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COPYRIGHT,
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BY O. M. DUNHAVL
Al RiZrglks Reserved.


THE MERSHON COMPANY PRESS,
RAHWAY, N. J.




INTRODUCTION.
SHE genius of Gustave Dord is one of the marvels of nineteenth century
art. The whole range of pagan and Christian pictorial achievement
offers no more brilliant series of creations than that which issued from
the inspired brain and sympathetic heart of this great Frenchman.
His colossal imagination, his magnificent apprehension of all possible
conditions of human experience, his lofty insight into the mysteries of
spiritual existence as reflected from earthly actualities, entitle him to be
classed among the great creative geniuses of all time. Who that has ever
turned the pages of his " Dante," his " Bible," or his " Paradise Lost," can
doubt that Dore had it in him to become one of the great decorative
painters of the world? What could be more splendidly spectacular than
S- \Dante's " Vision of the Empyrean" with its mystical luminous circles resolvy ing themselves into the shining forms of celestial beings, or "The Angels in
the Planet Mercury " with its rhythmical processional movement and its effect
of supernal light flooding the lovely shapes that advance on the wings of the
clouds? Where shall we find a more dramatic effect of composition than in " Satan
in Council" (" Paradise Lost"), in which the dark foreground groups of demons form such
admirable combinations of line and are so powerfully contrasted with the masses of light
that centre about the throne of Lucifer? Such scenes as these, enlarged and painted
on walls, instead of being depicted within the limits of dimension demanded by bookillustration, would have made of Dore a decorative master whose creations might have
been called sublime. How superbly decorative is his use of light and shade! It is to his
wonderful instinct of contrast that many of his finest compositions owe their value. This
pictorial sense, expressed in opposition of light and shade, is especially strong in the
" Paradise Lost" and the " Dante." The principle of evil is embodied in darks, the external
conditions of heaven are presented in lights. It is as though the man's nature had been
thoroughly imbued with the allegorical, as well as the artistic, significance of nature's
great resolvent, tone. Dord was a great master of light and shade, and it is to the
intellectual, literary and poetic quality revealed by careful study of his arrangements of
chiaroscuro, that we may trace the strong popular affection inspired by his compositions.
Dor6's enemies have denied his right to be considered a great painter on the ground


that he knew nothing of color.  Surely, no man was ever more familiar with the
subtleties of color that form the gamut of tones and semitones between black and
white, or handled them with greater skill and delicacy.




IN TROD UC TIOAT.


The rarest quality in the modern aesthetic system  is imagination.  It is the
fashion to-day to sneer at the creative faculty as it. existed in earlier phases of art.
Among artists of the modern school, especially in France, literary art, that is, creative
and imaginative art, is regarded as naive, rustic, crude. It was among painters of this
class that Dora found his worst enemies. But the people loved him-the people of
France and the people of England. He told them world-old tales in a new, sweet,
brilliant way, adorning them  with the beauty and glamour of his genius.  Art that
appeals to the heart, the intellect, the love of humanity, and the aspiration of the
human soul towards grand ideals, is the art that outlasts change and fashion, death
and decay; and this was the art of Gustave Dore. In his lighter moods, as in those
more serious, he shows in even the smallest details of creation the universality of
genius.  There is something that reminds one of Goethe in the many-sidedness of
Dore's productive faculties.  The quality of sympathy, which is the attribute only of
the rarest creative natures, made of him a German mystic at one moment, a gay Gaulois
the next. It was doubtless to Dore's Alsatian ancestry, birth and early education, that
was due this union of French and German temperamental characteristics. The architecture of Strasburg, the landscape of Alsace, the German folk-lore of nurses and
peasants, were the formative artistic influences of his youth. Then came Paris, with its
thousand hints and suggestions reacting on the eager young mind and stimulating it to
constant exertion. Travel in foreign countries completed the cycle of experience that
made Dore the great master of human souls that he was. He was not only a creator
in the highest sense, but he was an interpreter, of a kind rare in the world's history.
He acted as a link between the humanity of books and history and the humanity of
every-day life-of the London streets and the Paris cafes.
The German side of Dore's nature is most strongly felt in his interpretation of
the Bible, of Paradise Lost, and of, Dante. A profound reverence for Scripture, historically and spiritually, pervades his representations of old Hebrew life and the less remote
episodes of the New Testament. That Dore was half a German mystic, that the mantle
of Jacob Boehme and Novalis had somehow fallen upon him, is fully attested by some
of the drawings for the Dante, especially those in a light key, representing scenes in
heaven or in purgatory.   The delicate spirituality of many of these compositions
places them  on a high plane of inspiration. The symbolism  of form in the representations of heaven is employed in a. poetic and graceful manner.    Dor6's conception of heaven is that of a seer, a mystic, a poet and an artist, all in one.
He shows us the dim twilight loveliness of a purgatory for those who have suffered more than they have sinned. It is but our own earth attuned to sorrow and
the patience that is not without hope. Again, we are shown the stern and solemn
purgatory where are freed   from  evil the souls of those who have, sinned on
earth but are not past redemption. Lower still, in the scale of tone, lie the frightful scenes of the Inferno.  But in the Paradiso, the triumph of the blessed is
expressed by the joyous and exultant light which glows, strong    and white and
tender, like the shining of a thousand eternal suns. The radiance and glory of this


heavenly light that bathes the master's images of paradise has in it something of the




INTR OD UC TION.


mystic quality of revelation.  Now and then dreams are vouchsafed to us in which
the gates of heaven open wide to our eager vision and the wonderful peace and
joy of the celestial country fill our hearts. We have all known experiences of
this kind, and we find the reflection, nay more, the realization of them, in Dor6's
interpretation of Dante's " Paradise."
In the grand and stately compositions that illustrate "Paradise Lost," a fascinating world of primeval spiritual legend is revealed to the spectator. The movement of this series of drawings is extremely dramatic. They have more of the quality
of heroic action combined with a martial effect of ensemble than any of Dors's compositions. The flight of the fallen angels, in military precision, the battles of fiends and
good spirits, the sullen groups cf demons and the magnificent suggestions of infinite
space which form backgrounds for the unholy but sublime struggles of Lucifer and his
followers, are themes treated with the utmost knowledge and sense of artistic value. In
Dord's hands " Paradise Lost" becomes a superb representation of celestial warfare. The
landscapes in this set of drawings are among the best the artist ever gave to the
world.  Dor6's feeling for landscape is as sympathetic as his insight into human and
spiritual conditions is profound. The impressions he gathered in his boyhood among
the Alsatian mountains remained with him all his life and were reproduced in his drawings,
together with the landscapes through which he travelled in after years.  The human
relations of the natural world were especially considered in his work.  In "Paradise
Lost" the landscapes are sublime, terrible, awful-worthy settings for the actions of the
personages in the supernatural drama.  Nothing more beautiful can be imagined than
the celestial landscapes of the " Paradise," not only in sentiment, but in form. One of
the best illustrations of Dor6's magical power of investing landscapes with animal or
human attributes is the drawing showing the meeting of the girl-warrior Mitaine
with the horrid skeleton monster that leans over the ruined wall and proves to be
a weatherworn tree. The expressiveness of the gnarled figure, its sense of movement
and its air of frightful malice are admirable. Dord's imagination is most at home with
dark and gloomy phases of nature.     He loves storm-clouds, masses of dark rock,
towering cliffs, trees blasted by lightning, and forests that the foot of man has never
trod. He gives not only the body of the landscape but its inmost soul. One can almost
hear the wind whistling along the rocky wastes and treeless deserts, moaning as if with
human despair. The grotesque forms of gnarled trees are in Dor6's hands woven into
types of distorted stormbeaten lives. Like all great imaginative minds, Dord stimulates
and rouses the fancy of the student of his drawings. Every fresh glance reveals new
depths of thought. At first, one admires the brilliant and suggestive effect of light and
shade.  Then, one's love of the beautiful and the harmonious is appealed to by the
remarkable arrangement of form which is found in all Dord's compositions, especially
in those illustrating epic subjects. The drawings never appear crowded, and yet they
contain many different elements of form which in the hands of a man less master of
his art than Dor6, would be irreconcileable.  It is this quality of completeness and
unity that makes each of his drawings a sort of artistic microcosm.


Dord is as great in the elegant comedy of art as he is on its epic side. Here




INTR OD UC TION.


the Gallic element of his dual nature appears in all its brilliant effervescence. His
illustrations of Don Quixote, of Rabelais, of the Fables of La Fontaine, and of the
pretty story of Croquemitaine, would have entitled him to the name of the foremost
worker in black and white of his time, even had he never given to the world the more
ambitious compositions of the Paradise Lost and the Dante. Dor6's superb skill as a
draughtsman is more clearly revealed by his lighter illustrations than by the serious
compositions. In the former he often dispenses with the use of those strong contrasts
of light and shade which are so dramatically employed in the epic drawings.    In
many cases he depends entirely upon the use of line. Modern draughtsmanship has
nothing to show that is simpler, purer, and more direct in method than the line-work
of Gustave Dor6.   He was an admirable craftsman as well as a great imaginative
genius. There is a strain of impressionism in his.line-drawings. They are bolder, freer
and broader than those conceived in masses. Very firm is the touch, very exact the
indication of outline, marvellously expressive even the smallest quirk of the pencil. In
the Rabelais drawings the Gaulois spirit riots through the grotesque, gigantic shapes
conjured from Dor6's brain, with the great laugh of Gargantua audible on every page
to the imaginative lover and student of the Meudon priest's glorious jests. He makes
of the famous allegory a fairy-tale on a colossal scale which delights young and old
according to what they glean from it. There is something supernatural and unearthly,
something that belongs to the realm of the unseen, in the grouping of the gigantic
forms and in their realistic representation as monsters of flesh and blood. The fascination of the Rabelais drawings is repeated in the Don Quixote series. Dor6 possessed
the divine gift of humor, but he also owned the diviner one of pathos. His comprehension of the type of knight-errantry presented by the gallant old Don has in it
the true ring of genius.   He appreciated not only the grotesque and humorous
possibilities of the character of the immortal Spaniard, but he realized the tenderness,
the love of humanity, the sacrifice of self, and the sublime devotion to an ideal,
which were hidden behind the pranks which seemed like insanity to the mob of
louts that followed the knight of La Mancha in his wanderings.
Dor6 presents to the lovers of his drawings a splendid phantasmagoria of
shapes that never were on sea or land, and yet are intensely real, warm and vital.
Don Quixote is flesh and blood no less than the ghost of dead chivalry.      The
atmosphere of weirdness and romance in which Dor6 shrouds his characters lends a
double charm to the adventures of the Spanish knight.
Scarcely inferior to his conceptions of humanity are his clever embodiments
of human characteristics in animal form. He is keenly in sympathy with the innocent
fourfooted inhabitants of woodland and meadow, and he places them before us in
all their delicate mischievousness and airy vivacity. To the modern complex comprehension of nature in all her phases Dor6 adds an intuitive, instinctive, sympathetic
grasp of the soul of cosmic forces which suggests the elder world of art rather than
our latter-day expression of the ideal.
CHARLOTTE ADAMS.




MEMOIR OF GUSTAVE DOREt.
SF the life of Gustave Dord there is not much to relate. The
great French artisr has not yet accumulated about him those
incrustations of anecdote and reminiscence which grow round
~.  ~      the name and fame of men whose working life dates backward
~f  97~   half a century or so.  His career resolves itself, for the most
part, into a list of art-productions of singular variety and
extraordinary power; and in recording these we give the liveliest
idea possible of the brilliant genius recently so popular both in
Europe and America.
PAUL GUSTAVE DoRt~(for such were hi's full names) was born on the 6th of
January, 1832, at Strasburg. His father was an engineer, and, judging by his
name, seems to have been of pure French stock; but Strasburg is to a great
extent a German town, and indeed the whole of Alsace, in which it is situated,
has more of the Teutonic than the Gallic element. This eastern province was
ceded to France by Austria at various periods of the seventeenth century, but in
1871 again became a part of Germany. Its German character is evinced in the
names of its towns, in the patronymics of many of its inhabitants, and in the
dialect spoken by the humbler orders. At Strasburg the Protestants are numerous,
and statues of German celebrities are found in the churches, squares, and public
buildings. Whether the touch of German wildness in the genius of Dorcd was to
be attributed to his birthplace, might be a curious subject for discussion; blut
as remarked elsewhere, his characteristics were mainly French.
That which probably exercised a much greater influence on the youthful mind
days.  Stasur  tslfi9 (r-tlestws, efreth      bmbrdet 12of11Is1870)a




MEMOIR OF GUSTA VE DORE.8


fortifications, planned and carried out by Vauban. Other towns in the sa-me
region--until a recent date, the French Departments of the Haut-Rhin and Bas.'
Rhin-have also various features of a striking character, and the country is in
many parts extremely charming.  Alsace (called by the Germans Elsass) is
bounded on the west by the Vosges mountains-rugged eminences, thickly
wooded, and breaking out here and there into precipitous rocks of sandstone, lime-.
stone, and marl. The valleys lying among the folds of these mountains are
distinguished for their pastoral loveliness, while on the peaks that surround them
the snow lies unmelted until the middle of the summer, feeding the numerous
streams which course down the sides of the Vosges, and ultimately find their way
into the Rhine. The valley of the Rhine is a large tract of country, of great
interest and beauty; and all about lie famous old battle-fields, which in our own
times have again come into notice as scenes of mortal conflict. A country such as
this was sure to affect the imagination of a boy like Dord. France is not generally a
picturesque land, but the Vosges mountains and valleys fully merit that appellation.
At a very early period of life, Gustave Dor6 began to draw. Like our own
George Cruikshank, he was fond, while yet a mere child, of making sketches on
pieces of paper, and it is said that he could draw with facility before he was eight
years old. He was excited to emulation by some of Grandville's pictorial satires,
wherein human life is caricatured by assimilating it to certain types in the lower
orders of animals. Young Dord produced some sketches of the same description;
and Grandville, to whom they were shown, was so delighted that he prophesied
the future greatness of the boy, and strongly advised the parents not to
oppose his natural inclinations, which they appear to have felt rather inclined to
do.  Grandville also gave Gustave occasional instruction in the principles of
his art, and encouraged his tentative efforts by sympathy and kindness. Some
time after this, the elder M. Dora was appointed chief engineer in the department
of the Ain, and Gustave was sent to be educated at the College of Bourg* Here


capital-not so brilliant then, indeed, as in more recent times, yet full of attraction




MEMOIR OF GUSTAVE DORA.


for a provincial boy--that he at once vowed he would remain there. Very shortly
an incident occurred which helped to fix his career. A certain print-shop in the
Place de la Bourse was kept by one M. Philippon. Great numbers of caricatures
-varied from time to time, as the events of the day suggested-were exhibited in
the window, and at these young Dore gazed with the utmost admiration. He
thought he should like to do the same kind of work himself, and, running home,
he rapidly sketched a caricature, returned with that and some other drawings to
the shop, and asked to see the publisher. Philippon was both a good-natured
man and a good man of business. He looked over the sketches, talked kindly to
the boy, sought out his father, and added his exhortations to those of Grandville,
that the youth should be made an artist.*
In consequence of this advice, Gustave was left by his parents in Paris
to do as he pleased, with the stipulation that he should attend the Lycde
for the completion of his education.  Meanwhile, Philippon accepted a great
many of the boy's drawings; and when the publisher started his well-known.yournal tbour Rire, Gustave, though still a student at the Lyc&e, was
engaged on it. He left college in 1850; and during the three years that he
had been there he produced a very large body of designs. In 1853 his composi-'
tions, dating from 1847, amounted to more than a thousand; at a later period
they were said to be more than twenty thousand. Shortly after leaving the
Lycde, Dor6 was strongly urged by his friends to study painting, and not
-throw away his genius on frivolous and ephemeral work. This he was very
willing to do; but want of means for a time thwarted his ambition, and
kept him to the daily drudgery of producing inferior sketches for the cheap
periodicals. However, he was at length assisted in the required way, and set
to work painting in oils. An extraordinary number of pictures rapidly started
into life under his brush, for here, as with the pencil, he evinced amazing
facility and fecundity. He contributed pictures to the Paris Exhibition of
1852 and 1853, and these were highly commended by some.     In I855 he
exhibited "Les Pins Sauvages," "Le Lendemain de l'Orage,"~ "Les Deux
M~res," and " La Bataille d'Alma;  in 1857, " La Bataille d'Inkermann.'
Oil-painting, however, was not Dord's strongest point, and he himself
preferred simpler forms of designing.  Hie always desired to address the
great body of his fellow-countrymen, and of the public of foreign lands.


