Teaching the “Grandsons of Balzac” a Lesson: Henry James in the 1890'S
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Teaching the “Grandsons of Balzac” a Lesson: Henry James in the 1890’s Dennis F. Tredy Lyall H. Powers, in Henry James and the Naturalist Movement, dubs the period spanning from “The Art of Fiction” in 1884 to The Tragic Muse in 1890 Henry James’s “Naturalist Experiment”, and rightfully so (Powers 3). There is much evidence, in James’s own notebooks, that The Bostonians was influenced by Daudet’s L’Évangeliste, The Princess Casamassima by Turgeneff’s Virgin Soil, and The Tragic Muse by the narrative techniques of Maupassant (NB 47, Powers 91, NB 92), and Powers effectively shows how James adopted many of the main tenets of Zola and Goncourt’s doctrine throughout the period. Powers concludes with a line from Ezra Pound, who in 1935 pointed out that “all James would seem to be a corollary to one passage” in Goncourt’s 1879 preface to Les Frères Zemganno, which predicted that “a painter of talent” would one day apply “the cruel analyses” he and Zola “brought to the painting of the lowest of society” to “settings of education and distinction“ (Powers 179-180, Pound 269-270, Goncourt 55). However, if the epithet fits, it certainly does not apply to “all James”, as Pound put it. There is a world of difference between le roman expérimental à la Emile Zola of the 1880’s and the Jamesian experimental novel of the 1890’s, and analysis of James’s critical works on the “grandsons of Balzac” show an author critical of their teachings, striving in the late 1880’s and the 1890’s to distance himself from the movement, which is made apparent by his changing appellations for the young French school in reviews and letters: from “la jeune école sérieuse” to the “propagators” of ”the Parisian contagion“ (LC2 403, HJL3 33), from the “new votaries of realism“ to the “finished, besotted mandarins” of the Parisian “Empire” (LC2 1012, HJL3 265). Our emphasis will then be more on James’s break from the French Naturalist School than on his adherence to it, and we will discuss how the experimental novels of the late 1890’s are in many ways the conjoint product of a refutation of the main precepts of Naturalism, an affinity to the deviant methods of Maupassant in particular, and the hard-learned lessons of the London theater. It is of course difficult to separate stricture from laudation in James’s ambivalent comments on the Naturalist School during this period. James had far greater respect for the group’s dedication to the “serious” application of a “heroic system” (LC1 122) than for the doctrine itself. When commenting on their theoretic discours d’escorte, James asserts that the saving grace of the French Naturalist is that his doctrine, “so jejune if taken literally, is fruitful as in practice he romantically departs from it,” that Zola “reasons less powerfully than he represents” and that Maupassant and even Flaubert were far better “story-tellers” than “philosophers” (LC2 1248, LC1 58, LC2 522). James had particular appreciation for those who deviated from the doctrine, who were card-carrying members but dissidents in practice, who were both inside and outside the circle. Hence his appreciation, though qualified, of Maupassant’s “illusionism”, Turgenev’s “surnaturalism” and what James saw as Daudet’s “poetic realism” (LC2 230). Contributing to this ambivalence is the non-negligible fact that during this period of Jamesian transition the sons and grandsons of Balzac were dying off (Turgenev in 1883, Taine and Maupassant in 1893, Goncourt and Daudet in 1896 and 1897), creating Jamesian reviews that carefully counterpoised harsh criticism with eulogistic praise, and that left Zola alone to bear the full brunt of James’s critical pen. Perhaps the best way to get a sense of how James himself deviated from the Naturalist group is to piece together comments made on their work and method in his reviews of the period, in order to see just how different from his own James felt their standards of literary construction to be, as a basis of comparison with what Sara Blair has called James’s “master trope”, the oft-cited Jamesian “house of fiction” (Blair 59). One of the most frequent and most disdainful remarks concerning the French constructions was of course the lack of taste, “the most human faculty we possess” (LC2 868), that went into the choice of materials and the overall uncleanliness of the finished product, its “need for disinfectants and deodorizers” (LC2 862). If, as James says in an 1883 article on Daudet, the term modernity is a “barbarous substantive” (LC2 229), he seems to feel that the “modern effort” of the Naturalists was by and large the promotion of “substantive barbarism”, in