YALE UNIVERSITY
LIBRARY

' Que de livres il faut illustrer pour s'illustrer soi-meme."— G. Dore.

GUSTAVE DORK.

Frontispiece.

" Ne soyez pas modesle dans vos entreprises, mais soyez-le toujours dans le
succes."— G. Dore.

LIFE AND REMINISCENCES

GUSTAVE DORE
COMPILED FROM
MATERIAL SUPPLIED BY DOPE'S RELATIONS
AND FRIENDS,
AND FROM PERSONAL RECOLLECTION.
WITH MANY ORIGINAL UNPUBLISHED SKETCHES, AND SELECTIONS
FROM DORE'S BEST PUBLISHED ILLUSTRATIONS.

BLANCHE ROOSEVELT, [ttU^Mf
AUTHOR OF "STAGE-STRUCK," ETC., ETC., ETC.

' ' He was a man, take him for all in all, I shall not look upon his like again."
Hamlet. — Act i, Scene ii.
" Yet experience has shown, and a true philosophy will always show, that a vast,
perhaps the larger portion of truth, arises from the seemingly irrelevant."
Edgar Allan Poe, Mystery of Marie Ro^et.

$cfo fork:
CASSELL & COMPANY, Limited,
735 & 741, BROADWAY.
*i88S.

Copyright, 1885,
BY
O. M. Dunham.

TO THE MEMORY OF MY BELOVED FATHER,
THE HON. WM. H. ROOSEVELT TUCKER,
OF VIRGINIA, SENATOR, STATESMAN, AND PATRIOT,
^his <Hork is btbkateb,
BY HIS DAUGHTER BLANCHE.
London, March, 1885.

A 2

PREFACE.
I VISITED the home of Gustave Dore after his demise ;
and on looking round the rooms which spoke so plainly of
their late lamented occupant, the idea came to me to make
a sketch which I should call " An Artist's Home after his
Death." I began working at this project, which was
meant to include a simple biography, and whilst taking
notes for it, was pursued by the notion of writing a
memoir of the great artist instead.
Boswell says he often ran over half London for data
or notes, and I am sure that in my enthusiasm about
Dore, I ran over all Paris. My labour of love became
one of lively and absorbing interest, however, for I had
the good fortune to know the various personages who
appear in this work, and of whom one may safely say
that they are one and all but a shade less interesting
than Dore himself ; in short, a fitting frame for such a
picture. When I began to write down all that these people had
told me about Gustave Dore, I was troubled to find that
my language was not theirs ; so I hastened to let each
one speak as he or she had spoken to me, and to let his
friends appear for themselves, whilst appearing for him
in propria persona. Mr. Longfellow once said to me,
" Taking a man's life is a very serious thing." And if this

PREFACE.

be the case, I say, how much more serious the position
of the one on trial for his life ?
Dore and his good name, artistically speaking, are
before the world to be judged ; and those of his friends
who, as well as myself, appear in this book are the wit
nesses who shall either speak for or against him. I may
seem perhaps to talk at random, to note at random, to
criticize at random, and to introduce my witnesses at
random as one places blocks in a prize puzzle. I do
so, remembering the words of Edgar Allan Poe, " Yet
experience has shown, and a true philosophy will always
show, that a vast, perhaps the larger, portion of truth
arises from the seemingly irrelevant."
These words are my excuse.
I have never altered my evidence, and have only can
celled certain forms of expression which might have
proved misleading, taken as individual remarks, when
they could not corroborate any part of the whole testi
mony ; and I offer this work to public notice firmly
believing that in it will be found a fair and truthful life of
Gustave Dore. In compiling it I have tried to identify
myself with the one predominating element of Dore's
nature — his imagination ; and after depicting life in the
real, have ventured into the domain of the unreal, writing
in the spirit of those who lead imaginary existences. I
have been depicting the life of an unusual man, perhaps
I have done it in an unusual manner ; still I cannot
but think that it is the right one.
My warm and grateful thanks are here publicly tendered
to those faithful friends of the dead artist who have given
me invaluable notes and data for this biography. I

PREFACE.