* Memoir of Gustave Dord in the Quiver, VoL. L




MEMOIR OF GUSTA VE DORA1


Pictures, in the technical sense of the term, are seen by only a comparatively
small number. They do not tell with the masses; they are the luxuries of
the rich, or the playthings of connoisseurs. Our times are essentially demo-.
cratic, and France is the most democratic of European nations.  Gustave
Dord desired to be the artist of the people, rather than the artist of the
wealthy. He saw how much was to be done with the help of the woodengraver; how some of the effects of painting itself were capable of being
reproduced by the cunning employment of powerful yet graduated blacks and
whites; and he probably felt that in this direction, more than in any other,
lay the special bent of his genius. Accordingly, he abandoned the practice of
painting for several years, and it was only when his fame was thoroughly
secured that he resumed the use of the brush as a means of giving expression
to the moods of his fancy.
Energetically throving himself into the ranks of popular artists, Gustave
Dord lived the life of a hard-working Parisian man of genius, with nothing
to depend on from  day to day but the ingenuity of his teeming brain.  At
this period there was doubtless a spice of " Bohemianism" in his existence.
The artist is generally a Bohemian, more or less. The easy vagabondage of
life up three pair of stairs, of late hours, irregular ways, unlimited smoking,
slight responsibilities, immeasurable good-fellowship, and quickly-recurring fun,
is highly attractive to the pictorial and literary fraternity; and Gustave Dora
determined to see " the world," as that term is understood in Paris.  Many
of his earlier sketches display this side of things. with a truthfulness that is
not very agreeable. But he had far nobler capabilities within him, and in the
year 1854 he produced an illustrated edition of Rabelais, which contained some
admirable work in the way of wild humour and picturesqueness.  The book
was cheaply printed on thin, coarse paper; so that the illustrations did not
come out at all well.  Some of the designs, however, were so excellent that
they made the fame of Dor6 as a book-illustrator, and introduced him to a
better kind of employment than he had previously found. Yet even a few
years later we find him illustrating a cheap weekly periodical, called the
ournai pour Tous, with wonderful spirit, oddity, and invention.
The Crimean war of 1854-5-6 opened a new field to the nimble wits of
Gustave Dora. He projected a monthly journal giving engravings of the chief


events of the war, and this was brought out by his old friend, M. Philippon.
It was entitled Musde Franco-Anglaise, and was published simultaneously in




MEMOIR OF GUSTAVE DORA.


France and England. Such a work was necessarily of a somewhat clap-trap
character; but it spread  the artist's name over the two countries more
particularly concerned, and doubtless helped to maintain the war feeling
of the time. To the same period belongs a comic History of Russia (1854),
containing a vast number of cuts, characterised by the grotesque farcicality of
the designer's earlier days.
In a somewhat similar style to the Rabelais were the illustrations
which Dord supplied in 1861 to the "Contes Dr6latiques" of Balzac. These
were full of exuberant fancy, sometimes of a painful character, as treating in
a burlesque mood of matters which, if represented by the pencil at all, should
be touched only in a grave and considerate manner; but everywhere showing
the presence of an original and daring genius.  In 1856 our own public was
introduced to a version of the ancient French romance of " Jaufry the Knight
and the Fair Brunissende, a Tale of the Times of King Arthur," to which
Dord had furnished   twenty engravings, steeped in the glamour of faery.
The plates to "The Wandering Jew," belonging to the same year, were even
more remarkable.   They were of large folio size, and were reproduced in
England in 1857, accompanied by an English version of the story by Mr.
Walter Thornbury. These magnificent designs greatly increased the reputation
of Gustave Dord as an artist of unusual powers and singular fancy; but he
did not reach the full altitude of his celebrity until the publication, in 1861, of
his illustrations to Dante's " Inferno," re-issued in this country in 1866. With
the illustrations to the "Purgatorio" and "Paradiso," French and English
readers were made familiar in 1868. The number of Dante designs, altogether,
is one hundred and thirty-six-an astonishing number, considering their excellence, their variety, the extraordinary height and range of their conceptions, and
the pictorial elaboration of their handling.
The " Don Quixote" was published in France in 1863, and in England in
the following year.  It is a delightful set of illustrations-the most purely
fascinating, though not the grandest, of Dorn's works.  Previous to executing
these plates, the artist made a tour in Spain; and the scenery, architecture, and
national characteristics represented in them are studied from fact, and bear the
unmistakable impress of truthfulness. To the same year (1863) belongs the
"Atala," republished here in   1867.  In  1865, DorC illustrated  Moore's
" Epicurean." The Bible appeared in London and Paris in 1866, and the


Milton in this country alone in the same year, having been executed expressly for




MEMOIR OF GUS TA VE DORAR.


Messrs. Cassell and Company.    For the La Fontaine (which was produced
in France in 1867, and in England in I868) Gustave Dord made very careful"
studies of animal life.  In 1866 we had the " Baron Munchausen" and
the "Croquemitaine," which had previously appeared in Paris in 1862 and
1863; and about the same period Dord illustrated a great many other
works-such as Shakespeare's "Tempest" (i86o), the      Nursery  Tales of
Perrault, and "Captain Castagnette" (1862)-which exhibited his brilliant
fancy in a hundred prismatic lights.  He also contributed several exquisite
plates to the poems of Tennyson and of Thomas Hood, and illustrated various
works by Malte-Brun, and many histories, romances, and works of light
literature.
It was said that Dord illustrated a book of travels in every country in
the world.  This was probably an exaggeration; but he certainly did much
in this way.   In his later years, he again took to oil-painting, and the
exhibition in New Bond Street has given our countrymen an opportunity
of estimating this great artist's skill in the manipulation of colours.  Some of
the pictures are undoubtedly very fine; but that which, from its subject, and the
brilliance of its pigments, attracts most attention, is by no means the best. " The
Triumph of Christianity over Paganism," though striking, is somewhat tawdry
and theatrical.  It is not without Dord's fertility of invention and cleverness
of execution; but it is wanting in sublimity, and even in dignity. A confused
rout of figures tumbles from top to bottom of the picture, and the effect is
almost pantomimic in its glitter of vestments and extravagance of action.  Of
a far higher character is the " Paolo and Francesca," corresponding, save in a
few variations, with one of the illustrations to the "Inferno," published by
Cassell &  Company, Limited. The figure of Francesca is transcendently
beautiful and extremely pathetic.  With a face of classic loveliness (classic
after the Italian  model, which was softer and  more womanly than     the
Greek), and with an expression of pain, of horror, of weariness, of hopeless
suffering, yet of overmastering affection and faithfulness, she floats upon the
lurid storm  beneath the eyes of her unhappy lover.  The wound upon the
bosom  has grown livid; the arms are passionately stretched up; while
above, bending downwards, hangs the dumb, despairing face of Paolo. Some
way below, in the background, the figures of Dante and Virgil are seen dimly
through the hot red air.  The conception is worthy of Dante's terrible story,


and the colouring is pure and masterly.    Not, perhaps, equal to this, yet still




MEMOIR OF GUSTAVE DORA.,very admirable, is the painting, "Christian Martyrs in the Reign of Diocletian,"
where all the accessories help to produce a solemn and awful impression.
"The Victor Angels" is from Milton, and similar to one of the illustrations
to "Paradise Lost."   The scarlet glare of sunset is here very fine; and
somewhat the same effect is introduced, with exquisite gradations of tint,
fading off from red to translucent amber, and from amber to clear blue, in
"The Flight into Egypt." In "The Neophyte" we have an excellent piece of
character-painting; while "Evening in the Alps" is a noble landscape, full of
grand, austere reaches of atmospheric colour, and instinct with a most poetic
feeling. Very charming, also, is " The Prairie "-a study of grasses, flowers, and
butterflies, brilliant in positive colours, and in the suggested splendour of allinvesting sunshine. "Christ leaving the Praetorium," "The Dream of Pilate's
Wife," and the other sacred pictures, are too popular to need any comment.
Dord was never married, but lived simply and quietly with his mother, who
was very proud of the genius and fame of her son. His nature was affectionate,
and his manner friendly and pleasant. The same energy and industry which he
exhibited in the pursuit of his art, he manifested in everything else; and it has
been related that he learned English by devoting spare moments in bed to its
study. A contemporary writer said of the subject of this sketch several years ago:"Dor6 has recently had a studio built for himself in the Rue Bayard.
It is the largest in Paris, but in spite of its extent he has scarcely room
enough in it for his numerous pictures-many half completed, and many
still in execution.  This studio is daily visited by persons of all grades of
society.  Dord receives all in the most friendly manner-talks, jests, listens,
and tells the news of the day-never ceasing, at the same time, the bold
touches of his brush upon the canvas. His appearance is very attractive. He
looks like a youth of twenty-four, who, with bright, happy eye, is gazing
forwards into the world.  He possesses unusual strength of body, which is
doubtless to be traced to his great fondness for gymnastic exercises.  He
pursues these with eagerness, and he was formerly one of the boldest
climbers. When he was in Rouen some years ago, he climbed up to the
highest point of the cathedral there, to the great astonishment of the
crowds who looked on at this unexpected scene.     But immediately after
this aerial journey he was arrested by the police, who accused him of
having  placed  the inhabitants of Rouen   in the utmost alarm    by his


perilous boldness.  He was the first to make the ascent of the Aiguille de




MEMOIR OF GUSTA VE DORt.


Floria, in Savoy, and he made many attempts also to ascend the Matterhorn.
These attempts, however, failed. But though he has not succeeded in ascending
the Matterhorn, he has painted it with masterly power. This picture is justly
admired in his studio by all friends of art...... Few can compete
with Dord in social talents. He talks well; he sings admirably; he plays the
violin, if not, perhaps, with professional skill, yet with great understanding;
and he is a clever conjuror, rarely failing in a trick.  There is, therefore, no
salon in which he is not gladly received; and when he visited the Court at
Compitgne, some years ago, he arranged all the festivities there, and was, so
to speak, the soul of the Court life.  In his own salon he often gathers
together a distinguished circle of friends, and many an excellent artist and
musician is to be met there.    Dord loves music passionately, especially
German music, and no one admires and esteems Beethoven more than he does.
Some work of Beethoven's is always sure to be heard in Dord's salon."
An interesting article on Gustave Dord was contributed by Mr. Bianchard
Jerrold to the Gentleman's Magazine for September, 1869. Mr. Jerrold was
intimate with Dord for many years.  He knew him in his early days, when
he was striving for the position he afterwards attained; and he knew him
when he was honoured and prosperous.   His account of the variously-gifted
artist presents to us a vivid portrait of a bright and happy nature.  "The
appearance of the man," writes Mr. Jerrold, "is in complete harmony with his
function and his force. He has the boyish brightness of face which is so often
found to be the glowing mask of genius. The quick and subtly-searching eye;
the proud, handsome lip; the upward throw of the massive head; and the
atmosphere encompassing all-an atmosphere that vibrates abnormally-proclaim an uncommon presence. The value of his work apart, he is a remarkable
figure of his time."  Mr. Jerrold relates that he saw Dord at an Embassy
ball at Paris in the autumn of 1868. He had been very gay all the evening,
but at a little before three A.M. he left, saying, "I must to bed. Three hours
are barely rest enough for a worker." In the summer of the same year, Dord
and his English friend were driving through Windsor Park, and, though the
eye of the artist ceaselessly ranged over the landscape, in which he took great
delight, no notes or sketches were made. A lady asked whether he would not
stop, and jot down a few pictorial memoranda. " No, no," he replied; " I've a


fair quantity of collodion in my head."  In other words, he could carry away
with him a mental photograph of what he had seen. Mr. Jerrold continues:



MEMOIR OF GUSTA VE DORt.


"When we were at Boulogne together in 1855, to see the disembarkation
of the Queen, Dord intently watched the leading points of the great ceremonial,
and, by way of fixing a few matters of detail in his memory, made some hasty
pencil-marks in a tiny book he carried in his waistcoat pocket. This power
of fixing a scene in the memory correctly, belongs to the student who has been
true and-constant to nature. Just as Houdin so educated his son's observation
as to impress every article in a toyshop window upon his memory at a glance,
so the student whose training has the grandest object, that of giving enduring
forms to beauty, acquires the power of eliminating his material from a confused
scene, through which he is fleetly travelling...0... That which distinguishes
Dord, chez lui, is the art atmosphere in which his pleasures take their rise. In
the spacious salon of the Faubourg St. Germain, covered with his work, is a
little world of art. The professor of science, the man of letters, the gifted
songstress, the physician, the composer, the actor, make up the throng; and the
amusements are music and discourse of things which are animating the centres
of intellect.  A happier and nobler picture than this handsome square salon,
alive with the artist's friends, each one specially gifted, and with the paintermusician in the centre, dreamily talking of some passing incident of scientific
interest, with his fingers wandering listlessly over the strings of his violin,
could not be-of success turned to worthy ends. The painter has been through
a very hard day's toil. You have only to open a door beyond the salle-a-manger
to light upon a work-room packed with blocks and proofs, pencils and tints
and sketches. A long morning here, followed by a laborious afternoon in the
Rue Bayard, have earned the learned leisure among intellectual kindred upon
this common ground of art, where all bring something to the pic-nic. Frolic
fancy is plentiful.  Old friends are greeted with a warmth we formal people
cannot understand. The world-famous man is mon cher Gustave, with proud
motherly eyes beaming upon him, and crowds of the old familiars of childhood
with affectionate hands upon his shoulders. Dinner is accompanied by bright,
wise, unconstrained talk; coffee and cigars in the lofty saloon; and music and
laughter, the professor parleying with the poet, the song-bird with the man
of science."~
On the r5th of August, i86i, Dord was decorated with the Cross of
the Legion of H onour.   France has more means of recognising art than
England possesses; and Gustave Dor deserved whatever his country could


bestow on him as the reward of his genius and his toil.  Though cosmo,



MEMOIR OF GUSTA VE DORE.
politan in his sympathies, he was a thorough Frenchman as to his personal
feelings; and probably his proudest thought was in the reflection that for many
years he stood before Europe and America as the representative artist of France.
Gustave Dord had to some extent passed out of the blaze of public fame
during the last few years of his life. He did less in the way of book-illustration, and in these days it is book-illustration, rather than picture-painting.
which gives an artist the greatest notoriety.  After awhile, his health failed,
and he died at Paris on the 23rd of January, 1883, at the early age of fifty-one.
In his own line, he has left no equal, and indeed no successor.




