M. Zola left England on Monday. The newspaper reporters, of
course, swarmed round him like flies to get his impressions of London. Apparently, the chief thing that struck him was that there exists in London a magnificent field for the realistic novelist,—a virgin dunghill into which no one has yet taken the trouble to put a pitchfork. " From what I know of your litera ture," said M. Zola, "it seems to me that a gigantic human document has been willingly neglected in neglecting London in the novel ;" and he went on to regret the English unwilling- ness "to touch social cancers." M. Zola, however, tried to set a good example, and visited with interest the scene of the "Jack the Ripper" murders. M. Zola showed real discern- ment in fixing upon the Thames as the true genius —or, as he characteristically preferred to call it, "the stomach of London." Unquestionably, that groat " street of ships," with its " Cyclopean " bridges, to which M. Zola was always harking back, is one of the most impressive things the world has to show. Though M. Zola hardly feels suffi- ciently document6 as yet to write about London, he may possibly return and live in a quiet hotel, and take notes at. leisure. When Paris hears of M. Zola's reception, it will be more convinced than ever that we are the strangest and least logical people on earth. We imprison the translator of "Nana," and treat the author as if he were one of the bene- factors of the human species.
Previous page