name first of all Dore's brother, Lieutenant-Colonel
Dore, then Dr. Joseph Michel, M. Daubree, M. Arthur
Kratz, M. Bourdelin, Colonel Teesdale, M. Paul Dal-
loz, M. Paul Joanne, Lieutenant-Colonel Dudley Samp
son, Dr. Lavies, M. Bourdin, and Mr. Galpin. I do not
forget Mme. Braun, Mdlle. Bader, and the faithful Fran-
coise. As for the illustrations, the chief unpublished
ones were given to me by Dore's family and M. Kratz ;
the others were lent by Messrs. Cassell and Co.,
Messrs. Chatto and Windus, and Messrs. Fairless and
Beeforth. One of the principal actors in this drama can no longer
receive either public reward or thanks — I refer to M. Paul
Lacroix — to whose affection for Dore and interest in this
work, the world is indebted for some of its rarest
data and memoranda. I can only place credit to his
memory, remembering that before he looked his last on
earth all my thanks were spoken to him in person. My
last words of acknowledgment must be for Mr. Wm.
Beatty- Kingston, who has given me invaluable counsel
and suggestions.
I would that my humble efforts could add to Dore's
fame. In doubtful moments I sometimes say, " It will be
something if my words shall not have detracted from it."
To those of Dore's friends who do not speak in this
work I extend also thanks, as the murmurs of their
remembrance of the artist have been borne to me on the
breath of every friendly breeze. Perhaps they hope,
with myself, that some day we shall see in France a
statue erected to one of her greatest geniuses — Gustave
Dore — so that from this symbol of national recognition

viii PREFACE.

the world may judge somewhat how his country at last
values his works. Many an one who knew him inti
mately may read this and say, " Oh, she hasn't told half
that I could have told about him ! " Perhaps not, but
I fear I have done my best.

Blanche Roosevelt.

TABLE OF CONTENTS.

CHAPTER I. PAGE
The city of Strasburg — The Dore" family— Francoise the nurse —
Madame Braun, related to the Dore's, speaks of Francoise —
The birth of Gustave Dore"— Born on Twelfth Night —
French extract of the certificate of his birth — M. Daubre"e,
ex-president of the Institute of France, a life-long friend of
the Bori family, speaks of Gustave and his early life — Madame
Braun describes, Gustave's grandfather, and M. Paul Lacroix
describes his maternal grandmother, Madame Pluchart — De
scription of Dord's mother and his love for her — Gustave
Dore's youth — Gustave fond of playing at circus — The family
at home in the evening — Gustave's first sketches — Madame
Dore- declares her son is a genius — Her husband declares
he is nothing of the sort — He is destined to go to the Poly
technic School with his brothers, but his father will not
permit him to study painting — Early evidences of his love
for the extravagant and mysterious — The fairytale in Alsatia
— The legend of Strasburg Cathedral — A life-long impression
on Gustave Dore's mind  i

CHAPTER II.
Gustave Dore" spends the first ten years of his life in the shadow
of the great minster — Gustave's love for the cathedral — At
the age of five he is sent with his brother Ernest to Professor
Vergnette's school — Gustave's dearest school companions the
sons of M. Kratz — Sundays in Graffenstaden, M. Kratz's beau
tiful country place — Gustave devoted to music, the drama,
and acrobatic performances — General prediction, " Gustave
will be an actor or a musician " — School-days at Professor
Vergnette's — Gustave head of his class — A remarkable letter
written on this occasion and illustrated with the portrait of the

CONTENTS.

PAGE
Professor before Dore was six years old — He begins to study
the classics, Telemachus and others — Dore begins to sketch
all over the margins of his school-books — The starting-
point in Gustave's artistic career — The fete of Gutenberg
— The corporation of glass-stainers— Professor Vergnette's
fete-day, and how Gustave Dore' repeated the celebration of
Gutenberg's statue — M. A. Kratz, Dora's life-long friend, de
scribes Gustave's fete of Gutenberg ... .16

CHAPTER III.
After the Gutenberg fete — Sunday at Graffenstaden — Gustave
sings some comic songs — A demon of gaiety and mischief —
Professor Vergnette's fete-day — Gustave voluntarily chooses
to represent the corporation of glass-stainers — At the head
of his car makes sketches which he launches right and left
to the crowd — His picturesque appearance — He painted
four banners, one at the head of each chariot, and decorated
four chariots with apropriate designs — A school-boy's cele
bration marching in the Place de Cathedral — Decision that
Gustave shall become an artist. The starting-point in his
career — Gustave goes to the college of Strasburg — His
assiduity and astonishing cleverness — His allusions and
fancies and the development of a marvellous imagination . 26

CHAPTER IV.
An early evidence of Gustave Dore's generous disposition — At the
age of seven he meets a barefooted ragged urchin in the dead
of winter, takes off his own shoes and gives them to him —
Francoise speaks of his usual generosity — Gustave's love for
lounging in the street — He develops a talent for gymnastics —
He begins to sketch the people in the street — Madame Dore'
enchanted with her son's talent — A discreet grandmother
— Gustave begins to learn to read — He is interested in
mythological and Biblical subjects— He begins to illustrate
the adventures of Jove — Gustave has a passion for music 
He sees "Robert le Diable." His love for this opera 
Gustave learns to play the violin — New development in his
nature — He begins to sketch goblins and fiends — He illus
trates Dante at ten — Sketches from a " Voyage de l'Enfer "
— About the same time he illustrates a little book from his
own text — First time of sketching the Pine Forest of the
Vosges — The "Metamorphoses du Jour" by Granville 
Gustave makes a parody of it called " La Charite'" . . ,,-