SATAN APPROACHING THE CONFINES OF THE EARTH.-(Frontispfece.)


THE subject of this singularly fine illustration is from Milton's "Paradise Lost." After the
colloquy between the Father and the Son, at the commencement of Book III., occasioned by
the sight of Satan flying towards this world, then newly created, the poet describes with
great particularity the wanderings of the Fiend. He first alights upon the bare convex of the
Earth's outermost orb, and strays for some time in a wild, dark, tempestuous region, not yet
reclaimed from  Chaos, and utterly uninhabited-a region known in later ages, Milton tells us,
as the Limbo of Vanity, or Paradise of Fools, to which are consigned "all the unaccomplished works of Nature's hand "-abortions, embryos, idiots, and the souls of those who, in
dying, have sought to enter Heaven by wearing a friar's habit, or by reliance on relics, beads,
and Papal dispensations. At length Satan sees a vast, radiant flight of steps, ascending to the
golden and jewelled gate of Heaven; and, standing on the lowest of these steps, he beholds a
wide passage down to "the blissful seat of Paradise." Being, however, as yet ignorant of the
abode of man, he throws himself into the starry firmament, and ultimately lands on the
luminous body of the Sun, where he encounters Uriel, and, transforming himself into the
semblance of a youthful angel, inquires of him in which of the orbs visible from the solar globe
the dwelling-place of man is to be found.   Uriel replies:"' Look downward on that globe, whose hither side
With light from hence, though but reflected, shines.
That place is Earth, the seat of man; that light
His day, which else, as the other hemisphere,
Night would invade; but there the neighbouring Moon
(So call that opposite fair star) her aid
Timely interposes, and, her monthly round
Still ending, still renewing, through mid-heaven
With borrow'd light her countenance triform
Hence fills, and empties to enlighten the Earth,
And in her pale dominion checks the night
That spot to which I point is Paradise,
Adam's abode; those lofty shades, his bower:
Thy way thou canst not miss me mine requires.'




CHARON, THE FERRYMAN OF HELL


DANTE and his guide, Virgil, having passed through the portal of the infernal regions (the gate
over which is written that terrible line, "All hope abandon, ye who enter here I"), come to the
banks of a great dark stream-the river Acheron.
"11And lo! toward us in a bark
Comes on an old man, hoary white with eld,
Crying, ' Woe to you, wicked spirits! hope not
Ever to see the sky again. I come
To take you to the other shore across,
Into eternal darkness, there to dwell
In fierce heat and in ice. And thou, who there
Standest, live spirit! get thee hence and 1-2ave
These who are dead."'
Inferno, Canto M1., lines 76-84t
This "old man" is Charon, who i's shortly afterwards described as"The boatman o'er the livid lake,
Mround whose eyes glared wheeling flames."
With his oar he lashes the condemned souls on board, leaving Dante and Virgil to gain
the opposite bank by a different boat.
The plate forms a worthy introduction to the series of drawings in illustration of the
~'9 Inferno." The action of the figure is very powerful, and thd gloomy sky, black rocks, and
melancholy, turbulent river, breaking against the side of the bark into waves that seem to
spit venomously, make up a solemn landscape.


t Cary's Translation.




CHARON, THE FERRYMAN OF HELL
I




CAIN AND ADEL OFFERING THEIR SACRIFICE.&
THE subject here is from Genesis iv. 3-5. Abel, who was a keeper of sheep, brought
as a sacrifice the firstlings of his flock, while Cain offered the fruit of the ground. The*
oblation of the one was accepted, and of the other rejected; at which " Cain was very wroth,
and his countenance fell." The murder of Abel was committed shortly after;- but in the
present illustration we only see the first lowering of the tempest, as, with moody brow and
lurking attitude, Cain regards his brother apart. The landscape is ver~y fine. A gloomy
valley, bounded by a bare, stony wall of mountain, sprinkled with rough boulders, and
darkened with shaggy wood, is the scene of the sacrifice. The smoke of Abel's offering goes
up in a straight, cloudy column into the cloudy sky, while Cain's is beaten back to the earth in
great rolling masses of flam~e and vapour. Perhaps the most remarkable characteristic of the
drawing is the dim, overshadowed, primitive look that is spread over the whole composition.




CAIN AND ABEL OFFERING THEIR SACRIFICES.




SATAN AND BEELZEBUB.


II the first book of" Paradise Lost," Milton describes Satan and Beelzebub as lying, after their
fall from Heaven, in an abyss of raging fire.


"Yet from those flames
No light, but rather darkness visible,
Serv'd only to discover sights of woe,
Regions of sorrow, doleful shades, where peace
And rest can never dwell; hope never comes,
That comes to all; but torture without end
Still urges, and a fiery deluge, fed
With ever-burning sulphur unconsumed."


Book Z, lines 62-69;


The Arch-Fiend and his lieutenant are seen in the illustration-the one rearing " from off
the pool his mighty stature," the other still tossing on the fiery waves.


" On each hand, the flames,
Driven backward, slope their pointing spires, and, roll'd
In billows, leave in the midst a horrid vale."


Lines 222-224.


The powerful contrasts of shadow and gloomy light in this picture will not escape
observation.




THE FALLEN ANGELS ON THE WING.




DANTE AND THE SPIRITS OF THE MOON.


GUIDED by the spirit of Beatrice, after his arrival in Paradise, Dante visits the Moon, and there
meets with Piccarda, the sister of Forese, who tells him that that planet is the abode of those
who, after making profession of chastity and a religious life, have been compelled to violate
their vows. She alludes more particularly to her own case, and that of Constance, daughter of
Ruggieri, King of Sicily, both of whom were forcibly taken out of convents, and married.
Although these acts were against their own will, they had the effect, according to rigid Catholic
doctrine, of excluding the victims from the highest beatitudes of Heaven; but they are blest
and happy, in a minor degree, in the lucent fields of the Moon. Of Piccarda a very striking
legend is told, though Dante himself does not mention it. It is said that, immediately after
her forcible marriage, she recommended herself to Christ for the preservation of her purity,
and that in a little while her whole body was smitten with a horrible leprosy, so that in a
few days she died.
The opal twilights of the Moon are beautifully rendered by M. Dor6, and the figures are
full of a sweet and tender grace.






SATAN AND BEELZEBUBI.




THE FALLEN ANGELS ON THE WING


SATAN, addressing his fallen compeers as they lie disconsolate on the billows of the fiery
lake ("Paradise Lost," Book I.), bids them take courage, abandon iheir abject posture of
submission, and once more rally round their chief, lest the angelic Jlegio I of the Conqueror
descend from Heaven, and tread them down, or transfix them to the bottom of the abyss with
"linked thunderbolts."  The speech concludes with the famous line--.
"Awake! arise! or be for ever fallen 1'l
Abashed at this appeal, the lost spirits spring upward.


"As when the potent rod
Of Amram's son, in Egypt's evil day,
Waved round the coast, upcall'd a pitchy cloud
Of locusts, warping on the eastern wind,
That o'er the realm of impious Pharaoh hung
Like night, and darken'd all the land of Nile;
So numberless were those bad angels seen,
Hovering on wing under the cope of Hell,
'Twixt upper, nether, and surrounding fires;
Till, at a signal given, the uplifted spear
Of their great sultan waving to direct
Their course, in even balance down they light
On the firm brimstone, and fill all the plain."
The artist has shown us the infernal host trooping through the
the sad glooms of Tartarus, or sullenly reflecting its brassy fires.


l ines 338-s3Seo.
air like locusts, deepening




DANTE AND THE SPIRITS OF THE MOON.




SATAN  IN  COUN CIL.


HAVING roused himself and his followers from        the despair resulting from   their late defeat,
Satan   ("Paradise Lost," Book I.) causes a magnificent palace to be erected out of the
golden ore with which the soil of Hell abounds.        This, after being purified, is conveyed in
its liquid state into various moulds that have been formed beneath the ground; and then-.
"Anon out of the earth a fabric huge
Rose like an exhalation, with the sound
Of dulcet symphonies and voices sweet;
Built like a temple, where pilasters round
Were set, and Doric pillars overlaid
With golden architrave; nor did there want
Cornice or frieze, with bossy sculptures graven:
The roof was fretted gold.....
o....  The ascending pile
Stood fix'd her stately highth; and straight the doors,
Opening their brazen folds, discover wide
Within her ample spaces o'er the smooth
And level pavement. From the arched roof
Pendent by subtle magic, many a row
Of starry lamps and blazing cressets, fed
With naphtha and asphaltus, yielded light
As from a sky."                               Book I., lines 710-730.
To this "high capital of Satan and his peers"-thence called Pandaemonium-the rebel
angels are summoned by proclamation to debate on sundry great topics; tnd far within" The great seraphic lords and cherubim
In close recess and secret conclave sat;
A thousand demi-gods on golden seat',
Frequent and full"                           Book I, lines 794-797.




SATAN IN COUNCIL




THE ANGELS IN THE PLANET MERCURY.


BEATRICE ascends with Dante from the Moon to the planet Mercury, which forms the second
heaven. The poet here sees a multitude of spirits, one of whom (the sometime Roman
Emperor, Justinian) offers to satisfy him on anything he may desire to know.
"As in a quiet and clear lake the fish,
If aught approach them from without, do draw
Towards it, deeming it their food; so drew
Full more than thousand splendours towards us;
And in each one was heard: ' Lo! one arrived
To multiply our loves!'-and, as each came,
The shadow, streaming forth effulgence new,
Witness'd augmented joy."           Paradiso, Canto V, lines 97-104.
"This illustration is a wonderful example of a quality in M. Dor6 to which allusion
has been made in the Introduction to this volume-his power of representing or suggesting
infinite space.  The great slanting beams, issuing from     a glory beyond the reach of the
spectator's sight, and the endless procession of angelic figures, floating, bird-like, in a glimmer
of white radiance, down the abysms of cloud and air, are splendid triumphs of imaginative
art and perfect execution.




THE ANGELS IN THE PLANET MERCUREY,




PIA    IN   PURGATORY.
DANTE, passing through Purgatory with his guide, the Mantuan, meets with several spirits
who, though they had deferred their repentance till they were suddenly overtaken by a violent
death, were yet allowed sufficient time to make a saving profession of faith.  Amongst
these are Giacopo del Cassero, Buonconte da Montefeltro, and Pia, a lady of Sienna.
The last-named, addressing Dante, requests him to remember her when he returns to earth.
"Sienna gave me life;
Mlaremma took it from me. That he knows,
Who me with jewell'd ring had first espous'd."
Purgatorio, Canto V., lines 1311-133.
The story of Pia is one of the tragedies of Italian mediaeval history. The lady is
said to have been of the family of Tolommei, and was taken by her husband, Nella della
Pietra, to perish in the marshes of the Maremma, from motives of jealousy.    She was
conveyed to a lonely house there in the sultry season of the year; the husband during
the whole of the journey maintaining a sullen silence, and giving no heed to his wife's
tears and remonstrances. Pietra was willing to take his own chance of death, for the sake
of his revenge on the lady; and so, without a word, he watched over her until she died.
The misty light and flowering turf of the present illustration are very beautiful, and
the figures are graceful and pathetic.




P~IA IN PUR(;ATORY.




TIIE  VULTURES AND       THE   PIGEON&
LA IONTAINE'S Fable tells us how once there was a quarrel among the Vultures over the
body of a dead dog, which resulted in a terrific encounter.
"With tooth and nail
They battled; many chiefs fell dead,
Many a dauntless hero bled."
All this aroused the pity of the Pigeons, who succeeded in pacifying the quarrellers; but
they, as soon as they were united, turned against the defenceless peacemakers. In the
illustration a long array of vultures are seen swoopingdown on the huddling pigeons, while
indications of the preceding struggle are shown in the distance.




THE VULTURES* AND THE PIGEONS.




SATAN AT THE GATES OF HELL


THE result of the consultation of the fiends assembled in Pandaemonium. is, that search
shall be made into the truth of the prophecy or tradition in Heaven concernng another
world, and another kind of creature, to be created about that time.    Satan himself
undertakes this perilous and difficult enterprise, and sets out on his journey towards the
gates of Hell.    These he finds of threefold substance, each substance three times


repeated;--


"Three folds were brass,
Three iron, three of adamantine rock,
Impenetrable, impaled with circling fire,
Yet unconsumed. Before the gates there sat
On either side a formidable shape.
The one seem'd woman to the waist, and fair,
But ended foul, in many a scaly fold,
Voluminous and vast, a serpent arm'd
With mortal sting: about her middle round
A cry of hell-hounds never ceasing bark'd
With wide Cerberean mouths full loud, and rung
A hideous peal......
The other shapeIf shape it might be call'd that shape had none
Distinguishable in member, joint, or limb,
Or substance might be call'd that shadow seem'd,
For each seem'd either; black it stood as night,
Fierce as ten furies, terrible as hell,
And shook a dreadful dart: what seem'd his head
The likeness of a kingly crown had on."
Paradise Lost, Book Ir., lines 64g-673,.




SATAN AT THE GATES OF HELL.




DANTE'S  VISION  OF  LEA I.


DANTE and Virgil, making their way up the last ascent of Purgatory leading to the
Terrestrial Paradise, which is situated on the summit of the mountain, are stopped in
their progress by the fall of night.     Lying on the ground to sleep, Dante has a dream,
An which he beholds a beautiful female figure walking in a flowery meadow.
"About the hour,
As I believe, when Venus from the east
First lighten'd on the mountain (she whose orb
Seems always glowing with the fire of love),
A lady young and beautiful, I dream'd,
Was passing o'er a lea; and, as she came,
Methought I saw her ever and anon
Bending to cull the flowers; and thus she sang:
'Know ye, whoever of my name would ask,
That I am Leah: for my brow to weave
A garland, these fair hands unwearied ply.
To please me, at the crystal mirror here,
I deck me. But my sister Rachel, she
Before her glass abides the livelong day,
Her radiant eyes beholding, charm'd no less
Than I with this delightful task: her joy
In contemplation, as in labour mine.' "
Purgatorio, Canto XXVIT., lines 93-Tog9.
Michael Angelo has made two statues of these allegorical ladies-Leah, the representative of the active, and    Rachel of the contemplative life.        The statues appear on
the monument of Julius II., in the church of San Pietro in Vincolo.              The illustration
here given    is  one  of the    numerous    instances  of M. Dore's unequalled        power of
representing   mere   light, without the obvious contrast of deep shade.          The eftect is
very soft, luminous, and visionary-a dream of youth, and brightness, and the flowery
prime.




DANTE'fS VISION OF LEAH*




DANTE  AND  HIS  GUIDE.