which the French “house of fiction” was too often an overblown but run-down tenement and “nature” too exclusively “a combination of a cesspool and the house of prostitution” (LC2 866). For James, their building plans did not call for a “sense of beauty,” revealing instead their penchant for the sense of “the strange and the grotesque” (Flaubert), of the “warped and perverted” (Goncourt) and of “the ugly and the unclean” (Zola) (LC2 231). As vehement as these reproaches were, James himself would have had to admit that these are more differences in aesthetic preference and choice of building site than actual Tredy, Dennis F.. “Teaching the ‘Grandsons of Balzac’ a Lesson: Henry James in the 1890’s.” EREA 2.1 (printemps x 2004): x-xv.<www.e-rea.org> defects of construction. They are however related to a main design flaw that James refers to quite frequently, that of a lack of windows in their house of fiction. In 1888, James reminded the Naturalists that the question is always “how many windows are opened, how many little holes are pierced, into the consciousness of the artist” (LC2 414). For James, all but Daudet lacked a window on “humor” and “wit” (LC2 869-870), all lacked a window on “the private soul” (LC2 255), and only Turgeneff consistently left a door open to the “great back yard” of the imagination (LC1 1012). Even Maupassant, despite his pervasive command of the human senses, was said to forego an aperture on “the reflexive part” of the his characters” consciousness (LC2 547), and he too had a window towards morality and “higher motives” that presented “a perfectly dead wall” (LC2 531). James gives us the result of such oversights in 1888: “We end with the sensation of a closed room, of a want of ventilation; we long to open a window or two and let in the air of the world.” (LC2 413). There were of course other “defects” that James noted during his assessments. Zola especially, and others when they emulated him, was guilty of a “defect” in his “sense of proportion” (LC2 881). The “heavy completeness” of his attempts to mirror what he saw as “Nature” in its entirety resulted in “strong, complicated scaffolding” for a “house whose foundations refuse to bear it” and which, unlike la cathédrale balzacienne that so inspired it, “topples over” under its own weight (LC2 876). However, the most damning of James’s “constructive criticism”, as it were, was that the “grandsons of Balzac” all endeavored to build their houses of fiction from the outside. Thus, Zola set up his massive subject “wholly from the outside, proposing [...] to get into [...] its depths as he went” (LC2 876). He describes Flaubert as a “sentinel” or “statue” listening to the world from “the outer court” of his château-fort but never pressing his ear to “the chamber of the soul” (LC2 313), and at such a distance from his depicted world that he seemed to paint it with a “brush twenty feet long” (LC2 256). In terms of characterization, James makes similar comments on Daudet, on Turgenev, and on Maupassant, who he claims displays a “bird’s-eye-view contempt” for the ugliness of his characters” world (LC2 248, LC1 1022, LC2 527). James’s literary construction of course calls for the building of a house of fiction from the inside out, around a human subject and an artistic consciousness, with innumerable windows looking out on the human scene (LC2 1075). This Naturalist tendency can be traced back to the movement’s origins in the 1860’s, when Taine put forth his famous theory on the trinity of la race, le milieu et le moment, which even then James noted as being inadequate for the “various complications” of the “human organism” (LC2 829). Taine went on to preach for the complete study of the “external man” as the avenue by which one reaches the true essence of the “internal man” (Taine ix), which was picked up by Zola in his call to analyze the “physiological man” and leave the obsolete “metaphysical man” behind (Œuvres X 1203). What James realized was that the long-standing French “scientific method”—from Balzac’s equating the human kingdom to the animal kingdom so as to sort it into phyla, to Zola’s call to be “anatomists” studying the “human cadaver” in literature as Claude Bernard had done in medicine (Œuvres XI 99), as well as his call to “classify” the vast world of “human documents” (Œuvres X 1316)—inevitably meant the dehumanization and the de facto reification of the human element in fiction. Hence James in his reviews refers to Naturalist characterization as the presentation of creatures that “can’t for an instant stand on their legs”, of “mechanical dolls” tossed away once they have been used, of “puppets” on strings and as “contemptible” human “furniture” cluttering their houses of fiction (LC2 870, 224, 531, 536).