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 was not
proof against his reason, as again his reason was not proof
against his native faith. He preached a crusade against
romanticism, and fought a long fight with it, only to realize at
last that he was himself too romanticistic to succeed against it,
and heroically to own his defeat. The hosts of romanticism
swarmed back over him and his followers, and prevailed, as we see
them still prevailing. It was the error of the realists whom
Zola led, to suppose that people like truth in fiction better
than falsehood; they do not; they like falsehood best; and if
Zola had not been at heart a romanticist, he never would have
cherished his long delusion, he never could have deceived with
his vain hopes those whom he persuaded to be realistic, as he
himself did not succeed in being.

He wished to be a sort of historiographer writing the annals of a
family, and painting a period; but he was a poet, doing far more
than this, and contributing to creative literature as great works
of fiction as have been written in the epic form. He was a
paradox on every side but one, and that was the human side, which
he would himself have held far worthier than the literary side.
On the human side, the civic side, he was what he wished to be,
and not what any perversity of his elements made him. He heard
one of those calls to supreme duty, which from time to time
select one man and not another for the response which they