WHEN beset by the panther, lion, and wolf, to which allusion has already been made,
Dante perceives a figure, apparently that of a man, and calls aloud to him, wondering
who he may be. The other, replying, says that in the days of his mortal life he was a
Mantuan, that he passed his days at Rome beneath the mild rule of Augustus, and that
he was a bard, and sang of /Eneas and the fall of Ilium.         "Art thou, then, Virgil?'"
asks Dante; and proceeds to address him as "Glory and light of all the tuneful train.'"
Virgil leads him away from the wild beasts, and proposes to guide him through Hell and
Purgatorry.  Dante rejoins:"'Bard! by that God whom thou didst not adore
I do beseech thee...
*....  lead me where thou saidst
That I Saint Peter's gate may view, and those
Who, as thou tell'st, are in such dismal plight'
"Onward he moved; I close his steps pursued."
Inferno, Canto 1 lin s 137-13$.
"Saint Peter's gate" is the gate of Purgatory.




T) -NT F AND HIS GUIDE.




THE      VISION        OF     THE      EMPYREAN.
BEATRICE conveys Dante into the empyrean, where, his sight having been strengthened
by her aid, and by the virtue derived from looking on the river of light, he beholds,
sphered in overpowering splendour, and formed into circles ranging within one another
round the unspeakable central flame, the angels and souls of the blessed who form the
immediate attendants upon the Deity.         The spirits sit on thrones of dazzling brightness,
and   the whole congregation     is compared    by   Dante to a vast expanded        rose, of snow.
white brilliance.
In the following canto, Dante gives a more particular description of this amazing
vision.   The angels, he says"Like a troop of bees,
Amid the vernal sweets alighting now,
Now clustering, where their fragrant labour glows,--
Flew downward to the mighty flower, or rose
From the redundant petals, streaming back
Unto the steadfast dwelling of their joy.
Faces had they of flame, and wings of gold;
The rest was whiter than the driven snow;
And, as they flitted down into the flower,
From range to range, fanning their plumy loins,
Whisper'd the peace and ardour which they won.
From that soft winnowing. Shadow none the vast
Interposition of such numerous flight
Cast from above upon the flower, or view
Obstructed aught. For, through the universe,
Wherever merited, celestial light
Glides freely, and no obstacle prevents.
All there, who reign in safety and in bliss,
Ages long past, or new, on one sole mark
Their love and vision fix'd. 0 trinal beam
Of individual star, that charm'st them thus!
Vouchsafe one glance to gild our storm below."
Canto XXXI., lines 6-27.
No   mortal pencil could depict this sublime conception of Dante's-one of the nmost
as tonishingin its union of vastness with particularity, of richness with Apurity, thatever
entered the mind of man; but M. Dor has in some degree realised the multitudinous
circles and quivering whiteness of beatitude.




33
THE VISION OF 'THE EMPYREAN.




DANIEL IN THE DEN OF LIONS


WHEN Darius the Mede succeeded Belshazzar on the throne of Chaldsea, he promoted
the prophet Daniel to an office of great power and grandeur; but the princes conspired
against him, and forced the king to make a decree that whosoever should ask a petition
of any God or man for.thirty days, save of the king himself, should be cast into the
den of lions.  But Daniel openly kneeled down three times a day, "and prayed, and
gave thanks unto his God, as he did aforetime."  The princes demanded of the king the
execution of the law that he had made, and the king was compelled to assent, though
he did so with soreness of heart.  Accordingly Daniel was cast into the den of lions,
Darius saying to him, "Thy God, whom thou servest continually, will deliver thee."  The
mouth of the den was closed with a great stone, and the king sealed it with his own
signet and the signet of his lords.  "Then the king went to his palace, and passed the
night fasting; neither were instruments of music brought before him; and his sleep went
from him. Then the king arose very early in the morning, and went in haste, unto the
den of lions.  And when he came to the den, he cried with a lamentable voice unto
Daniel; and the king spake, and said to Daniel, O Daniel, servant of the living God,
is thy God, whom thou servest continually, able to deliver thee from the lions?  Then
said Daniel unto the king, O king, live for ever!  My God hath sent his angel, and
hath shut the lions' mouths, that they have not hurt me: forasmuch as before him
innocency was found in me; and also before thee, O     king, have I done no hurt"
(Daniel vi. I8-22).  The illustration shows us Daniel surrounded by the lions, some of
which are fawning on him.




40                      DANIEL IN THE DEN OF LIONS



THE GIANT ANTAEUS.


DANTE and Virgil are led by the sound of a loud horn to the ninth circle of Hell.
Here Dante perceives dimly through the gloom a great number of lofty towers, as he
supposes them   to be; but Virgil tells him that they are giants, each immersed up to the
middle in a deep pit.      The whole number encompass the abyss, even as the castle
of Monterevgione is surrounded by turrets.       As the Florentine approaches nearer, he
sees that this is the fact, and fear rushes into him.    The two poets pass by several of
these monsters (one of them, Nimrod, shouting after them in a hideous jargon), and at
length they come to Antaeus, who speaks intelligibly, and is unfettered.      Virgil begs of
him  to land  them   at the bottom   of the abyss.    The giant straightway seizes on the
Mantuan, who calls to his companion to hold fast to him; and in this way they are
lowered down the steep side of the gulf.
"As appears
The tower of Carisenda,* from beneath
Where it doth lean, if chance a passing cloud
So sail across that opposite it hangs:
Such then Antaeus seem'd, as at mine ease
I mark'd him stooping. I were fain at times
To have pass'd another way. Yet in the abyss,
That Lucifer with Judas low engulfs,
Lightly he placed us; nor, there leaning, stay'd,
But rose, as in a bark the stately mast."
Inflerno, Canto XXXI, lines 127-136.
Anteus was a giant of Libya, in the north of Africa, son of Terra and Neptunei.e., of the Earth and Sea.     He was attacked by Hercules; and as at every fall he
received fresh strength from   his mother Earth, the hero squeezed him       to death in his
arms. The story is told by Lucan, in the fourth book of his "Pharsalia," line 590, &c.




H0 Z
z0
viH,




THE VISION OF THE SIXTH HEAVEN.


QUITTING the planet Mars, Beatrice and Dante ascend to Jupiter, the sixth heaven, in
which they see the souls of those who have ruled justly on earth disposed in the air
after such a fashion as to form the figure of an eagle.
"Before my sight appear'd, with open wings,
The beauteous image, in fruition sweet
Gladdening the thronged spirits. Each did seem
A little ruby, whereon so intense
The sunbeam glow'd that to mine eyes it came
In clear refraction. And that which next
Befals me to portray, voice hath not utter'd,
Nor hath ink written, nor in fantasy
Was e'er conceiv'd. For I beheld and heard
The beak discourse; and, what intention form'd
Of many, singly as of one express,
Beginning: 'For that I was just and piteous,
I am exalted to this height of glory,
The which no wish exceeds; and there on earth
Have I my memory left, e'en by the bad
Commended, while they leave its course untrod.'
"Thus is one heat from many embers felt,
As in that image many were the loves,
And one the voice that issued from them all."
Parqdiro, Can,.7X. /iwes r-19.
Here again    M. Dor6    has given us an amazing sense of infinitude and airy space.
From vapoury strands of cloud, half-dipped in softness of immeasurable blue, the glorified
Beatrice and her poet-lover look towards the glimmering eagle, one, yet manifold, which,
from a rapture of distance, answers them across the heavens. It is a wonderful phantasy
oi air, arA light, and visionary forms.




eNaAVai HIUJ.XIb.LkLL AUO (sl 41,a-L




THE PROCESSION    OF THE ELDERS.
WHILE wandering about the forest of the Terrestrial Paradise, Dante comes to a stream,
on the other side of which is a lady of great beauty, gathering flowers.  After some
discourse between them, the lady moves along the banks of the river in a contrary
direction to the current, while Dante keeps pace with her on his own side. Suddenly,
the air of the forest glows under its green boughs like fire; trails of splendour, consisting
of all colours that the sun forms in the rainbow, illuminate the heavens; and"Beneath a sky
So beautiful, came four-and-twenty elders,
By two and two, with flower-de-luces crown'd.
All sang one song: 'Blessed be thou among
The daughters of Adam! and thy loveliness
Blessed for ever I'"        Purgatorio, Canto XXIX., lines 8--85.
These elders are followed by four animals, each crowned with green leaves, and each
having six plumed wings, the plumage full of living eyes.  Dante refers the reader who
would know more of the appearance of these mysterious beasts to the account given by
Ezekiel (i. 5, 6) of the four living creatures he saw in his vision, which had the likeness
of a man, though each one had four faces and four wings.    The poet adds, however.
that he agrees with John (Revelation iv. 8) as to the number of the wings.   All this
allegory is alive with meaning; but, with regard to several points, the commentators are
not agreed as to the interpretation to be put on Dante's imaginings. It seems probable
that by the lady is meant the affectionate devotion which Catholics bear towards their
Church.   In the last canto of the " Purgatorio" the lady is called Matilda; and Matilda
was the name of a countess who endowed the See of Rome with the Patrimony of
St. Peter, and died in   II5.  The elders are those alluded to in Revelation iv. 4;
and the winged beasts are the evangelists.  The difference in the number of wings is
accounted for by supposing that Ezekiel saw only four "because "-to adopt the explanation of Lombardi, one of the commentators on Dante-" his prophecy does not extend
beyond the fourth age; whereas Dante, beholding them in the sixth age, saw them with
six wings, as did St. John."   The vision as related by the poet is one of the most
beautiful incidents of the "Purgatorio," and it is partly realised in the engraving.




THE PROCESSION OF THE ELDERS.




CYRUS RESTORING THE VESSELS OF THE TEMPLE.
IN the first year of his reign, Cyrus, King of Persia, made a,. proclamation throughout all
his kingdom, saying that God had charged him to build a temple at Jerusalem. He then
made a great collection of treasure from  his people to further this end, and he also
"brought forth the vessels of the house of the Lord, which Nebuchadnezzar had brought
forth out of Jerusalem, and had put them  in the house of his gods.  Even those did
Cyrus, king of Persia, bring forth by the hand of Mithredath the treasurer, and numbered
tli:m unto Sheshbazzar, the prince of Judah" (Ezra i. 7, 8).
The illustration is a fine piece of Oriental stateliness and splendour.  The massive
and grotesquely enriched architecture is beautifully worked out, and the figures are full of
a simple dignity, with well-contrasted action.




CYRUS RESTORING THE VESSELS OF THE TEMPLE.




THE BOAT OF SOULS,


ONE of the most beautiful passages in the '.'Purgatorio " of Dante, is that in which the
poet describes the arrival on the shores of Purgatory of a boat laden with the souls
of newly-departed human beings. The Florentine and the Mantuan are standing on
that solitary sea-shore where they met the spirit of Cato', and where, in obedience to
Cato's directions, Dante is purified from the stains of Hell. He and Virgil are about
to ascend the Mount of Purgatory; but for awhile they linger by the water's brink,
like men who, musing on their road, journey in thought when they are at rest in body.
At length-as, near -upon the dawn, Mars glares; redly down the west, over the ocean
floor-Dante beholds a light coming so quickly across the sea, that never did any
winged creature equal its swiftness.   When, having withdrawn his eyes for a brief
space, in order to ask his guide what marvel, this may be, he looks ag ain, the object
has grown obviously larger and more glorious, and he is aware of something-he
knows not what-of brilliant whiteness about it.- The whiteness presently opens into
wings; and now Virgil perceives who is the pilot of that boat, and exclaims to Dante,
"Down, down upon thy knees!1 It is God's angel!I See how he sets all human means
at naught, so that he needs neither' oar nor any other sail than his wings! and how
he rears those wings straight up to heaven, winnowing the air with his eternal plumes!1"
As the boat comes nearer and nearer,, more and more bright -appears "the bird of
God," so thiat human, eyes cannot endure his splendour.
"He drove ashore in a small bark, so swift
And light that in its course no wave it drank.
The heavenly steersman in the prow was seen,
Visibly written Blessed in his looks.
Within, a hundred spirits and more there sat.
In Exitu Israel de Egypto,'
All with one voice together sang, with what
In the remainder of that hymnn is writ."  Cant f.,I, lines 40-47.
The angel makes the sign of the cross over them, and, when they have leaped out on
to the shore, returns as swiftly as he came',
The 'Illustration  of this passage which  M. Dora hasfunse          is thoroughly
pervaded with the spirit of the original idea. It is full of 'Infinite grace, beauty, and




THlE BOAT OF SOULS.




DANTE AND THE RIVER OF LETHE.


TOWARDS the latter part of his sojourn in Purgatory, Dante is visited by the spirit of
Beatrice.  It is for her to carry the melancholy poet to Paradise; but first it is necessary
that he should be immersed in the waters of Lethe, that he may obtain oblivion of his
sins. For this purpose, he is placed in the hands of the fair dame, Matilda, of whom we
have already spoken in describing     Plate XLVIII.; and, recovering from       a swoon into
which he has fallen, he finds that he is being carried through the waves.
"The blessed shore approaching, then was heard
So sweetly, 'Tu asperges me,' that I
May not remember, much less tell, the sound.
"The beauteous dame, her arms expanding, clasp'd
My temples, and immerged me where 'twas fit
The wave should drench me."     Purgatorio, Canto XXXL, lines 97--o0.
The lapsing river, the bending reeds that grow       within its holy waters, the cloudy
Ssoftness of the air about its banks, and the lovely, floating figure of the benign and angelic
woman, are all touched with exceeding grace and beauty.




DANTE AND THE RTVER OF LETHE.




SATAN'S FLIGHT THROUGH CHAOS.


PACIFYING the antagonism of the hideous warders of Hell-gate, Sin and Death, to whom
we have before alluded, Satan, as soon as the nine-fold barriers are thrown open, looks
out into the dark and warring region of Chaos"The womb of Nature, and perhaps her grave,
Of neither sea, nor shore, nor air, nor fire,
But all these in their pregnant causes mix'd
Confusedly."                     Paradise Lost, Book I., lines 91x-914.
After standing for awhile, "pondering       his voyage," the Fiend      launches himself into
the "wild abyss," soaring upward on "his sail-broad vans" through the "surging smoke"
of that primeval desert:
"Thence many a league,
As in a cloudy chair, ascending rides
Audacious; but, that seat soon failing, meets
A vast vacuity: all unawares,
Fluttering his pennons vain, plumb down he drops
Ten thousand fathom deep; and to this hour
Down had been falling, had not, by ill chance,
The strong rebuff of some tumultuous cloud,
Instinct with fire and nitre, hurried him
As many miles aloft: that fury stay'd,
Quench'd in a boggy Syrtis, neither sea
Nor good dry land, nigh founder'd on he fares,
Treading the crude consistence, half on foot,
Half flying; behoves him now both oar and s-il."
Book 7l., bn, Of29-9-42.




SATAN'S FLIGHT THROUGH CHAOS.




