everything that he planted would take root, the second of Musset's
verses would be: "But to-day we will give you even the Seine." But
it is not as bad as that. "La Débâcle" is a remarkable book,
notwithstanding all its faults, but the soldiers, who will read it,
will be defeated by those who in the night sing: "Glory, Glory,
Halleluia!"

I consider Zola's talent as a national misfortune, and I am glad that
his times are passing away, that even the most zealous pupils abandon
the master who stands alone more and more.

Will humanity remember him in literature? Will his fame pass? We
cannot affirm, but we can doubt! In the cycle of Rougon-Macquart there
are powerful volumes, as "Germinal" or "La Débâcle." But in general,
that which Zola's natural talent made for his immortality was spoiled
by a liking for dirty realism and his filthy language. Literature
cannot use such expressions of which even peasants are ashamed. The
real truth, if the question is about vicious people, can be attained
by other means, by probable reproduction of the state of their souls,
thoughts, deeds, finally by the run of their conversation, but not by
verbal quotation of their swearings and most horrid words. As in the
choice of pictures, so in the choice of expression, exist certain
measures, pointed at by reason and good taste. Zola overstepped it
to such a degree ("La Terre") to which nobody yet dared to approach.
Monsters are killed because they are monsters. A book which is the
cause of disgust must be abandoned. It is the natural order of
things. From old production as of universal literature survive the
forgetfulness of the rough productions, destined to excite laughter
(Aristophanes, Rabelais, etc.), or lascivious things, but written
with an elegance (Boccaccio). Not one book written in order to excite