instances the courage and the persistence of the vindicator
forced the reopening of the case and resulted in final justice。
It takes nothing from the heroism of Voltaire to recognize that
it was not so great as the heroism of Zola； and it takes nothing
from the heroism of Zola to recognize that it was effective in
the only country of Europe where such a case as that of Dreyfus
would have been reopened； where there was a public imagination
generous enough to conceive of undoing an act of immense public
cruelty。 At first this imagination was dormant； and the French
people conceived only of punishing the vindicator along with
victim； for daring to accuse their processes of injustice。
Outrage； violence； and the peril of death greeted Zola from his
fellow…citizens； and from the authorities ignominy； fine； and
prison。 But nothing silenced or deterred him； and； in the swift
course of moral adjustment characteristic of our time； an
innumerable multitude of those who were ready a few years ago to
rend him in pieces joined in paying tribute to the greatness of
his soul； at the grave which received his body already buried
under an avalanche of flowers。 The government has not been so
prompt as the mob； but with the history of France in mind；
remembering how official action has always responded to the
national impulses in behalf of humanity and justice； one cannot
believe that the representatives of the French people will long
remain behind the French people in offering reparation to the
memory of one of the greatest and most heroic of French citizens。
It is a pity for the government that it did not take part in the
obsequies of Zola； it would have been well for the army； which he
was falsely supposed to have defamed； to have been present to
testify of the real service and honor he had done it。 But； in
good time enough； the reparation will be official as well as
popular； and when the monument to Zola； which has already risen
in the hearts of his countrymen； shall embody itself in enduring
marble or perennial bronze； the army will be there to join in its
consecration。
V
There is no reason why criticism should affect an equal
hesitation。 Criticism no longer assumes to ascertain an author's
place in literature。 It is very well satisfied if it can say
something suggestive concerning the nature and quality of his
work； and it tries to say this with as little of the old air of
finality as it can manage to hide its poverty in。
After the words of M。 Chaumie at the funeral； 〃Zola's life work
was dominated by anxiety for sincerity and truth； an anxiety
inspired by his great feelings of pity and justice；〃 there seems
nothing left to do but to apply them to the examination of his
literary work。 They unlock the secret of his performance； if it
is any longer a secret； and they afford its justification in all
those respects where without them it could not be justified。 The
question of immorality has been set aside； and the indecency has
been admitted； but it remains for us to realize that anxiety for
sincerity and truth； springing from the sense of pity and
justice； makes indecency a condition of portraying human nature
so that it may look upon its image and be ashamed。
The moralist working imaginatively has always had to ask himself
how far he might go in illustration of his thesis； and he has not
hesitated； or if he has hesitated； he has not failed to go far
very far。 Defoe went far； Richardson went far； Ibsen has gone
far； Tolstoy has gone far； and if Zola went farther than any of
these； still he did not go so far as the immoralists have gone in
the portrayal of vicious things to allure where he wished to
repel。 There is really such a thing as high motive and such a
thing as low motive； though the processes are often so
bewilderingly alike in both cases。 The processes may confound
us； but there is no reason why we should be mistaken as to
motive； and as to Zola's motive I do not think M。 Chaumie was
mistaken。 As to his methods； they by no means always reflected
his intentions。 He fancied himself working like a scientist who
has collected a vast number of specimens； and is deducing
principles from them。 But the fact is； he was always working
like an artist； seizing every suggestion of experience and
observation； turning it to the utmost account； piecing it out by
his invention； building it up into a structure of fiction where
its origin was lost to all but himself； and often even to
himself。 He supposed that he was recording and classifying； but
he was creating and vivifying。 Within the bounds of his epical
scheme； which was always factitious； every person was so natural
that his characters seemed like the characters of biography
rather than of fiction。 One does not remember them as one
remembers the characters of most novelists。 They had their being
in a design which was meant to represent a state of things； to
enforce an opinion of certain conditions； but they themselves
were free agencies； bound by no allegiance to the general frame；
and not apparently acting in behalf of the author； but only from
their own individuality。 At the moment of reading； they make the
impression of an intense reality； and they remain real； but one
recalls them as one recalls the people read of in last weeks's or
last year's newspaper。 What Zola did was less to import science
and its methods into the region of fiction； than journalism and
its methods； but in this he had his will only so far as his
nature of artist would allow。 He was no more a journalist than
he was a scientist by nature； and； in spite of his intentions and
in spite of his methods； he was essentially imaginative and
involuntarily creative。
VI
To me his literary history is very pathetic。 He was bred if not
born in the worship of the romantic； but his native faith