THE      PUNISHMENT             OF     GLUTTONY.
THE sixth region of Purgatory, according to Dante, is that in which the sin of gluttony
is punished. Dante, Virgil, and Statius, in the course of their wanderings in this part,
behold a tree hung with sweet-smelling fruit, and watered by a crystal fountain; and
from   the  boughs    issue voices   enjoining  temperance    in food, and recording     wonderful
examples    of that virtue   in ancient times.      Shortly afterwards, the    three   poets  meet
a troop of spirits with pale visages, and      bodies so lean that the bones appear starting
through the skin.     The sockets of their eyes seem       as rings from    which the gems have
dropped out. One of these spirits turns his eyes in their deep-sunken cells full on Dante,
and addresses him.       The Florentine then     recognises the features of his friend Forese,
also a poet.
" Ah! respect
This wan and leprous-wither'd skin,' thus he
Suppliant implor'd, 'this macerated flesh.
Speak to me truly of thyself. And who
Are those twain spirits, that escort thee there?
Be it not said thou scorn'st to talk with me.'
"'That face of thine,' I answer'd him, 'which, dead,
I once bewail'd, disposes me not less
For weeping when I see it thus transform'd.
Say then, by Heaven, what blasts ye thus? The whilst
I wonder, ask not speech from me: unapt
Is he to speak whom other will employs.'
"He thus: 'The water and the plant we pass'd
With power are gifted, by the Eternal Will
Infused; the which so pines me. Every spirit,
Whose song bewails his gluttony indulged
Too grossly, here in hunger and in thirst
Is purified. The odour which the fruit,
And spray that showers upon the verdure, breathe,
Inflames us with desire to feed and drink.
Nor once alone, encompassing our route,
We come to add fresh fuel to the pain. "
Purgatorio, Canto XXILZ, lines 44-6g.
With wonderful particularity of detail has Dante constructed his picture of Purgatory;
and in the illustration we have here given, not a little of the strangeness of that dreamy
and ghostly land has been realised.




THE PUN ISHMENT OP:ý GLUTTONo..




JESUS    BLESSING      THE    CHILDREN.
WHEN Jesus was on "the c6asts of Judzea, by the farther side of Jordan," the people
brought young children to him, that he should touch them. The disciples rebuked them
for this; but Jesus was displeased at the rebuke, and said to his disciples, "Suffer the
little childgen to come unto me, and forbid them not: for of such is the kingdom of God.
Verily I 4  unto you, Whosoever shall not receive the kingdom of God as a little child,
he shall not enter therein" (Mark x. 14-15).  Then he took the children ul in his arms,
put his hands on them, and blessed them.
M. Dor6 has introduced a great fulness of life into his representation of this scene.
The grouping and action are excellent, and the background and "sky are very delicately
and beautifully touched.




JESUS BLESSING THE CHILDREN.




ABDIEL AND SATAN.


PREVIOUS to the encounter of the angels in Heaven, an angry colloquy takes place between
Abdiel and Satan.
"Before the cloudy van,
On the rough edge of battle ere it join'd,
Satan (with vast and haughty strides advanced)
Came towering, arm'd in adamant and gold.
Abdiel that sight endured not, where he stood
Among the mightiest, bent on highest deeds."
Paradise Lost, Book VI., lines 107-112.
He steps out from the ranks of his warlike peers, and meets Satan half-way between the
two embattled armies; at which Satan is highly incensed, and fierce words ensue. Finally,
Abdiel exclaims
"' This greeting on thy impious crest receive!' "
and strikes Satan so hard a blow that he recoils ten huge paces, and at the tenth sinks.
on his knee, and stays his further decline with his spear:
" As if, on earth,
Winds under ground, or waters forcing way,
Sidelong had push'd a mountain from his seat,
Half-sunk with all his pines. Amazement seiz'd
The rebel thrones, but greater rage, to see
Thus foil'd their mightiest."              Book VI., lines 195-200oo.




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ABDIEL AND SATAN.




MOSES BREAKING THE TABLES OF THE LAW.


WHILE Moses was on Mount Sinai, receiving the tables of the law, the people, thinking
that he had deserted them, and being disposed to renew their old idolatry, required of
Aaron to make them figures of gods for worship.  Aaron collected the golden ear-rings
of the men and women, melted them, and fashioned a golden calf, which the people
received with joy. As they were singing and dancing before this image, Moses, descending
from  the mount, and seeing what was being done, waxed angry, "and cast the tables
out of his hands, and brake them beneath the mount. And he took the calf which they
had made, and burnt it in the fire, and ground it to powder, and strewed it upon the
water, and made the children of Israel drink of it." (Exodus xxxii. 19, 20.)
The figure of Moses in the plate seems to have been, in some measure, studied from
the celebrated statue by Michael Angelo. Gigantic, massive, and terrible, with enormous
beard sweeping like a tempest over his breast, and the vast folds of his robe flaring in
the wind, the Moses of the Frenchman, as that of the Italian, looks more like a deity
than a man. In M. Dor&'s illustration, the prophet comes out very grandly against a sky
of vivid lightning.




MIOSES BREAKING THE TABLES OF THE LAW.




THE PUNISHMENT OF SIMONISTS.


THE third gulf of Hell, according to Dante, is that in which are punished those who have
been guilty of simony.   Having arrived at the chasm, the poet sees that the livid stone
of which the ground is composed is full of apertures, all of equal width, all circular, and
of the same dimensions, says Dante, with an odd exactness of information, as the fonts
of Saint John the Baptist at Florence, one of which, a few      years previously, he had
broken, in order to save a child that had fallen in-an act of which the motive had
been misrepresented  by his enemies.    From  the mouth of every one of these pits
emerges a pair of feet, and as much of the legs as includes the calf: the rest is hidden
beneath.
"On either foot
The soles were burning; whence the flexile joints
Glanced with such violent motion as had snapt
Asunder cords or twisted withes. As flame,
Feeding on unctuous matter, glides along
The surface, scarcely touching where it moves;
So here, from heel to point, glided the flames."
Inferno, Canto XIX., lines 26-32.
Perceiving one of these pairs of feet writhing in fiercer agony than the rest, and
preyed on by a ruddier flame, Dante asks of Virgil the name of the sufferer.      Virgil
takes him down to the lowest part of the valley by a narrow passage, closely perforated
by these infernal holes, and leads him to the limbs which     by an incessant quivering
express their agony. The spirit is required to speak, and a dialogue ensues, from which
it appears that the condemned being over whom Dante is standing was, when on earth,
Pope Nicholas III., of the Orsini family, who died     in  1281, and who is now   being
tormented for having practised simony.    The other sufferers are his predecessors who
had committed the same sin. The poet, in very eloquent terms, denounces the avarice
often exhibited by the princes of the Church; and the reader is given to understand that
more of these dignitaries will in time meet with a similar punishment.
This scene of gloom and agony has been finely rendered by M. Dor6. The valley
is a most Tartarean chasm, and the figures of the two poets are excellently contrasted
and discriminated.




THE PUNISHMENT OF SIMONISTS.




DANTE AND POPE ADRIAN V.


ENTERING the fifth circle of Purgatory, where the sin of avarice is cleansed, Dante sees a
large number of spirits lying prone on the ground, weeping sorely, and repeating, with
sighs that almost choke their utterance, the words from Psalm cxix., " My soul cleaveth
to the dust: quicken thou me, according to thy word."            One of them, being exhorted
to reveal the cause of their position and their grief, says that they are expiating the sin
of worldly covetousness.      The speaker is Pope Adrian V., who died thirty-nine days
after he had attained the Pontificate, in 1276.    Addressing Dante, he says;"'A month, and little more, by proof I learnt
With what a weight that robe of sovereignty
Upon his shoulder rests who from the mire
Would guard it; that each other fardel seems
But feathers in the balance. Late, alas!
Was my conversion: but, when I became
Rome's pastor, I discern'd at once the dream
And cozenage of life; saw that the heart
Rested not there, and yet no prouder height
Lured on the climber: wherefore, of that life
No more enamour'd, in my bosom love
Of purer being kindled.'"      Purgatorio, Canto XIX., lines io1--rs.
Dante kneels to this spirit, and is asked by him       why he does so.      " Compunction,"
he replies, "and inward awe of your high dignity."     To this the sometime Pope administers
a fine rebuke, exclaiming"' Up, brother! upon thy feet
Arise; err not: thy fellow-servant I
(Thine and all others') of one Sovran Power."      Lines 131-133.
The landscape, as represented by M. Dor6, is one of those grand pieces of stupendous
rockiness in which he excels.       The interminable line of prostrate figures is also very
remarkable.




DANTE AND POPE ADRIAN Vo




THE CONFERENCE WITH THE ANGEL RAPHAEL


RAPHAEL, visiting Adam and Eve in Paradise, to warn them of the consequences of
disobedience (Eve having had an evil dream, foreshadowing her approaching temptation),
joins them   at their morning repast, and discourses of the nature of Heaven, and of the spirits
inhabiting it.   Adam    addresses the angelic messenger in these words;--
"'Inhabitant with God, now know I well
Thy favour, in this honour done to man;
Under whose lowly roof thou hast vouchsafed
To enter, and these earthly fruits to taste,
Food not of angels, yet accepted so
As that more willingly thou couldst not seem
At Heaven's high feasts to have ted; yet what compare?'
"To whom the winged Hierarch replied:
'0 Adam, one Almighty is, from whom
All things proceed, and up to him return,
If not depraved from good; created all
Such to perfection, one first matter all,
Endued with various forms, various degrees
Of substance, and, in things that live, of life;
But more refined, more spiritous and pure,
As nearer to him placed, or nearer tending,
Each in their several active spheres assign'd,
Till body up to spirit work, in bounds
Proportion'd to each kind."       Paradise Lost, Book V., lines 461r-479.


The most noticeable
it is bathed.


thing in the picture is the flood of. early morning light in which




THE CONFERENCE WITH THE ANGEL RAPHAEL




THE ROMAN WIDOW      AND THE EMPEROR TRAJAN.
A CERTAIN portion of the Mount of Purgatory, formed of white marble, is engraved with
figures representing stories illustrative of the virtue of humility. ("Purgatorio," Canto X.)
Among these is that anecdote of Trajan (sometimes told also of Hadrian) which relates
that one day, when setting out on an expedition, surrounded by his legions, he was accosted
by a widow, who with tears exclaimed, " Grant me vengeance, sire. My son is murdered."'
Trajan replied, "Wait till I return."  "But if you do not return?" urged the widow.
"Then my successor will right you," said the Emperor. The widow, still pressing her
case, asked, "What, sire, is another's good to you, if you neglect your own?"  Upon which
the Emperor said, "It seems that my duty should be performed ere I move hence. So>
justice wills, and pity bids me stay."
The scene as represented by M. Dor6 has a look at once sculpturesque and visionary.




THE ROMAN WIDOW AND THE EMPEROR TRAJAN.




ITHURIEL        AND    ZEPHON.
GABRIEL, who has command of the spirits appointed to watch over Paradise during the'
dark, sets two angels to keep guard over the bower of Adam and Eve on the night when
Satan has obtained entrance into the happy enclosure.  These are Ithuriel and Zephon--
Hebrew names, meaning respectively "the discovery of God," and "a secret," or "searcher
of secrets."  Arriving at the bower, they find Satan sitting at the ear of Eve, " squat like
a toad," essaying to poison her mind with illusions, vain hopes, inordinate desires, pride,
and discontent.
"Him thus intent, Ithuriel with his spear
Touch'd lightly; for no falsehood can endure
Touch of celestial temper, but returns
Of force to its own likeness: up he starts,
Discover'd and surprised."  Paradise Lost, Book IV., lines' STO-8t4.
In the illustration, the two angels are seen winging their way towards the bower.




ITHURIEL AND ZEPLION.




THE VISION OF THE GOLDEN LADDER.


ON ascending with Beatrice to the seventh heaven, Dante sees reared up high into space
a ladder in colour like sun-illumined gold, the top of which is quite beyond his ken, and
down whose steps he
" --    saw the splendours in such multitude
Descending, every light in heaven, methought,
Was shed thence. As the rooks, at dawn of day,
Bestirring them to dry their feathers chill,
Some speed their way afield, and homeward some,
Returning, cross their flight; while some abide,
And wheel around their airy lodge: so seem'd
That glitterance, wafted on alternate wing,
As upon certain stair it came, and clash'd
Its shining."                       Paradiso, Canto XXI., lines 29-38.
The spirits thus beheld by the poet are the souls of those who had passed their lives
in retirement, austerity, and sacred contemplation. One of these, who on earth had been Pietro
Damiano, a hermit of the eleventh        century, speaks with    Dante, and laments, as he had
lamented in life, the luxury of the clergy.   Upon which, says the poet--
"I at those accents saw the splendours down
From step to step alight, and wheel, and wax,
Each circuiting, more beautiful. Round this
(i.e., the spirit of Pietro Damiano)


They came, and stay'd them; uttered then a shout,
So loud it hath no likeness here, nor I
Wist what it spake, so deafening was the thunder."


Lines r28-133.


This singularly beautiful passage has beeri represented by M. Dor6 with, perhaps, as
near an approach to a realisation of the glittering vision as could be made to the physical
eye. Something of the glancing rain of brightness is there; something of the immeasurable
progression.




THE VISION OF THE GOLDEN LADDER.




SATAN IN PARADISE.


HAVING entered Paradise, Satan perches, in the form of a cormorant, on the Tree of Life,
and thence beholds the beautiful region spread out before him
"A happy rural seat of various view:
Groves whose rich trees wept odorous gums and balm;
Others whose fruit, burnish'd with golden rind,
Hung amiable, Hesperian fables true,
If true, here only, and of delicious taste.
Betwixt them lawns, or level downs, and flocks
Grazing the tender herb, were interposed;
Or palmy hillock, or the flowery lap
Of some irriguous valley, spread her store
Flowers of all hue, and without thorn the rose.
Another side, umbrageous grots and caves
Of cool recess, o'er which the mantling vine
Lays forth her purple grape, and gently creeps
Luxuriant: meanwhile, murmuring waters fall
Down the slope hilts, dispers'd, or in a lake,
That to the fringed bank with myrtle crown'd
Her crystal mirror holds, unite their streams.
The birds their quire apply: airs, vernal airs,
Breathing the smell of field and grove, attune
The trembling leaves; while universal Pan,
Knit with the Graces and the Hours in dance,
Led on the eternal spring."        Paradise Lost, Book IV, lines 247-268.
M. Dor6- has not represented Satan in the form of a cormorant, as seems to be the
meaning    of Milton     in   a  passage    which,    however,    is  perhaps    capable    of  a   different
interpretation; and so far he appears to have departed from              his author.    But the landscape
is full of beautiful intimations.




SATAN IN PARADISE.




THE HEAVENLY CHOIR.


IN the eighth heaven, Dante hears the blessed spirits chanting:--
"Then 'Glory to the Father, to the Son,
And to the Holy Spirit,' rang aloud
Throughout all Paradise; that with the song
My spirit reel'd, so passing sweet the strain.
And what I saw was equal ecstasy:
One universal smile it seem'd of all things;
Joy past compare; gladness unutterable;
Imperishable life of peace and love;
Exhaustless riches, and unmeasured bliss."
Paradiso, Canto XX VIZ., lines 1-9.
This is one of M. Dor6's most astonishing conceptions of infinity and beatitude.          The
shining circles upon circles of angels fill the eye with the sense of "numbers numberless,"
and the glory that strikes down from the upper part of the picture seems to come from
the very heights of Heaven.




THE HEAVENLY CHOIR.




THE CREATION OF FISH AND BIRDS.


Tins striking picture, so full of the strangeness" of newly-developed life, and of the
luminous yet cloudy brooding of creative Power, is an illustration of the passage in
"Paradise Lost" describing the creation of fishes and birds.


