M. ZOLA'S "PARIS."

THIS is the last work in the trilogy,—Lourdes, Rome, Paris ; and the hero, if we can call him such, is the same young priest, Pierre Froment. He who has found Lourdes a lying mockery, and Rome a spiritual sepulchre, is now to survey the life of Paris, on which city in all its immensity and grandeur we discover him gazing at the opening of the story from the heights of Montmartre, where the new basilica of the Sacred Heart towers over the city. Pierre Froment is that saddest of all beings, an unbelieving priest. He thinks he sees a world dying all round him, a civilisation perishing because the basis on which it rested is giving way. M. Zola leaves us in no doubt as to what that basis is. It is Christianity which, in his view, is dying out of the world, and the death of the historical religion of Europe is felt in Paris most profoundly, because Paris is the real intellectual capital of the modern world, the seat of the highest intelli- • Paris. By Emile Zola. Translated by Ernest Alfred Vizetelly. London: Matto and Wiodna.

gence. In the chapel of St. Vincent de Paul in the great basilica, the Abbe Pierre Froment says his last mass in a state of anguish and moral despair :—

"If Luther were to come to France in our days he would end, forgotten and dying of hunger, on a. Batignolles fifth-floor. A schism cannot succeed among a people that no longer believes, that has ceased to take all interest in the Church, and set its hope elsewhere. And it was all Catholicism, in fact all Christianity, that would be swept away, for, apart from certain moral maxims, the Gospel no longer supplied a possible code for society. And this conviction increased Pierre's torment on the days when his cassock weighed more heavily on his shoulders, when he ended by feeling contempt for himself at thus celebrating the Divine mystery of the mass, which for him had become but the formula of a dead religion."

Here, then, is the leit-motif of the story, the passing out from the Church of a priest, eager, good, sincere, who no longer

believes in the doctrines of that Church, or apparently in the religions idea itself.

We may say generally that in this work M. Zola has endeavoured to present to his readers a gigantic contrast, to emphasise which he has drawn, with that power which characterises all his works, on all the varied aspects of the Parisian life of to-day. The contrast is between the conven- tional world, which he seems to think is exhaling its last stertorous breathings in wild gasps of agony, and the new world, which he hopes will take its place,—the world where justice will bear sway, where want will be unknown, and where every one will be happy. The former world is that of religion, the latter is that of science. The Church is dying, with all its long trail of institutions and ideas; the religion of science is dawning, and, over and over again throughout the story, the light which streams over Paris, as viewed from the heights of Montmartre, is glorified and typified as symbolic of the intellectual light which is about to break on Paris, and from Paris as a centre, is to irradiate the world. This contrast is effected by painting, on the one hand, everything which is vile and hideous in the life of Paris to-day, and placing it

side by side with the calm and useful life of the family and mim,age of Pierre's brother, Guillaume, all

based on naturalism, on science, on what the author calls "quiet atheism." In a sense, the story is ultra-

realistic, like a modern play which introduces a real railway-station or a fire-escape on the stage. With the alteration of a few names we might almost be reading a long series of newspaper cuttings treating of the Parisian episodes of the hour. We first visit the abodes of lea miserables, situated close to t}..43 basilica of the Sacred Heart,

to show how ineffectual is the work of charity on which the priests are engaged. And here we must say that, in spite of his anti-clericalism, M. Zola makes o1 his priests, here as elsewhere, loveable cLaracters. After seeing the poor starving and rotting in these rack-rented dens, we are taken to the splendid palace of Baron Duvillard, one of the kings of

finance, who is interested in the floating of the African Rail- ways, and who is charged by the Voix du, Peuple with having bribed several Senators and Deputies to get his scheme through. Here we meet many characters of the end-of-the-

century type,—the sly, ambitious Magistrate ; the young Deputy from Angouleme, fond of pleasure, with no con- science, one of the bribe-takers ; an old Legitimist General

who hates the Republic; and a young scion of an old aristocratic house with no money, and who must make or acquire it by marriage. This mansion is a centre of moral infamy. The Baron himself, besides being corrupter-general of the Chamber, is carrying on a liaison with the most notorious actress in Paris, and the fact is known to his wife and children. The wife is herself a Jewess born, who has professed to be converted, and who has been publicly baptised at the Madeleine. The son is a wasted, idle, anwmic "symbolist," for whom everything in life is exhausted, and who is at times in the train of a shady Princess at whose house almost obscene representations take place, and at times in the boudoirs of his own father's mistress.

