With Zola in England

Ernest Alfred Vizetelly
With Zola in England

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Title: With Zola in England
Author: Ernest Alfred Vizetelly
Release Date: January 10, 2004 [EBook #10670]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ASCII
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WITH
ZOLA IN ENGLAND ***

Produced by Dagny, and David Widger

WITH ZOLA IN ENGLAND
A STORY OF EXILE
TOLD BY
ERNEST ALFRED VIZETELLY

TO VIOLETTE AND TO VICTOR TO DORA AND TO BOTH
MARIES DEAR WIFE AND ROMPING DAUGHTER I LOVINGLY
INSCRIBE THIS LITTLE BOOK

He begged for Light! . . Lo, Darkness fell, And round him cast its
stifling pall! In vain he clamoured! Ev'ry Hell Poured forth its fumes to

drown his call.
He cried for Truth! . . Lo, Falsehood came, In robes of Impudence
array'd, Polluting Patriotism's name, Degrading Honour to a trade.
He asked for Justice! . . Lo, between Him and the judgment-seat there
rose The Sword of Menace, ever keen To smite the braggart
War-Wolf's foes!
Light, Truth, and Justice all denied, He struggled on 'mid threat and
blow-- A brave Voice battling by his side-- Till Error's minions struck
him low.
Yet is his faith not dead, nor mine: O'er deepest gloom, o'er worst
distress, Ever the mighty Sun doth shine Aglow with Truth and
Righteousness.
The blackest clouds are rent at last; And the divine resistless flame
Through all, some morn, its blaze shall cast, The Wrong disclose, the
Right proclaim!
E. A. V.
February 23, 1898.
[Printed in 'The Star' on the morrow of M. Zola's condemnation in
Paris]

PREFACE
All that I claim for this little book, reprinted from the columns of 'The
Evening News,' is the quality of frankness. I do not desire to check or
disarm criticism, but I have a right to point out that I have performed
my work rapidly and have largely subordinated certain literary
considerations to a desire to write my story naturally and simply, in
much the same way as I should have told it in conversation with a
friend. Very rarely, I think, have I departed from this rule.
The book supplies an accurate account of Emile Zola's exile in this
country; but some matters I have treated briefly because he himself
proposes to give the world--probably in diary form--some impressions
of his sojourn in England with a record of his feelings day by day
whilst the great campaign in favour of the unfortunate Alfred Dreyfus
was in progress.
First, however, M. Zola intends to collect in a volume all his published
declarations, articles and letters on the Affair. Secondly, he will recount
in another volume his trials at Paris and Versailles; and only in a third

volume will he be able to deal with his English experiences. The last
work can scarcely be ready before the end of 1900, and possibly it may
not appear until the following year. And this is one of the reasons
which have induced me to offer to all who are interested in the great
French writer this present narrative of mine. Should the master's
promised record duly appear, my own will sink into oblivion; but if, for
one or another reason, M. Zola is prevented from carrying out his plans,
here, then, will at least be found some account of one of the most
curious passages in his life. And then, perchance, my narrative may
attain to the rank of memoire pour servir.
I have said that I claim for my book the quality of frankness. In this
connection I may point out that I have made in it a full confession of
certain delinquencies which were forced on me by circumstances. I
trust, however, that my brother-journalists will forgive me if I
occasionally led them astray with regard to M. Zola's presence in
England; for I did so purely and simply in the interests of the illustrious
friend who had placed himself in my hands.
That M. Zola should have applied to me directly he arrived in London
will surprise none of those who are aware of the confidence he has for
several years reposed in me. A newspaper referring to our connection
recently called the great novelist 'my employer.' But there has never
been any question of employer or employed between Mr. Zola and me.
I should certainly never think of accepting remuneration for any little
service I might have been able to render him; nor would he dream of
hurting my feelings by offering it. No. The simple truth
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