Pine Bluff daily graphic., 1895-06-16

ing Of this lesson he devoted his whole great series. He had no other end in view. That alone was the sermon which he wished to preach, and he preached it with terrible fidelity to the facts of life-the hard, immovable facts--which, while it won him the ad- miration and esteem of many, while it made him rich and made him powerful in some quarters, still called down on him the curses of thousands more, damned him in the minds of some of the greatest of the time as sensualist of the grossest type, and has so far shut him out of the French academy that haven of all havens in which the French literary man wishes to be permitted to cast his anchor before he dies. No one can accuse Zola of having done what he has done through low desire to pander to the tastes of certain public. He has never made vice attractive. Indeed, on the con trary, he has often sacrificed much in order that he might cling to his con victions. One may think what one likes of his convictions, but one cannot accuse him of being a time-server.
 Up to the time when he began the Rougon- -Macquart series his life had been horrible one. His father was an Italian, his mother Frenchwoman. Zola pere was interested in a canal. It is to this day called the Zola canal in provence, where the family lived at that time. It was during one of their flying grips to Paris on business con nected with it that the novelist was born. The father died, leaving his family with only bid lawsuit for 8 legacy. They removed to Paris perma nently in order to be better able to fight this lawsuit out. They lost At twenty the young man, who is now the great writer was, thrown absolutely on his own resources, and his resources were meagre indeed. He had been spoiled child Whatever his poverty oppressed mother could humor him in, she had humered him in. No youth was ever less fitted to battle with the
 world
 He made hard fight of it.
 "Often," he said to me, "I went hun gry for so long that It seemed as if 1 must die. l put forth superhuman efforts to secure meals of bread and cheese. I scarcely tasted meat from one months end to anothers. I lived two days on three apples once"
 Recently 1 was told by man who knows him well that he several times sustained life only by snaring sparrows on the window sill of his garret room and eating them.
 "oh, it was horrible!" Zola con tinued. Fire was undreamed of, even on the eoldest nights. If I could secure a candle by whose light could study after nightfall 1 considered myself the happiest man in Paris. But 1 rarely had cause for such joy. It seemed to me that it would never end. 1 re1nen- Der distinctly some of the tasks which necessity forced me to perform in order that I might escape starvation. One New Years day publisher to whom l had applied with letter of introduction for literary work said he could give me no writing to do, but that 1 might earn four francs by deliv- ering his New Years cards at the houses of his friends. I jumped at the chance, and that night l feasted. By and by the publisher gave me work as a clerk. Encouraged by this, 1 submit- ted q volume. of poems to him. He rejected them, but said there was some good in them, and asked me to write ehildren's story for him. did so. and he declared that it was revolu- tionary and impossible, throwing it he, l,,fp fplx
 ''But after that I=obtained newspaper work, and managed to get serial ac- cepted now and then by one of the daily journals. l earned about twenty five dollars week, and was eompara- lively comfortable until after had be- gun the Rougon Macquartseries.s Then met disaster again. had promised to furnish two of the novels each year. But, instead it took me q year and half to write one ran into debt, and sold out of house and home by bailiffs. This new money distress last ed perhaps two years. Then com trived to reach point beyond which poverty has not troubled me"
 Zola lives like prince now. His mansion on the Rue de Bruxelle is of imposing size and magnificent furnish ings. Where Sarah Bernhardt has lined her0 lower entrance way with skins and grotesques in copper, he has beautified his with wonderful marbles which he collected during his recent visit to Rome. Even the office of the concierge is fitted up with fine old prints and copies of rare journals. His dining room, his billiard-room, his drawing-room and his study are mar vels. The last is, of course, the most interesting of all the rooms, for it is there that he does the work for which the world waits with an anxiety which it vouchsafes, perhaps, to the writings of no other living author. EBEEs# E
 sZola writes seated in what might be almost called n throne "a chair elab- orately carved and so large that when the novelist sits in it he seems almost dwarfed His table is long. wide and massive. A fine tapestry covers it, and its elegance is incredibly neat. Zolas does not. work amid disorder, as so many writers do Even his notes are