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER V. PAGE
Dore's life as partially told by himself— Some notes which he
dictated to his mother — He begins by forgetting his birthday
— He describes his father and his profession — He speaks
of his love for Alsatia — His first attempts at painting — The
result of his early training — (We take leave of Dore's notes
for a moment to interpolate some things he omitted) —
Gustave spends his holiday at Saverne — He illustrates a
little book for Madame Braun — He is sent to the College
of Strasburg — Spends two years there — He next goes to
a young gentlemen's school at Bourg — Soon gains a reputa
tion in the school for his drawing — He makes two sketches
which are publicly exhibited — A clever and kind school
master — Dore's way of learning his lessons — He describes
historical events by his pen — He wins the post of honour in
his class by his sketch of the " Death of Clitus " — Dore" goes
on a walking tour with his father — He makes a thorough
acquaintance with the mountains and valleys of the Vosges
— Dord hears tales and legends of Alsatia and the Black
Forest — The legend of St. Odille — The real story of Duke
Etticon and his daughter — The patron saint of Alsatia —
Gustave Dore" believes in the healing properties of Hohen-
burg Fountain — Two legends which form two great worships
in Dord's life — Dore's natures revels in the idea of the fan
tastic and unreal — A further development in his nature . 42

CHAPTER VI.
Franchise tells how Gustave fell in the garden and hurt his arm
— So fond of his sketching that he was bolstered up in bed
to work at his drawing — A cheerful invalid — Description of
the Braun family — Gustave draws a series of sketches which
have for subject Madam Braun's dog Fouilloux — The
wonderful creature and all that he did — Fouilloux learns
to dance the polka — Some family and friendly likenesses
— A fine portrait of Madame Dore, who teaches Fouil
loux to dance gracefully — M. Dore" does not wish to have
his son draw, and discourages any more miscellaneous
sketching — Dora's memory — His self-will and his boyish
battles — Notes from Gustave's diary — In September, 1847,
he goes to Paris — Wishes to consecrate himself to the career
of fine arts — Dore" falls in with M. Philipon, the editor of
the " Journal pour Rire " — Dore" offers M. Philipon some
sketches — Philipon asks the lad to become one of the staff
of his paper — M. Dord consents to let Gustave remain in

CONTENTS.

PAGE
Paris and work — The contract between M. Dore" and M.
Philipon — Dore" goes to the Lycde Charlemagne — Dore's
college companions, Edmond About and H. Taine — Dore"
becomes celebrated as a caricaturist — Already begins to dis
like comic work — Dord meets some old friends of his family
in Paris — M. Paul Lacroix — Some friendly advice — Dore"
gives evidence of a marvellous memory — An authentic in
cident on the reproduction of a photograph — A newspaper
anecdote — Dor£ is called a marvel  54

CHAPTER VII.
Gustave's college days and college companions — -His reputation
in the school for drawing — Dore" studies the classics — Dore"
explains the characteristics of a Roman emperor to his class
by a sketch of Nero on the blackboard — M. Burger, Gus
tave's witty professor, a second Falstaff — In view of Dora's
talent for making pen portraits, he decides never to put any
questions concerning Vitellius — Dor6 begins to illustrate
popular books in secret — Paris begins to talk of Philipon's
prodigy — Dord's versatility and assurance — The story of
Calypso — Dore's idea of Ulysses — The story of Telemachus
— A Homerian goddess speaking in an Alsatian dialect —
Dord's life at Madame Herounille's — Dora's delight with
Paris — He visits the Louvre — The Museums — His admira
tion for pictures — The Venus de Milo — Gustave Dor£ never
copies any works— Gustave Dora's pride and artistic intelli
gence — Dord visits the Bibliotheque Rationale — His careful
ness in archeological study — He begins to rave about art and
the great masters— Always working — A busy student . . 67

CHAPTER VIII.
Death of Gustave Dore's father — His widow comes to settle in
Paris — She takes a house in the Rue St. Dominique — A cele
brated house — Once the home of the Duke St. Simon-
Historical souvenirs— An historical people — The Regent,
flfe Duchess de Berri, and others — First dinner in the new
house— Gustave's spirits— He jumpsover thedining-tableand
breaks the new chandelier — A happy omen — Madame Dore"' s
first evening party— Some tableaux- vivants— Revivifying
scenes and personages of a century back— Description of the
house— The blue room— A schoolboy's sanctum — A plaque
of Gustave Dore— Gustave paints his father's portrait from
memory— Portrait of Paul Lacroix at thirty— A handsome
savant — Gustave's room next his mother's — Making a studio
of Madame Dora's chamber ...... ^q

