emile zola-第1节
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Emile Zola
by William Dean Howells
In these times of electrical movement; the sort of construction
in the moral world for which ages were once needed; takes place
almost simultaneously with the event to be adjusted in history;
and as true a perspective forms itself as any in the past。 A few
weeks after the death of a poet of such great epical imagination;
such great ethical force; as Emile Zola; we may see him as
clearly and judge him as fairly as posterity alone was formerly
supposed able to see and to judge the heroes that antedated it。
The present is always holding in solution the elements of the
future and the past; in fact; and whilst Zola still lived; in the
moments of his highest activity; the love and hate; the
intelligence and ignorance; of his motives and his work were as
evident; and were as accurately the measure of progressive and
retrogressive criticism; as they will be hereafter in any of the
literary periods to come。 There will never be criticism to
appreciate him more justly; to depreciate him more unjustly; than
that of his immediate contemporaries。 There will never be a day
when criticism will be of one mind about him; when he will no
longer be a question; and will have become a conclusion。
A conclusion is an accomplished fact; something finally ended;
something dead; and the extraordinary vitality of Zola; when he
was doing the things most characteristic of him; forbids the
notion of this in his case。 Like every man who embodies an
ideal; his individuality partook of what was imperishable in that
ideal。 Because he believed with his whole soul that fiction
should be the representation; and in no measure the
misrepresentation; of life; he will live as long as any history
of literature survives。 He will live as a question; a dispute;
an affair of inextinguishable debate; for the two principles of
the human mind; the love of the natural and the love of the
unnatural; the real and the unreal; the truthful and the
fanciful; are inalienable and indestructible。
I
Zola embodied his ideal inadequately; as every man who embodies
an ideal must。 His realism was his creed; which he tried to make
his deed; but; before his fight was ended; and almost before he
began to forebode it a losing fight; he began to feel and to say
(for to feel; with that most virtuous and voracious spirit;
implied saying) that he was too much a romanticist by birth and
tradition; to exemplify realism in his work。 He could not be all
to the cause he honored that other men weremen like Flaubert
and Maupassant; and Tourguenieff and Tolstoy; and Galdos and
Valdesbecause his intellectual youth had been nurtured on the
milk of romanticism at the breast of his mother…time。 He grew up
in the day when the great novelists and poets were romanticists;
and what he came to abhor he had first adored。 He was that
pathetic paradox; a prophet who cannot practise what he preaches;
who cannot build his doctrine into the edifice of a living faith。
Zola was none the less; but all the more; a poet in this。 He
conceived of reality poetically and always saw his human
documents; as he began early to call them; ranged in the form of
an epic poem。 He fell below the greatest of the Russians; to
whom alone he was inferior; in imagining that the affairs of men
group themselves strongly about a central interest to which they
constantly refer; and after whatever excursions definitely or
definitively return。 He was not willingly an epic poet; perhaps;
but he was an epic poet; nevertheless; and the imperfection of
his realism began with the perfection of his form。 Nature is
sometimes dramatic; though never on the hard and fast terms of
the theatre; but she is almost never epic; and Zola was always
epic。 One need only think over his books and his subjects to be
convinced of this: 〃L'Assommoir〃 and drunkenness; 〃Nana〃 and
harlotry; 〃Germinale〃 and strikes; 〃L'Argent〃 and money getting
and losing in all its branches; 〃Pot…Bouille〃 and the cruel
squalor of poverty; 〃La Terre〃 and the life of the peasant; 〃Le
Debacle〃 and the decay of imperialism。 The largest of these
schemes does not extend beyond the periphery described by the
centrifugal whirl of its central motive; and the least of the
Rougon…Macquart series is of the same epicality as the grandest。
Each is bound to a thesis; but reality is bound to no thesis。
You cannot say where it begins or where it leaves off; and it
will not allow you to say precisely what its meaning or argument
is。 For this reason; there are no such perfect pieces of realism
as the plays of Ibsen; which have all or each a thesis; but do
not hold themselves bound to prove it; or even fully to state it;
after these; for reality; come the novels of Tolstoy; which are
of a direction so profound because so patient of aberration and
exception。
We think of beauty as implicated in symmetry; but there are
distinctly two kinds of beauty: the symmetrical and the
unsymmetrical; the beauty of the temple and the beauty of the
tree。 Life is not more symmetrical than a tree; and the effort
of art to give it balance and proportion is to make it as false
in effect as a tree clipped and trained to a certain shape。 The
Russians and the Scandinavians alone seem to have risen to a
consciousness of this in their imaginative literature; though the
English have always unconsciously obeyed the law of our being in
their generally crude and involuntary formulations of it。 In the
northern masters there is no appearance of what M。 Ernest Dupuy
calls the joiner…work of the French fictionalists; and there is;
in the process; no joiner…work in Zola; but the final effect is
joiner…work。 It is a temple he builds; and not a tree he plants
and lets grow after he has planted the seed; and here he betrays
not only his French school but his Italian instinct。
In his form; Zola is classic; that is regular; symmetrical;
seeking the beauty of the temple rather than the beauty of the
tree。 If the fight in his day had been the earlier fight between
classicism and romanticism; instead of romanticism and realism;
his nature and tradition would have ranged him on the side of
classicism; though; as in the later event; his feeling might have
been romantic。 I think it has been the error of criticism not to
take due account of his Italian origin; or to recognize that he
was only half French; and that this half was his superficial
half。 At the bottom of his soul; though not perhaps at the
bottom of his heart; he was Italian; and of the great race which
in every science and every art seems to win the primacy when it
will。 The French; through the rhetoric of Napoleon III。; imposed
themselves on the imagination of the world as the representatives
of the Latin race; but they are the least and the last of the
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 super