"And God said, Let the waters generate
Reptile with spawn abundant, living soul;
And let fowl fly above the earth, with wings
Display'd on the open firmament of heaven.
And God created the great whales, and each
Soul living, each that crept, which plenteously
The waters generated by their kinds;
SAnd every bird of wing after his kind;
And saw that it was good, and bless'd them, saying,
Be fruitful, multiply, and. in the seas,
And lakes, and running streams, the waters fill:
And let the fowl be multiplied on the earth."


Book V11., lines 387-398,


Milton's poetry here very closely follows the account in the first chapter of Genesis.




THE CREATION OF FISH AND BIRDS.




SATAN SMITTEN BY MICHAEL.


THE opposing forces of the rebel angels and of the army of God being brought face to
face, according to the narrative of Milton, and parley being exhausted, the struggle commences.
Satan and the archangel Michael engage in single combat, the others retiring for a space
to avoid "the wind of such commotion," which, says the poet, was far greater than would
be made by two planets rushing against one another in mid-sky, and confounding their
jarring spheres in some general dissolution of Nature's concord.
"The sword
Of Michael from the armoury of God
Was given him temper'd so that neither keen
Nor solid might resist that edge: it met
The sword of Satan, with steep force to smite
Descending, and in half cut sheer; nor stay'd,
But, with swift wheel reverse, deep entering, shared
All his right side. Then Satan first knew pain,
And writhed him to and fro, convolv'd; so sore
The griding sword with discontinuous wound
Pass'd through him: but the ethereal substance closed,
Not long divisible; and from the gash
A stream of nectarous humour issuing flow'd
Sanguine, such as celestial spirits may bleed,
And all his armour stain'd, erewhile so bright."
Paradise Lost, Book VI, lines 320--334.
The writhing figure of Satan is good; the bat-like wings full of evil suggestion; and
the background dark, stormy, and chaotic-drift as of sand, and cloud, and darkness.




SATAN SMITTEN BY MICHAEL.




THE TORTURE OF THE FIERY RAIN.


THE third of those compartments into which the seventh circle of the Dantesque Hell is
divided is a plain of dry, hot sand, where various kinds of sin are punished.        Flakes of
fire are eternally falling down on the spirits, making the marl beneath glow as under a
stove  and one of the chief sufferers is Capaneus, the impious Argive mentioned in several
ancient authors, who, when he went to the Theban war, declared that he would take
Thebes even     in  spite of Jupiter: upon which he was immediately struck dead with a
thunderbolt.   He is now heard repeating his blasphemies, and declaring that nothing shall
ever induce him to submit to the celestial Power.      Dante's description of the region and
its inhabitants is extremely fine.
"A plain we reach'd, that from its sterile bed
Each plani repell'd. The mournful wood waves round
Its garland on all sides, as round the wood
Spreads the sad foss.....
" O'er all the sand fell, slowly wafting down,
Dilated flakes of fire, as flakes of snow
On Alpine summit when the wind is hush'd.
Unceasing was the play of wretched hands,
Now this, now that way glancing, to shake off
The heat, still falling fresh."       Inferno, Canto XIV., lines 9-39.
The plate is worthy of this description; and the figures, though small and crowded,
are full of expression.




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THE    VISION    OF   THE    CROSS.
BEATRICE having carried Dante into the fifth heaven, which is situated in the planet Mars,
they behold the souls of those who had died in the crusades, on behalf of the Christian
religion, ranged in the sign of a cross.
"Christ
Beam'd on that cross; and pattern fails me now.
S....   From  horn  to  horn,
And 'tween the summit and the base, did move
Lights, scintillating as they met and pass'd."
Paradiso, Canto XIV, lines 96-103.
Angels move athwart this cross, to the sound of a hymn which holds Dante in a
state of rapture for some time.




THE VISION OF THE CROSS.




"TIGRIS, AT THE FOOT OF PARADISE."
FOILED in his first attempt to'establish himself in Paradise, on which occasion he is repelled
by Gabriel (as told in connection with Plate LXXXIII.), Satan determines to embark
again on the same enterprise, and chooses for his means of approach a gulf "where
Tigris, at the foot of Paradise," sank underground, and pursued its way until part "rose
up a fountain by the Tree of Life."  The Fiend plunges in with the river, and with
it rises again, involved in mist and foam.  (" Paradise Lost," Book IX.)  We see him
in the illustration contemplating the gulf previous to throwing himself into its winding,
subterranean ways.  The solitary figure in the midst of so savage and wild a scene is
very tremendous; and the craggy rocks and tumbling waters seem impressed with all the
terror and sublimity of unregulated Nature.




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TIGRIS AT TENFOOTOF PAADISE




DON QUIXOTE IN HIS LIBRARY.


HERE we enter on the glorious territory of Cervantes-the wonderful Quixote-land of
romance, humour, and grotesqueness. The Don is seated in his study, reading his beloved
books of chivalrous adventure. With the face of one possessed, with kindling eye, dilated
nostril, and gaping mouth, his hand brandishing a sword in the energy of his intense
realisation of what he is perusing, the grand old fanatic gives himself up to the influences
of the moment.  "A world of disorderly notions, picked, out of his books, crowded into
his imagination." We see them depicted all around him as he sits alone (alone, except for
these phantom companions) in the library of his gloomy ancestral mansion. The dusky
air of the room is alive with prodigious figures.  Knights are there, in full armour, and
mounted on curvetting steeds; pages blowing clarions before some mortal onslaught;
damsels appealing for succour; ogres, dragons, griffins, indescribable monsters; the head
of a giant of portentous size, and the towers of an enchanted castle. The plate introduces
us into the very arcana of the Don's diseased brain.




DON QUIXOTE IN HIS LIBRARY.




THE GRASSHOPPER AND THE ANT (LA FONTAINE).


A GRASSHOPPER that had sung through the summer-time grew pinched and poor as the
winter advanced. Not a scrap of bread nor a drop of drink was in her larder. In this
extremity she went to the ant, her neighbour, and prayed for a loan of wheat, to make
herself a loaf until the sunshine should return. "I will repay you every grain," she said,
"both principal and interest, and that before harvest-on my honour." The ant, however,
is a prudent animal, never very well disposed to lend: indeed, that is certainly her least
fault. Said she to the grasshopper: " How did you spend the summer?" "I sang gaily
night and day, to please all people." "You sang? Very well, then: dance now."
Like other old fables, this has a human moral; and M. Dore has translated the grasshopper and the ant of the text into two women. One is an industrious, common-place
worker; the other, an itinerant minstrel.  As a picture, nothing can be better; but we
have pointed out, in the general Introduction to this volume, an objection to the application of the moral, which we need not here repeat.




THE GRASSHOPPER AND THE ANT.




SANCHO     TOSSED    IN  A   BLANKET.
OUR readers must be well acquainted with the famous incident in "Don Quixote," where
the knight, having ridden away (without paying his reckoning) from the inn which he
mistakes for a castle, is presently induced to return owing to the absence of Sancho, when
he finds that worthy being tossed in a blanket in the inn-yard by four Segovia clothiers,
three Cordova point-makers, and two Seville hucksters-" all brisk, gamesome, arch fellows"
(Part I., Chapter 16).  The illustration is at once humorous and picturesque. Sancho's
ludicrous helplessness is capital, and the Don looking over the inn-yard is natural even
in the midst of his grotesqueness. The inn and the wall of the yard have doubtless been
studied from fact; the whole has a hot, arid, thoroughly Spanish look.




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MITAINE      AND     OG.HRIS.
MITAINE is the heroine of L'Upine's pleasant and humorous romance of chivalry, "The
Legend of Croquemitaine." She is the godchild of Charlemagne, *and of a warlike disposition; goes on adventures in masculine costume and military accoutrements; is in love
with the celebrated knight, Roland, whom she serves as a squire; and, together with him,
perishes on the field of' Roncesvalles.  Oghris is aý lion, once belonging to a Saracen
warrior, but carried off by Charlemagne, and now strongly attached to Mitaine.  " He
had taken a mighty fancy to Mitaine; and often, when they had tried to separiate them,
the lion had gnown so thin, and the child so melancholy, that they were compelled to
abandon the idea....   Oghris was always at hand."   (Book II., Chapter x.
Translation by Mr. T. Hood.)




MUM (INV 2[Nlv.lll/l


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THE HEN WITH THE GOLDEN EGGS (LA FONTAINE).
A CERTAIN miser had a hen that laid golden eggs.  Thinking to possess himself of the
whole treasure at once, he killed the hen; but, on cutting it up, found it was a bird of
the ordinary description. The figure is a capital piece of drawing of the caricature order.




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THE HEN WITH THE GOLDEN EGGS.




BARON MUNCHAUSEN.


As we shall occasionally introduce illustrations from "The Adventures of Baron Munchausen,"
we may as well, on the present occasion, give some account of that worthy, and of the
author of the celebrated volume recording his achievements.  The fictitious Baron is a
German general and diplomatist in the Russian service, and, in the course of his wanderings
in divers lands, he encounters a series of the most prodigious wonders ever experienced
by man. The original of this amusing character was a real Baron Munchhausen, a German
officer in the Russian army during the last century, who, though a man of quiet and modest
demeanour, used to tell, for the entertainment of his friends, a set of extravagant stories,
which he would repeat again and again without the slightest variation, until at length ne
came to believe them, according to what Prospero says"Like one
Who having unto truth, by telling of it,
Made such a sinner of his memory
To credit his own lie."              Tempest.
It is recorded that he would be highly offended if any one ventured to doubt his marvels
The book which has now for the best part of a century been associated with his name.
and which had long enjoyed a European reputation, is supposed to be the production of a
German named Raspe, a renegade from the Continent who settled in England, and publishea
here for the first time, and in the English language, the work we are now considering.
This was in the year 1785, while the real Baron was yet living. The honour of originating
the romance had been claimed for others, and probably some of the Baron's wonderful
tales have been taken down by several listeners; but the book, as we know it, seems to
have been the handiwork of Rasp&. The romance was originally meant to convey a satire
on the travels of Mr. Bruce, the Abyssinian explorer, who in his own day was generally
believed to be an egregious liar.*  It cannot be questioned   that the book is an
amusing and clever production, abounding in grave humour and grotesque oddity; but
many of the adventures are very old, being found in the popular legends of several
countries, and even in ancient authors.  This, however, is not likely at any time to
detract from the popularity of Raspe's volume, which will be specially dear to art-lovers
for having afforded the subjects of some of M. Dor6's most admirable drawings in the
department of mingled fancy and drollery.




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SATAN OVERLOOKING PARADISE.


THE magnificent illustration to which we now refer represents the Fiend glancing from a
high  mount over the verdurous expanse of Paradise, stretched out before him                 on the
occasion of his first approach towards the happy enclosure.
"So on he fares, and to the border comes
Of Eden, where delicious Paradise,
Now nearer, crowns with her enclosure green,
As with a rural mound, the champain head
Of a steep wilderness, whose hairy sides,
With thicket overgrown, grotesque and wild,
Access denied; and overhead upgrew
Insuperable highth of loftiest shade,
Cedar, and pine, and fir, and branching palm,
A sylvan scene; and, as the ranks ascend
Shade above shade'a woody theatre
Of stateliest view. Yet higher than their tops
The verdurous wall of Paradise upsprung;
Which to our general sire gave prospect large
Into his nether empire neighbouring round:
And higher than that wall a circling row
Of goodliest trees loaden with fairest fruit,
Blossoms and fruits at once, of golden hue,
Appea'd. with ga}, enamell'd colours mix'd;
On which the sun more glad impress'd his beams
Than in fair evening cloud, or humid bow.




SATAN OVERLOOKING PARADISE,




DANIEL INTERPRETING THE WRITING ON THE WALL.                        t
WE here see the prophet Daniel interpreting the mysterious sentence which appeared on
the walls of the palace of Belshazzar, as the monarch sat feasting, surrounded by his great.nobles, his wives and his concubines.  "Mene, mene, tekel, upharsin:" "Thou art
weighed in the balances, and art found wanting; thy kingdom is divided, and given to
the Medes and Persians."  For this interpretation Daniel was clothed in scarlet and gold,
and proclaimed the third ruler in the kingdom; but "in that night was Belshazzar the
king of the Chaldeans slain; and Darius the Median took the kingdom."  (Daniel v.)
The vast, uncouth, fantastic architecture of the palace, its monstrous figures of
men and animals, its ponderous columns and architraves," and its strange enrichments
(evidently studied from Assyrian models), are admirably drawn. Very good, also, are the
great slanting beams of light striking down on the amazed groups.




DANIEL INTERPRETING THE WRITING ON TiHE WALL.




THE    CONVERSION       OF  SAINT    PAUL.
PAUL, originally called Saul, was in early manhood one of the bitterest persecutors of the
primitive Christians. Having obtained letters from the Sanhedrim to the synagogue of
the Jews at Damascus, and likewise to the governor, authorising him to apprehend all
followers of the new religion whom he might find there, and to bring them to Jerusalem,
he departed towards the former city, and, when he had nearly reached it, was struck to
the earth by a great light. The circumstances attending the conversion of Saint Paul are
related in the ninth chapter of the Acts of the Apostles.  They are supposed to have
occurred in the year 35 of the new era, two years after the crucifixion.
The broad, intense beam of light, pouring full on the smitten figure of Paul, and
the soldier in the foreground burying his face in the earth to escape the terrible radiance,
are well conceived and worked out.




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THE ANTICS OF DON         QUIXOTE.
WANDERING about in the rocky and tree-shadowed deserts of the Sierra Morena, Don
Quixote bethinks him that it would be a fine thing to be mad for a little while, as a means
of expressing the intensity of his passion for the lovely Dulcinea del Toboso.  In this
respect he takes for his model the celebrated knights, Amadis of Gaul and Orlando Furioso,
who "committed a hundred thousand extravagances, worthy to be recorded in the eternal
register of fame."  Before commencing these austere ex.ercises, he charges Sancho with a
letter to the lady, for the mad tricks must be performed in solitude. The squire departs,
but, having been requested by his master to witness a few of his performancLs, he rides
back some way, and sees the Don frisking about in his shirt, with his heels in the air
(Part I., Chapter 24). And here we also see him, fixed by our artist in a gloomy gorge
of the swart mountains.




THlE ANTICS OF -DON QUIXOTE.




TIE  GNARLED  MONSTER.


MITAINE undertakes the perilous adventure of searching out and destroying the Fortress
of Fear. Advancing through a dark and ominous country, full of terrifying aspects, which,
however, on being faced, turn out to be mere illusions, she comes at length to a great
ruined wall; "when suddenly a flash of lightning, cleaving the heavens, enabled her to
discover a horrible monster gazing at her from its crest. It resembled the skeleton of a
horse combined with those of an ostrich, a whale, and a giraffe.  Its enormous head was
supported by a disproportionately long neck, and its two claws, armed with immense
talons, were seeking on the top of the wall for some point of vantage whence to leap
upon her. Mitaine, taken by surprise, sprang back twenty paces; the monster took as
many in advance.   She sank upon her knee as it drew near, and felt its hot breath
blowing upon her. 'By the shrine of Saint Landri! I am acting like a child, and show
myself little worthy to follow Charlemagne and Roland to battle.'  She sprang up; the
monster immediately recoiled....  She gave the wall a vigorous kick; the
stones fell crumbling, and dragged with them a number of creepers and brambles a century
old, breaking a poor harmless tree which had stood for ages, with its branches resting on
the wall.  Mitaine shrugged her shoulders, and moved on, saying, 'As I expected!"'
(Mr. T. Hood's version of " Croquemitaine," Book III., Chapter 8.) The moral is to the
effect that seeming dangers are apt to shrink into nothing the moment we boldly encounter
them.
The weird and fantastic character of the illustration is very remarkable.




