Émile Zola, Novelist and Reformer: An Account of His Life & WorkVizetelly, Ernest Alfred
General
Émile Zola, Novelist and Reformer: An Account of His Life & Work
Vizetelly, Ernest Alfred
Zola, Émile, 1840-1902
The man who has lived with a Laurence--the creature who robs youth of
all its flame and degrades it to the mire--does not afterwards call her
his good fairy. But whatever the _liaison_, whatever its origin and its
ending, it was certainly marked by most distressful circumstances. As
the winter of 1861 approached, Zola's poverty became terrible. It was
then, as he afterwards told Guy de Maupassant,[7] that he lived for
days together on a little bread, which, in Provençal fashion, he dipped
in oil, that he set himself to catch sparrows from his window, roasting
them on a curtain rod; and that he "played the Arab," remaining indoors
for a week at a time, draped in a coverlet, because he had no garments
to wear. Not only did he himself starve, but the girl who shared his
poverty starved with him; and Paul Alexis and Maupassant and "Claude's
Confession" relate how, at one moment of desperation, on a bitter
winter evening, after an unbroken fast of thirty-six hours, he took off
his coat on the Place du Panthéon and bade his tearful companion carry
it to the pawnshop.
"It was freezing. I went home at the run, perspiring the while with
fear and anguish. Two days later my trousers followed my coat, and
I was bare. I wrapped myself in a blanket, covered myself as well as
possible, and took such exercise as I could in my room, to prevent my
limbs from stiffening. When anybody came to see me I jumped into bed,
pretending that I was indisposed."
Very little money can have been lent him on his few garments. He often
used to say in after-life that the only coat he possessed in that
year of misery ended by fading from black to a rusty green. Thus,
when he went hither and thither soliciting employment, he was very
badly received. "I gathered that people thought me too shabby. I was
told, too, that my handwriting was very bad; briefly, I was good for
nothing.... Good for nothing--that was the answer to my endeavours;
good for nothing--unless it were to suffer, to sob, to weep over my
youth and my heart. I had grown up dreaming of glory and fortune, I
awoke to find myself stranded in the mire."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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