The daughter is a passionate, and also partly deformed, creature, in love with the young aristocrat, who is, at the same time, loved by her own mother,—the terrible fact being known to the girl herself. No more painful, we might say hideous, scenes have ever been drawn, even by Zola, than those in

which these two shameless women fight over the possession of young Gerard de Quinsac. Ultimately the daughter

captures him, and there is a splendid marriage ceremony at the Madeleine, at which "tout Paris" is present, and the old French aristocracy and the parvenu Jewish wealth are united.

The scenes at the Chamber of Deputies when the question of the alleged bribery comes on are, of course, taken from the story of the Panama scandals. It is a fearful picture of fraud, lying, and treachery. The unscrupulous journalist, Sagnier, who has the Damocles sword hanging over the heads of the incriminated Deputies, and who every day emits more horrible discharges of moral filth over Paris, means to bring about a Ministerial crisis, and the vultures are all gathered for the prey. We see and hear the leading politicians, and are re- minded of the well-known names of which we read each day in the newspapers. The Premier is charged with having received 200,000 francs, the Minister of the Interior 80,000, and so on. What is to be done ? At the first debate the Ministry scrapes through by two votes, but it is certain that, it cannot survive many days. Monferrand, Minister of the Interior, determines to throw overboard his colleague the Premier—a pompous but honourable man—and to make the kind of speech which always takes with a popular assembly, and events play into his hands. In the first place, there are really no incriminating documents ; in the next place, Duvillard wants his mistress secured for a cast in Polyeuete at the Comedie Francaise, and Monferrand arranges this so as to get Duvillard to stand by him ; and in the third place, Monferrand has the good luck to unveil an Anarchist outrage and capture the author just in the nick of time. This outrage has been committed by a poor starving wretch known to the Abbe Froment's brother, and who has used for his purpose a tremendous explosive discovered by Guillaume Froment at his little workshop on the heights of Montmartre. The bomb is placed in the hall of the Duvillard mansion, and, as usual, the only person it kills is one who is innocent, a pretty little milliner who is coming to the mansion with a fashionable toilette for Madame Duvillard. The Anarchist wanders, starving and bleeding, all over Paris, and at length is caught, after a most exciting man-bunt, in the Bois de Boulogne. Monferrand thus covers himself with glory, and while the honest Premier is sacrificed, he, on the contrary, who is actually a taker of bribes, is entrusted with the formation of a new Ministry. No more scathing satire of the low intrigues of politicians has been drawn than this. The trial and execution of the Anarchist, which Att ract the demi-monde of Paris, are also portrayed with tremendous power. Meanwhile, Pierre, after suffering agonies of internal conflict, has left the Church, has gone to live with his brother, and has insensibly fallen in love with that brother's affianced wife, Marie, who loves him in return. Guillaume sees it, and it makes him wild with despair. Bat, for his brother's sake, he consents to it, and makes over his promised bride to Pierre. Guillaume, as we have said, has discovered a powerful explosive which he had intended to present to the French Government, so that it might be used against Germany, and so put an end to European war, and enable France to lead the world on to the new order in which science is to regenerate the race. But he has brooded over the wrongs and sufferings of men, has seen the low game of politics, has been rendered miserable by the execution of his Anarchist friend, and so has come to the conclusion that the French Government is tin, worthy of such a destiny. But there is another awful use to be made of this destroying agent. It is the Church which is the real foe, and that great basilica on the heights of Mont- martre looking down with insolence on free-thought Paris, is its symbol. Guillaume conceives the hideous idea of placing his powder in the vaults of the basilica, to which he has access through a sculptor employed there, and, on the occasion of a grand celebration attended by ten thousand pilgrims, of ex- ploding it at the moment of the elevation of the Host. He will himself be killed, but that is nothing ; the gigantic tragedy will so impress the imagination of the world, that it will hasten the day of liberation for mankind. The scene in the vault, when the mad hand of Guillaume is stayed by his brother Pierre, is the climax of the story. The brothers return home, and the family life is resumed, Pierre becoming a father, and at length we take leave of them when gazing on the great city of Paris in a golden glow, which is symbolised as foreshadowing the new radiance of glory which Paris is to shed over mankind.