THE GNARLED MONSTER.




THE ENCHANTMENT OF DON QUIXOTE.


THE Don, having, after his strange performances in the Sierra Morena, returned to the
inn at which Sancho was so scurvily treated by being tossed in a blanket, takes it into
his head not merely that the inn is a castle, but that it is enchanted. Under this impression
he performs so many extravagant antics that it is thought he must be mad, and a device
is hit upon for carrying him home.  First of all, the people of the inn bargain with
a passing waggoner for the use of his oxen; they then construct a large wooden cage,
in which the knight may conveniently sit or lie down. " Presently after, all the company
of the inn disguised themselves, some with masks, others by disfiguring their faces, and
the rest by change of apparel, so that Don Quixote should not take them to be the same
persons. This done, they all silently entered his chamber, where he was sleeping very
soundly after his late fatigues: they immediately laid hold on him so forcibly, and held
his arms and legs so hard, that he was not able to stir, or do anything but stare on those
odd figures which stood round him. This instantly confirmed him in the strange fancy
that had so long disturbed his crazed understanding, and made him   believe himself
undoubtedly enchanted, and those frightful figures to be the spirits and demons of the
enchanted castle.....   They had by this lifted him out of bed, and, placing
him in the cage, they shut him in, and nailed the bars of it so fast that no small strength
could force them open...    Don Quixote was not so much amazed at his
enchantment as at the manner of it.     'Among all the volumes of chivalry that I
have turned over,' said he, ' I never read before of knights-errant drawn in carts, or
tugged along so leisurely by such slothful animals as oxen.  For they used to be hurried
along with prodigious speed, enveloped in some dark and dusky cloud, or in some fiery
chariot drawn by winged griffins, or some such expeditious creatures; but I must confess,
to be drawn thus by a team of oxen staggers my understanding not a little.'" (Part I.,
Chapters 42-43.)




THE ENCHANTMENT OF DON QUIXOTE.




THE LITTLE FISH AND THE FISHERMAN (LA FONTAINE).
A LITTLE carp, some half a summer old, was caught by an angler. As the latter was
about to put it in his basket, the fish exclaimed, " What on earth can you want with me?
I am not half a mouthful. Let me grow up; you can catch me when I'm bigger, and
then some rich epicure will give a high price for me.  As it is, you'll want a hundred
or two of my size to make a dish.   And what will such a dish be worth when made?
It will be good for nothing."  " Good for nothing, eh?" echoed the angler.  "We shall
see. Your sermon, my little friend, pleases me exceedingly; but to-night I will try how
you eat."
Men of sense prefer the present to the future; for they are sure ot the one, and
not of the other.






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THE LITTLE FISH AND THE FISHERMAN.




THE STEALING OF SANCHO'S ASS,
ON the night that Don Quixote and Sancho Panza went off to the Sierra Morena, to
avoid the hue and cry of the Holy Brotherhood, after the Don had released some galley
slaves, the knight and his squire slunk into a wood, where, being quite tired out with their
late skirmishes, they fell fast asleep. While in this condition, a thief (Gines de Passamonte)
leads away Sancho's ass from under him, supplying its place with four stakes beneath the
four corners of the pack-saddle. Sancho sleeps on until the morning, when, beginning to
stir, the props tumble down, and the honest squire with them. Don Quixote afterwards
assures him that the trick was neither new nor difficult; for " with the same stratagem
Sacrepante had his steed stolen from under him by that notorious thief, Brunelo, at the siege
of Albraca" (Part II., Chapter 4).  In the illustration we see Sancho propped up by the
stakes, and gloriously unconscious of all things.  The solitude and dreamy night feeling
of the piece are admirable.




THE STEALING OF SANCHO'S ASS.




THE    CORPSE      CANDLES.
HAVING entered the Fortress of Fear, Mitaine climbs a narrow spiral staircase, the walls
of which are covered with thick moss, while the broken steps support a heavy growth of
ferns, lichens, and toadstools. The stairs crumble away behind her as she ascends; but
she passes on, and finds herself in a vast gallery, lighted only by the moon. Before her
opens a long series of huge folding-doors, and on her right hand are columns and arches.
All this while she is guided by a toad, which, crawling on before her, leaves a slimy and
phosphorescent track. " As Mitaine passed by the first column, it crumbled in pieces, and
she beheld, standing upright on the pedestal, a corpse wrapped in its winding-sheet, and
holding in its hand a lighted torch. It stepped down from its place, and, waiting until she
passed, took up its position on her left. The second column sank in its turn; a second
corpse descended, and placed itself on her right hand, also bearing a torch. The same
thing took place throughout the whole length of the gallery." (Book III., Chapter 9, of
" Croquemitaine. )  Such are some of the terrors through which Mitaine resolutely makes
her way to the achievement of the adventure.




THE CORPSE CANDLES.




THE MONKEY AND THE DOLPHIN (LA FONTAINE).
A VESSEL in the ancient times went to wreck not far from Athens. The crew would all
have drowned but for the good offices of a dolphin; for the dolphins, as Pliny himself
declares, are friends to man. The fish even took on its back a monkey that happened
to be on board, supposing it to be a sailor. The monkey, being asked if he came from
Athens, replied that he did, and vaunted his familiarity with the place; but soon exhibited
so much ignorance-even speaking of the Piraeus as a man, instead of a harbour-that
the dolphin looked round, and, discovering that he was mounted by a monkey and not a
man, plunged him beneath the waves, and mile search for some one more worthy of his
assistance.




THE MONKEY AND THE DOLPHIN.




A SUBMARINE WORLD


BARON MUNCHAUSEN (in his thirteenth chapter) relates that his father used to tc'l the
following story:-In one of the numerous visits he paid to England, he was one day
walking on the sea-shore not far from Harwich, when he saw a sea-horse rise out of the
waves, and gallop at the top of his speed towards him. The Baron had in his hand at the
time a certain wonderful sling, from which he projected two stones at the monster, with such,
accuracy of aim that he put out both his eyes. Then he jumped on his back, and made
him take the sea. His fierceness had departed with his eyes; and the Baron, slipping the
sling into his mouth for a bridle, set off for the opposite coast. In less than three hours
they reached Helvoetsluys, where the Baron sold the sea-horse for seven hundred ducats.
The things he saw in the course of his journey were very extraordinary. The horse did
not swim; he galloped with great swiftness along the bottom of the sea, driving before
him millions of singular fish. Some of these "had their heads in the middle of their bodies;
others at the end of their tails; some, standing in a circle, sang choruses of inexpressible
beauty; others were engaged in building transparent palaces of water, surrounded by vast
colonnades, through which rippled to and fro a clear shining fluid, resembling the most
brilliant fire. The interior of these buildings was provided with every convenience that
could suit fish of distinction: there were nurseries for the safe keeping of the spawn;
a suite of spacious halls was devoted to the education of the young fish." The Baron
also traversed a vast range of submarine mountains, at least as high as the Alps; saw a
forest of trees which bore lobsters, crabs, oysters, mussels, and sea-snails, of enormous
size; and escaped various dangers of the deep.




A SUBMARINE WORLD*




THE ADVENTURE OF THE ENCHANTED BARI,.


ON the banks of the river Ebro, Don Quixote and Sancho find a little boat tied to the
stump of a tree, with nobody to look after it. The Don immediately concludes that it
has been thrown in his way by an enchanter, who desires him to embark, and hasten to
the succour of some other knight, lying under great and peculiar danger.  Accordingly,
much to the dissatisfaction of Sancho, they tie up their beasts, enter the boat, and commit
themselves to the current, on which they drift some distance, until they behold two great
water-mills in the middle of the river. To the Don these mills appear to be enchanted
castles, or the buildings of some strange city, where he is destined to find the distressed
knight, or the queen or princess, for whose relief he has been    conveyed  thither.
Sancho of course sees the truth of the matter; but Quixote will not be undeceived, event
though the people in the mill shout out that the strangers will be swamped, or ground
to pieces by the water-wheels. They continue to advance, but are soon stopped by the
poles of the millers. This movement, however, upsets the boat, and knight and squire
are ducked in the stream, whence the men drag them forth. The boat-which proves to
be the property of the millers-is broken to pieces, and Don Quixote has to pay fifty
reals for it, and to give up the achievement of the adventure, which he says is plainly
reserved for some other knight. (Part II., Chapter 29.)




....................................




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THE ADVENTURE OF THE ENCHANTrED BARK.




PLUTUS.


WHEN preparing to descend into the fourth circle of Hell, Dante and Virgil find their
way stopped by Plutus, to whom is assigned the special guardianship of the pit, for it is
there that the prodigal and the avaricious are punished. Dante is alarmed at his appearance;
but Virgil comforts him, saying"" Let not thy fear
Harm thee; for power in him, be sure, is none
To hinder down this rock thy safe descent.'
Then to that swoln lip turning, 'IPeace!' he cried,
'ICurst wolf! thy fury inward on thyself
Prey, and consume thee! Through the dark profound,
Not without cause, he passes. So 'tis will'd
On high, there where the great Archangel pour'd
Heaven's vengeance on the first adulterer proud.'
"As sails, full spread and bellying with the wind,
Drop suddenly collaps'd, if the mast split:
So to the ground down dropp'd the cruel fiend."
Infe; no, Canto Vii., lin es 4-15.
Satan is here called "the first adulterer" in accordance with an old meaning of the
word, signifying one whose affections and desires are in a state of revolt against God.
The figure of Plutus in the illustration       is a fine study of the nude.      The various
muscular developments are beautifully indicated, and the effects of light and shade subtly
and delicately interwoven.








THE MOURNERS FOR DURANDARTE.


READERS of "Don Quixote" are well acquainted with the knight's wonderful adventures
in the Cave of Montesinos (Part II., Chapter 23). A  cavern so called really exists in
La Mancha.    It is about sixty feet in depth, and, being much easier of access now than
in the days of the Don (who is let down by a rope), is the frequent resort of shepherds
during storms.  Montesinos was one of the old heroes of romance, fond of wandering
about mountainous and woody solitudes, as his name imports, and at one time an inhabitant
of this cave.  Quixote, hearing the marvellous things that are reported of it, resolves to
descend by himself; he does so, and on gaining the bottom     is surprised by sleep.
Presently he wakes up (as he afterwards declares) in a most lovely meadow, at the further
end of which he sees a sumptuous palace, with wails and    battlements of transparent
crystal.  From  this palace issues forth a grave and reverend man in a long gown,
who proves to be no other than Montesinos himself.    With many laudatory speeches
he conducts the Don into the palace, and shows him a stately marble tomb, which is that
of the famous Spanish knight, Durandarte, who was mortally wounded at the battle of
Roncesvalles, and expired in the arms of Montesinos, his kinsman. With his dying breath
he requested Montesinos to take his heart out of his breast, and convey it to his mistress,
the beautiful Belerma; which was accordingly done.  In the mysterious cave, Durandarte,
lying on the top of his tomb, preserves a kind of enchanted life; for he, Montesinos, and
the other inhabitants of the cave, are subjected to the necromantic spells of Merlin. Here
Don Quixote sees a procession of beautiful damsels, all in black, attending on Belerma
(who carries the withered heart of Durandarte in a white handkerchief), and, with sighs,
tears, and groans, helping her to lament the loss of her champion. This mournful observance
(which takes place four times a week) is represented in the illustration, with most picturesque
details of Saracenic architecture.




THE MOURNERS FOR DURANDARTE.




THE A N GELIC WREATHS.


IN the fourth heaven, which is situated in the sun, Dante sees two wreaths or garlands,
each formed of twelve blessed spirits.     One of the saints composing the inner ring is
Thomas Aquinas, who, addressing the poet, tells him the names and qualities of the others.
The inner ring is the first observed; but, after Aquinas has finished his address, it begins
to wheel round, and has hardly once revolved ere another garland encompasses it" Motion to motion, song to song, conjoining;
Song that as much our muses doth excel,
Our syrens with their tuneful pipes, as ray
Of primal splendour doth its faint reflex.
As when, if Juno bid her handmaid forth,
Two arches parallel, and trick'd alike,
Span the thin cloud, the outer taking birth
From that within (in manner of that voice
Whom love did melt away, as sun the mist),
And they who gaze, presageful, call to mind
The compact, made with Noah, of the world
No more to be o'erflowed; about us thus,
Of sempiternal roses, bending, wreath'd
Those garlands twain; and to the innermost
E'en thus the external answer'd."  Paradiso, Canto XII., liles 5-19.
Saint Bonaventura, of the Franciscan order, speaks out of the external wreath, and
informs Dante who are the eleven others composing the garland of which he is himself
one of the living flowers.    The "voice whom     love did melt away" is that of Echo, who,
for the love of Narcissus, faded into a sound.




THE ANGELIC WREATHS.




THE PEACOCK COMPLAINING TO JUNO (LA FONTAINE).
THE Peacock complained to Juno, saying, " Goddess, the song you have given to your
bird is justly blamed; while, on the other hand, the nightingale, a paltry little thing, is
the glory and delight of spring-time, owing to her sweet and powerful singing." " Jealous
bird!" replied Juno, "is it for you to envy the singing of others? You who are wearing
round your neck a hundred rainbow dyes; you who display to mortals those plumes that
far exceed the splendour of jewellery. Is there any bird more fitted to please than you
are? No creature engrosses every gift; each has its special dower, and all are content.
Cease, then, to murmur, lest, as a judgment, I rend the plumage from off your foolish back."
The plate represents a beautiful Watteau-like scene in the gardens of a richlywooded old chateau, with a most prodigious peacock dropping his long train from the
balustrade of a terrace.




TILE PEACOCK COMPLAINING TO JUNO,




~":


CIIARLEMAGNE'S VISION.
WE read in "Croquemitaine" (Book II., Chapter 3) that, one beautiful spring night, the
Emperor Charlemagne, while sitting in his park at Paderborn, " perceived in the heavens
what seemed like an immense causeway, pavea with stars. which commenced above the
Gulf of Friesland, and disappeared about the Gaiician frontier, passing over Germany,
Aquitaine, Gascony, and Navarre. Little by little there seemed to him to glitter an unusual
number of luminaries; they increased in size, changed their forms, and began to move all
in the same direction from the north-east to the south-west, and presently he beheld, moving
across the heavens, crowds of armed warriors. He had mistaken for stars the glint ot the
moon upon their armour. For a whole hour, troop succeeded troop; the horses, excited
to a mad ardour, galloped along the clouds, raising a dust of star-sparkles with their hoofs.
Then all became motionless as before. The night grew dark and silent."  The vision is
prognosticatory of the Emperor's expedition against the Saracens of Spain. As interpreted
by M. Dord, it is very ghostly and vapoury, with a touch or two of the grotesque.




