The early days of Emile Edouard Charles Antoine Zola were sordid and unromantic.  He was born at Paris, on April 2, 1840, his father dying while the son was quite young, and leaving his family no legacy except a lawsuit against the municipality of the town of Aix.  And it was at Aix, which figures in many of his novels under the name of “Plassans,” that Zola received the first part of his education.  Later he went to Paris and Marseilles, but failed to get his degree.  A period of terrible poverty followed, Zola existing as best he might in a garret at Paris, and employing his hours in writing.  Towards the beginning of 1862 he obtained a position as clerk in a publishing house at a salary of a pound a week.  Two years after his first novel, “Contes a Ninon,” appeared.  The book was only moderately successful, but attracted sufficient attention to justify Zola in abandoning clerking, and taking seriously to literature.  There followed a long series of powerful and realistic studies of social life, each of unquestioned ability, but failing to win the popularity which was later accorded to Zola’s works.  The turning-point came in 1877 with the publication of “Drink” ("L’Assommoir").  Its success was extraordinary, and its author found himself the most widely-read writer in France.  The story belongs to the “realistic” school, and, although objections may be raised against its nauseating details, there is no mistaking its graphic power and truth to a certain phase of life.  Zola was accidentally suffocated by charcoal fumes on September 29, 1902.

I.—­The Lodgers of the Hotel Boncoeur

Gervaise had waited up for Lantier until two in the morning, exposed in a thin loose jacket to the night air at the window.  Then, chilled and drowsy, she had thrown herself across the bed, bathed in tears.  For a week he had not appeared till late, alleging that he had been in search of work.  This evening she thought she had seen him enter a dancing-hall opposite, and, five or six paces behind, little Adele, a burnisher.

Towards five o’clock Gervaise awoke, stiff and sore.  Seated on the edge of the bed, her eyes veiled in tears, she glanced round the wretched room, furnished with a chest of drawers, three chairs and a little greasy table on which stood a broken water-jug.  On the mantelpiece was a bundle of pawn tickets.  It was the best room of the lodging house, the Hotel Boncoeur, in the Boulevard de la Chapelle.

The two children were sleeping side by side.  Claude was eight years of age, while Etienne was only four.  The bedewed gaze of their mother rested upon them and she burst into a fresh fit of sobbing.  Then she returned to the window and searched the distant pavements with her eyes.

About eight Lantier returned.  He was a young fellow of twenty-six, a short, dark, and handsome Provencal.  He pushed her aside, and when she upbraided him, shook her violently, and then sent her out to pawn a few ragged, soiled garments.  When she returned with a five-franc-piece he slipped it into his pocket and lay down on the bed and appeared to fall asleep.  Reassured by his regular breathing, she gathered together a bundle of dirty clothes and went out to a wash-house near by.