Such is the briefest and most imperfect sketch of what

may be called a pamphlet on naturalism rather than a novel. By this we do not intend to imply that M. Zola has not produced a work of art, but rather that be has subordinated art to preaching. His gospel is tbe shallow one of mere naturalism as affording the key to life. The world, sickened with injustice and poverty, will, according to him, throw off the religious idea, which offers to men a problematical life beyond the grave, in order to make them content with a life of misery here, and will embrace a creed of " reason " which will lead to " life " and "joy." This is the point so insistently dwelt on, that Christianity is a social anodyne ; that it merely offers charity to the miserable, because it cannot eradicate their woes ; that it therefore props up the mass of corruption and injustice unveiled in the story ; that it is dying out from the belief of sincere men ; and that it is to be replaced by science, which is to create a new heaven and a new earth wherein will dwell righteousness. It is difficult to analyse the reasoning processes which arrive at such conclusions. How an intelligent man can suppose that religion is responsible for poverty is not easily explic- able. Does M. Zola suppose there was no poverty in the world before Christianity ? Does he know anything of the life of Pagan Rome or of Pagan Athens? In what way did Pagan naturalism solve the problem of life for those two greatest peoples of antiquity ? Poverty is due either to causes inherent in Nature, or to industrial processes, or to individual faults or misfortunes. On the first hypothesis, science can no more rid the world of what Proudhon called la misere than can religion. On the second hypothesis, this very science, so beneficent in the eyes of M. Zola, is itself the cause of much of the poverty, because industry is nothing more to-day than the application of science to production. On the third hypothesis, it turns out, after all, that the first assumption of religion, the need for change of character, is precisely the one thing needed. The race may make infinite discoveries, but without transformation of character, what is to prevent the Baron Duvillards from plundering the workers, what is to prevent increase of knowledge from being a curse to mankind? in what way, we might ask, can Christianity be rightly held responsible for the misery laid bare in these pages ? M. Zola him- self, through the months of some of his characters, hints that the French Revolution was " exploited " by the middle classes for their own benefit. But as the middle classes were Voltairean and non-Christian, one fails to per- ceive how their alleged fraud is to be debited to a religion which the Revolution openly repudiated. Nor does science solve a single one of the moral problems of life any more than it alters character. Suppose it is true that there is no here- after for man, as we are told ; what is gained ? Oh, we shall live for our happiness and for that of one another in this world, replies M. Zola. Shall we P Are we more likely to help a fellow-creature if we believe him to be a mere cunning mechanism, a passing breath, than if we really believe that he has an unending destiny, that he is the offspring of the divine ? But the individual will not need help, says M. Zola, for "justice" will be organised,—how, no hint is given. Will he not? Will, then, science make every one strong and able and honest and industrious and capable of creating wealth for himself? What is the last word of science on this point ? It is the pitiless doctrine of the struggle for existence and the survival of the fittest, with no word of mercy for the ill-con- trived mechanism which has been left in the race. While nobody will dispute that, for the race as a whole, i.e., for those who survive, the purposes of Nature are benevolent, it is impossible to deduce from science any gospel for the in- dividual, who is remorselessly stamped out. Again, is it true that the upward course of man has been achieved by naturalism, by ignoring the aspirations of the soul, and con- fining our gaze to "this bank and shoal of time " ? It is not true; human liberation has come from those who, as Words- worth has it, felt that they were greater than they knew. And what of any rational end of this toiling world ? From the point of view of M. Zola, the sole end is that some persons centuries ahead may enjoy for a brief moment some pleasures secured to them at the expense of those who live now. Is that a rational end ? How can it be said to be when by the inevitable processes of Nature those very happy people themselves will, just as soon as they attain to the satisfaction of the desires of the ego (which is M. Zola's miserable conception of justice), be wiped out as we are, and

the great globe be reduced to the silence of death ? "Reason," indeed ! There is more reason amid all the superstition of the most benighted priest of the Church detested by M. Zola than in this thin, vulgar, superficial creed of modern naturalism.