The Life of Emile Zola Page #2

you made of her?

That's magnificent. And a pencil.

That's what I'll call my book.

- Have you everything you want, my dear?

- Yes.

Oh, I forgot. I want a copy of Nana.

One doesn't read such books.

It's not proper.

Madame.

Madame, your umbrella.

Thank you. And send me

a copy of Nana to my address.

I certainly will.

How about a nice new umbrella,

monsieur?

I can sell you a beauty for 2 franc, 50.

And lose the privilege

of arguing with my old friend?

No, thank you.

Umbrella! Umbrella!

- Is Monsieur Charpentier in?

- Yes. Jean?

- Yes?

- Monsieur Zola is here.

- Zola.

- Monsieur Charpentier, l...

I... Well, I have a favor to ask.

Monsieur Zola has a favor to ask.

And what is this favor, Monsieur Zola?

It's quite unusual...

...but could you advance me a few franc

on Nana? I'm sure it will sell, monsieur.

Monsieur Zola wishes the advance of a few

franc because he is sure Nana will sell.

Isn't that magnificent?

You write a book about the gutter,

you call it Nana...

...and you hope to make a little money.

Come with me.

I have just finished stamping

and addressing it to you.

Well, open it and read.

"Nana sells 36,000...

...the first three days..."?

"Enclosed find check..."

For 18,000 francs?

Yes, well...

Why, I can't believe it. It's...

Thank you.

Thank you very much. I don't know how

to thank you. Adieu. Goodbye.

Goodbye, monsieur.

Goodbye, madame.

- Monsieur?

- Yes, what is it?

Could you...? Could you still

let me have a few franc? In cash.

I'll pay you back tomorrow.

Thank you, monsieur.

Thank you very much.

Thank you, madame. Thank you.

- Umbrella!

- Yes, of course. I'll have a dozen.

I'll have two doz...

No, I'll have one. Here.

- There you are.

- Umbrella!

New umbrella! Umbrella!

- Where are they going?

- To Berlin.

- Berlin?

- Haven't you heard? War's been declared.

Isn't it glorious?

Those dreadful Prussians,

at the very gates of Paris.

There, there, Maman. Don't take on so.

We'll all be murdered in our beds.

It's disgraceful.

There's not a morsel of food

to be bought anywhere in the whole town.

Even the horseflesh has been sold out.

And the streets...

It's frightening, terrifying.

Never did I think I'd live to see France...

...groveling in the dust

under the Prussian heel.

- How will it end, Emile?

- How does it always end?

In misery, suffering,

in the blood of the people.

Those generals plunged us recklessly

into a war for which we were unprepared.

Is it any wonder that we were

disastrously defeated?

- Those are the fortunes of war.

- Those are indeed the fortunes of war.

The whole structure had to collapse

before we could learn the truth.

But France shall know why.

I shall name her betrayers.

She shall see who led her men

to the slaughter...

...who's responsible for her downfall.

"During the entire war of 1870...

...the execution of the campaign

was lame, impotent...

...and nullified by petty jealousies

among the generals...

...each of whom thought only of securing

a field marshal's baton for himself.

The army was governed by

dry rot and slow paralysis.

The general staff was mediocre,

of an ignorance past belief...

...rushing into the adventure

of war with the confusion...

...of a flock of sheep

being led to the shambles."

- Good morning.

- Good morning, sir.

What is it? You seem disturbed.

Have you read the attack on the general

staff in this book, The Downfall?

Book? Book? I never read books.

Who's it by?

A certain Emile Zola.

A civilian daring to criticize the army.

He wasn't exactly criticizing, sir.

I've read the book.

The war has been over for many years,

but I've gathered, as Zola says...

...there were times in that campaign

when our staffwork wasn't brilliant.

- What?

- We should admit our mistakes.

The army does not

make mistakes, Picquart...

...and it will not tolerate

civilian criticism.

I suggest that you see

the chief censor about this book.

Tell him the army demands

the punishment of this upstart.

Chief censor, over there.

- Monsieur.

- Mr. Zola...

...I sent for you because every book

you've written has caused trouble.

You attacked the Second Empire.

You attacked the Third Republic.

Germinal caused a furor and unrest

among the miners that lasted for years.

- Nana:
Brutal, disgusting.

- But true.

All of them stirring France

to restlessness, angry passion.

And now this Downfall,

attacking our army.

The army heads are furious.

Such a book makes the whole country

lose confidence and respect.

Lose confidence in inefficiency?

Lose respect for cowardice and stupidity?

- That would be a pity, monsieur.

- You'll write no more such books.

Except, perhaps, one about the rascality

of army-ridden politicians.

That's an idea.

To expose the government itself...

...with as much truth and accuracy

as I put into The Downfall.

- A book that would show...

- No, no. I mean...

...you're a reasonable man,

Monsieur Zola.

We only want to do

what we think is best for our country.

You will do what is best for yourself...

...by leaving me strictly alone

to write what I please, as I please.

Good day, monsieur.

That's the funniest thing I've...

It's good to be together again, Paul.

Just like old times.

Old times.

Oh, Paul, I want you to see the pearls

Emile bought for me when we were in Italy.

- Albert.

- Yes, monsieur?

Make certain that all the windows

are tightly shut.

- Emile, Emile. Still afraid of drafts.

- My chest, you know.

Oh, your chest is as strong as a barrel.

It always was.

Paul, I've always... You know, l...

I want to show you something.

Look at this priceless bit of woodcarving.

I picked it up at Lodi,

an extraordinary piece of craftsmanship.

And... Oh, now I have a real

rare treat for you.

I have something here that

you may have traveled the world over...

...and never have found its like.

This will simply leave you breathless.

This most exquisite majolica.

I chanced upon it in a little,

out-of-the-way shop in Venice.

The work on this...

- Won't you sit down, Paul?

- No, I must go.

- It's goodbye.

- Goodbye?

Yes. I'm going south,

back to the country.

You can't do that, man.

Why, Paris is the very center...

Paris isn't for me any longer.

Come, Paul.

We're old friends.

Out with it. What is it?

- You really want me to tell you?

- Why, of course.

You're wealthy now, world-famous...

...a member of the Legion of Honor.

You've come a long way from the days

when we starved together in an attic.

And you shouted:

"Burn the books of the hypocrites,

the shams...

...and let their lying pages

warm the bones of a man of truth."

Sometimes I'm tempted to give in

and paint for...

No, Emile.

An artist should remain poor.

Otherwise his talent, like his stomach,

grows fat and stuffy.

I am sorry, Emile, but I had to say it.

You're my oldest and my dearest friend.

- I couldn't go without telling you this.

- Paul.

Won't you stay?

I need someone to remind me

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