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THE APPROACH      TO THE ENCHANTED PALACE.
Tins is an illustration to the beautiful old legend of "The Sleeping Beauty in the Wood."
The Prince who is to dissolve the enchantment is seen approaching the palace up a long
avenue of trees, which the cessation of all human interference for a hundred years has
converted into a forest glade.     To adopt the pleasant verses of Mr. Tom        Hood"Along that silent avenue the young Prince gaily passes;
'Tis carpeted with velvet moss beneath the nodding grasses.
The dreamy sunlight, through the boughs upon the green sward streaming,
Sets here and there with radiance rare a lingering dewdrop gleaming.
On either hand rise lofty stems; above, the branches mingle;
And, as a glimpse of blue shuts in the end ot some green dingle,
Framed in an arch of greenery where that long alley closes,
He sees a flight of steps, a gate o'ergrown with truant roses,
And some one who beside the gate in that warm sunshine dozes."  Fairy Realm.
The Prince passes the sleepy porter, whom         no blows will awaken, and enters the
palace.
The tangled overgrowth of the wood, with its mingling of shadow            and sunshine, is
most artistically represented; and a sense of solitude, of silence, and of dreamy enchantment,
is thrown over the whole.




THE APPROACH TO THE ENCHANTED PALACE,




THE BATTLE OF THE ANGELS.
RAPHAEL, relating to Adam and Eve the events of the great' conflict in heaven, tells
them:
"Now storming fury rose,
And clamour, such as heard in heaven till now
Was never. Arms on armour clashing brayed
Horrible discord, and the madding wheels
Of brazen chariots raged: dire was the noise
Of conflict; overhead the dismal hiss
Of fiery darts in flaming volleys flew,
And, flying, vaulted either host with fire.
So, under fiery cope, together rushed
Both battles main, with ruinous assault
And inextinguishable rage."       Paradise Lost, Book VI., lines 207-217.
The hurtle of the wingred warriors encountering in mid air is very suggestive of angelic
warfare,




THES BATTLE OF THE ANGELS&




THE COUNCIL HELD BY THE RATS (LA FONTAINE).
A CERTAIN cat spread so much terror through the kingdom of the rats, that the latter,
taking advantage of the cat's absence one day, held a council to determine what should.
be done. One wise old rat proposed to fasten a bell round the cat's neck, so that the sound
should give timely notice of the enemy's approach. The idea was very generally received
as excellent; but who was to bell the cat?  That was the difficulty. Every one declined
to make the attempt, and the whole thing ended in talk.  We s'ee the same result in
human affairs. Plenty of suggestions, but much shrinking from the test of action.
The rats here portrayed are full of character and droll caprice.  They seem to have
been studied from life, but with an eye of humorous fancy.




THE COUNCIL HELD BY THE RATS.




THE MOCK SERENADE.


DON QUIXOTE, staying at the castle of a great duke and duchess, is made the victim of
a practical joke by one ot the waiting women, who, having heard him talk a good deal
about the peerless Dulcinea del Toboso, determines to put his fidelity to the test. After
he has gone to bed one night, the Don, being unable to sleep for the heat, gets up, opens
the casement, and looks out into a fine garden, where he presently hears people walking
about and talking.  They prove to be two women, one of whom, named Altisidora, is
pressed by the other to sing. Altisidora replies that since the arrival of the stranger at
the castle she has been too conversant with tears and sorrow to sing or relish songs.
Besides, the Duchess might wake; and, again, what would be the use of her singing if
this new ZEneas should be asleep, and not hear the sound of her complaints? These, of
course, are feigned excuses, the Don being heard above at the window; and ultimately
the damsel begins her serenade, which is a great outpouring of love for the knight, a
depreciation of Dulcinea, and a vaunting  of the singer's own attractions.  Quixote
takes all this for true; recalls an immense number of adventures of a like character
which he has read of in his books of knight-errantry; and is at first a little apprehensive
for his fidelity to the lady of Toboso. At the close of the serenade, however, he declares,
that nothing shall stir his heart from that one object of attraction; and, reproving all who
would change or weaken his love, claps to the window, and goes to bed in great
indignation. (Part II., Chapter 44.)
"M. Dora has treated this burlesque incident in the spirit of romance. The picturesque
Gothic architecture of the castle, with its diamonded casements, its rich and fantastic
ornamentation, and its dreamy-looking heraldic escutcheons-the shadowy garden, the dark
yet glimmering night, and the obscure figures of the damsels below the window-all are
suggestive of the very poetry of old Spanish life.




THE MOCK SERENADE*




JESUS HEALING THE SICK MAN OF THE PALSY.
IT is recorded in the Gospel of Matthew that there was brought to Jesus, in Bethlehem,
a man sick of the palsy, whom he cured, so that he was enabled to rise at once, take
up his bed, and go into his house (Matthew ix. 2-7--).  The incident is here embodied
by M. Dore' in a plate which shows the sick man just about to rise from his couch.




JESUS HEALING THE SICK MAN OF THE PALSY.




TtHE OYSTER AND ITS CLAIMANTS (LA FONTAINE).
WHo does not know the old fable of the two travellers who quarrelled about their claim
to an oyster found by them simultaneously on the margin of the sea, and who referred
the dispute to a lawyer passing that way, with no other result than to behold the oyster
eaten before their faces, and to receive each a shell for his portion? Here is the famous story
grotesquely but pleasingly rendered. The travellers are two pilgrims, with sandals, beads,
and scrip, complete; and the learned gentleman is a mediaeval French doctor of the law.
The rocky and barren sea-shore is a c#ji tal piece of scenery; and the self-satisfied
pomposity of the lawyer is most'amusingly contrasted with the dazed and disappointed
looks of the holy men.




THE OYSTER AND ITS CLAIMANTS*




THE FALL OF THE REBEL ANGELS.


THE rebel angels being at length defeated, a breach opens in the wall of Heaven, and
the panic-struck rout see with horror the wasteful deep below. But they are urged from
behind by thunders and pursuing fire, and cast themselves headlong into the abyss.
"Hell heard the unsufferable noise: Hell saw
Heaven ruining from Heaven, and would have fled
Affrighted; but strict Fate had cast too deep
Her dark foundations, and too fast had bound.
Nine days they fell; confounded Chaos roared,
And felt tenfold confusion in their fall
Through his wild anarchy; so huge a rout
Encumbered him with ruin. Hell at last,
Yawning, received them whole, and on them closed."
Paradise Lost, Book VZ, lines 867-875.
Turner once made an impressive illustration         of the same passage      in  Milton; but
M. Dor6's drawing is on a much larger scale, and more full of a dark, multitudinous, and
headlong ruin.




THE FALL OF THE REBEL ANGELS.




DON QUIXOTE SETTING OUT ON HIS ADVENTURES.
WE here see the Don -setting out for the first time on his adventures. He is riding
across a flat, desolate country, with scraggy trees, and sullen pools of water among sandy
wastes; and night is coming on.  A stormy sky and lurid sunset have turned the clouds
into wild, dimly-descried shapes of knights, giants, enchanters, monsters, distressed damsels,
and towered castles, fading everywhere into the vapoury rack and brassy glare, yet alive
with contest, terror, and meaning.  These shapes, we may suppose, are the creations of
Quixote's brain-sick fancies: but the Don's face should have been towards them, instead of
his back.  The illustration, however, is an extraordinary piece of fancy and imagination.




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A NOCTURNAL DISCOURSE.


AFTER having had an encounter with some strolling players, Don Quixote and Sancho
Panza compose themselves for passing the night under some shady trees, where they get
talking over the adventures of the earlier part of the day. The Don commends the arts
of play-writing and acting, and bids Sancho hold the professors of both in honour.
(Cervantes was here probably thinking of his own labours in the department of dramatic
literature.)  "'Pr'ythee tell me,'" says the knight, addressing his faithful squire, "'hast
thou never seen a play acted, where kings, emperors, prelates, knights, ladies, and other
characters, are introduced on the stage? One acts a ruffian, another a soldier; this man
a cheat, and that a merchant; one plays a designing fool, and another a foolish lover:
but the play done, and the actors undressed, the) are all equal, and as they were before.'
'All this I have seen,' quoth Sancho. 'Just such a comedy,' said Don Quixote,' is acted
on the great stage of the world, where some play the emperors, others the prelates, and,
in short, all the parts that can be brought into a dramatic piece, till death, which is the
catastrophe and end of the action, strips the actors of all their marks of distinction, and
levels their quality in the grave.' 'A rare comparison,' quoth Sancho, 'though not so new
but that I have heard it over and over.'....      In such discourses they passed a
great part of the night." (Part II., Chapter 12.)




. A NOCTURNAL DISCOURSE




THE RISING      OF THE WATERS.
IN this print (from  M. Dor's illustrations to "Paradise Lost"), the artist depicts the


progress of the Deluge, according to the passage in his author.
"Meanwhile the south wind rose, and, with black wings
Wide-hovering, all the clouds together drove
From under heaven; the hills to their supply
Vapour and exhalation, dusk and moist,
Sent up amain: and now the thicken'd sky
Like a dark ceiling stood; down rush'd the rain
Impetuous, and continued till the earth
No more was seen: the floating vessel swum
Uplifted, and secure with beaked prow
Rode tilting o'er the waves; all dwellings else
Flood overwhelm'd, and them with all their pomp
Deep under water roll'd: sea cover'd sea,
Sea without shore; and in their palaces,
Where luxury late reign'd, sea-monsters whelp'd
And stabled; of mankind, so numerous late,
All left in one small bottom swum imbark'd."


Book XI., lines 738.-753.


The drawing is very much in the manner of our English paigter, Martin.




THE RISING OF THE WATER&




SAINT PAUL RESCUED FROM             THIE MULTITUDE.
PAVL, going to Jerusalem to preach, created a great tumult among the Jews. who accused
Lin of delivering false doctrine in the temple. "And all the city was moved, and the
people ran together; and they took Paul, and drew him out of the temple; and forthwith the doors were shut. And as they were about to kill him, tidings came unto the
chief captain of the band, that all Jerusalem was in an uproar. Who immediately took
soldiers and centurions, and ran down unto them: and when they saw the chief captain
and the soldiers, they left beating of Paul....  He commanded him to be carried
into the castle.  And when he came upon the stairs, so it was, that he was borne of
the soldiers for the violence of the people.  For the multitude of the people followed
after, crying, Away with him!" (Acts xxi. 30--36.)
The picture which M. Dord has founded on this incident is full of action ani
movement.




170              SAINT PAUL RESCUED FROM THlE MULTITUDE.




THE BURDEN OF PRIDE.


ON an open and level space extending round the Mount of Purgatory, Dante sees a
number of spirits labouring under the weight of heavy stones.           They are the souls of
those who have been guilty of pride, and are now expiating that sin.          With one of them
Dante converses for a time.
"With equal pace, as oxen in the yoke,
I with that laden spirit journey'd on,
Long as the mild instructor suffer'd me;
But when he bade me quit him, and proceed,
*    *    *    *,  -*   *    *    *
Upright, as one disposed for speed, I rais'd
My body, still in thought submissive bow'd."
Purgatorio, Canto XII., lines i-8.
The gigantic figures on the side of the rock are sculptures representing various
instances of pride recorded in history and fable.




................................




THE BURDEN OF PRIDE.




THE HARE AND THE FROGS (LA FONTAINE).
A HARE one day sat meditating on his own excessive timidity. It was a sad thing, he
reflected, to have such weak nerves.  He was always in alarm about something; a
breath of wind or a passing shadow would throw him into a fever. It happened, however,
shortly afterwards, that, as he was passing a pond, the frogs leapt in, greatly alarmed at
his appearance, and hid themselves in the mud at the 'bottom. " Oh, oh!" cried he, " then
there are creatures as much afraid of me as I am afraid of men! These animals tremble
at my approach. I am to them a thunderbolt of war."
The panic-stricken flight of the frogs is most amusing, and very true to nature in
the various actions of the little amphibious creatures as they plunge into the water. Huge
and monstrous in comparison, the dull, astonished face of the hare looks in between the
reeds; and reeds and pond are alike delicately and fancifully touched.




THE HARE AND THE FROGS~




DON    QUIXOTE'S       MADNESS.
IN describing Plate CXVIII., we have spoken of Don Quixote's mad freaks in the Sierra
Morena, where he thinks it necessary to attest his passion for Dulcinea del Toboso by
half-starving himself, cutting extravagant capers, and knocking his body about remorselessly. Sancho, having left him for a little while, finds him on his return sitting among
the rocks in his shirt, lean, pale, and almost famished, " sighing and whining for his lady
Dulcinea," and protesting that "he was resolved he would never set eyes on her sweet
face again till he had done some feats that might make him worthy of her goodness."
(Part I., Chapter I8.)  And here he is-the veriest scarecrow of a knight that ever was
seen.




DON QUIXOTE'S MADNESS.




BABYLON FALLEN.


SATNT JOHN, in the eighteenth chapter of the Book of Revelation (verses i and 2), says:"I saw another angel come down from heaven, having great power; and the earth was
lightened with his glory.  And he cried mightily with a strong voice, saying, Babylon the
great is fallen, is fallen, and is become the habitation of devils, and the hold of every foul
spirit, and a cage of every unclean and hateful bird."
The desolation and mournfulness of the place are tremendous.  The ruined buildings.
-the heaps of fallen masonry, Titanic ever in their wreck-the temples forsaken of their
worshippers-the palace-gates whose steps no feet of man shall evermore ascend-themonstrous effigies of beasts and chimeras keeping watch as if over some dismal enchantment-the living beasts and birds prowling or fluttering about the spectral place-the wild
and threatening sky, scared rather than comforted with cloudy moonlight-and the look of
utter human abandonment of human works (always one of the most awful and ghostly
of things)-make up a picture in the highest mood of poetry.




BABYLON FALLEN.




A VOYAG F TO THE MOOI -
BARoN MUNCHAUSEN sets out with a relative on a voyage of discovery, undertaken with
a view to finding the gigantic race of people described in "Gulliver's Travels.'  In theSouth Sea. a hurricane seizes their vessel, whirls it to a height of nearly one thousand
leagues above the level of the waves, and carries it along for six weeks through the
clouds. At last they see land at a distance. It looks round and shining, like a glittering
island, and proves to be the moon, where, indeed, Munchausen has been before.  They
find it peopled by men of gigantic stature, riding on enormous griffins; and here they
encounter a series of surprising adventures, which the reader will find fully recorded in
the sixteenth chapter of the history.




Alwý  - -


A VOYAGE TO THE MOON.




DON QUIXOTE AND SANCHO SETTING OUT.
2TIXOTE having obtained the services of Sancho Panza as his squire, mainly by suggesting
that some fortunate adventure may confer on him the governorship of an island, they
set out at night, and by break of day find themselves beyond the chance of pursuit.
Sancho begs his master not to forget his promise of the island; "for I dare say," adds he,
" 1 shall make shift to govern it, let it be never so big." The Don makes reply, "You
must know, friend Sancho, that it has been the constant practice of knights-errant in former
ages to make their squires governors of the islands or kingdoms they conquered."  And
then-he promises that he will do even more for Sancho. as soon as chance gives him the
opportunity. (Part I., Chapter 7.)
The level, vapoury light of early morning,'with its long shadows, and its general effect
of drowsy calm and freshness, is pictured by M. Dore with great truth and beauty.




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