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER IX. pagj:
M. Paul Lacroix — A description of the great writer — Paul Lacroix
speaks of Gustave Dore' — A little sketch of M. Lacroix's life
— His literary career — An erudite at twenty — His history
of the 16th century — The author of the " Danse Macabre"
— Le Roi des Ribauds — A great celebrity — Balzac's brother-
in-law by marriage and almost a literary rival — A celebrated
archeologist — A marvellous memory — Personal description
of M. Lacroix — M. Lacroix speaks of Gustave Dore" — Tells
the true story of his early life in Paris — Dore's ambition to
elevate the art of wood-engraving — Gustave illustrates a
book for M. Lacroix — A prolific talent — Jumping over M.
Lacroix's best sofa — An enthusiastic publisher — M. Du Tacq
— Some model drawings hold a place of honour in Du Tacq's
salon — Gustave scolds the engravers — Trying to teach them
their own art — Complaints because his work was spoiled — A
fretful lad — Dore"s appearance at seventeen — An indefatigable
worker  85

CHAPTER X.
M. Lacroix still talks of Gustave Dore" — He gives him some good
advice — Dore" refuses to study with models — His model the
swimming school — He has confidence in himself — Secretly
taking Lacroix's words to heart — Dord finds some copies of
old engravings in Paris — Sketching "Raphaels" from memory
— Dore's dislike of being called a draughtsman — A visit to
Dieppe^His first painting all in one colour, that colour grey
— A comical painting — Dord resents M. Lacroix's laughing
— He paints other pictures — His mother tells him he is a
great artist — Painting landscapes without going out of the
studio — Jean Goujon — Gustave takes a holiday — He returns
to his native town — A walking trip in the Vosges — M. La
croix again visits the studio — Some lines from Virgil — Gus
tave paints an imaginary picture — M. Lacroix's delight and
unstinted praise — Gustave's fertile and beautiful imagination
— M. Lacroix for the first time calls him a genius . . 98

CHAPTER XI.
The unpleasantness of a pleasure trip — A sketch of M. Plumet's
visit to the Alps — In ecstasies over " William Tell " as done
at the Paris Opera House — Home from the opera — Plumet's
dream— A white heart floating to Switzerland — Strange melee
of Alps, Plumets, dogs, and beggars — A Parisian menagerie

CONTENTS.

PAGE

—The different publics of Paris— Another amusing book,
" Three Artists, incomprehensible^misunderstood, and discon
tented "—Another success for Gustave Dore" — A prolific
draughtsman — The publication of two hundred humorous
and grotesque sketches— Some remarkable drawings — Dord
begins to show the value of his school education — A descrip
tion of the historical sketches from the ist century to the
1 9th — Les Merveilleuses — New sketch of Corinna strongly
suggestive of Madame de Stael — Some sheep in the time of
Louis XV. — A pastoral under Louis XIV. — Scene at the
Court of Versailles — " Ten Years Later, or a Change of
Fashion " — The last of the historical sketches . . .109

CHAPTER XII.
Dore's many disappointments — His work refused by many pub
lishers — The fall of Louis Philippe and Revolution of 1848 —
It's an ill wind that blows nobody good — Dord makes
sketches from real life — Horrors of another revolution — •
Fearful scenes in the Faubourg St. Antolhe — Gustave Dore"
learns the art of grouping masses together — A terrible but effi
cacious proverb — Popularity of Lacroix's book illustrated by
Dore" — At seventeen Dor£ collaborates withGini — Dora's next
popular success — The life of a Parisian, Marsceline, and others
¦ — Gustave constantly working as a caricaturist — Continuation
of Dore's notes — Some description of his life in Paris — Dord
is compared with Michel Angelo — Two friends made by
Dord at the Lycde Charlemagne — Edmond About andHippo-
lyte Taine — Sketch of Edmond About — Dora's pleasure in
this acquaintance . . . . . . . -125

CHAPTER XIII.
Dord takes his summer vacation — A lion in Paris society — Courted
by the noble Faubourg St. Germain — Dore"s love for the
Opera — " Aux Italiens " — A devoted " first-nighter " —
Dore's love for " William Tell" — Dord has anewteacher on the
violin — A busy artist — Music a consolation — Dord's home
life and his public life — An artist's up-hill work — The
envious and jealous — The pet of the Parisian public— Dore"'s
love for his mother — An enthusiastic admirer — Gustave
happy in his home, and his yielding to home influence — Dord
takes a vacation and goes to Switzerland — Madame Dore
writes from Switzerland — She speaks of Gustave's health and
spirits — A reference to Rabelais — Dore" returns home through
Alsatia — Gustave's reception in his native country — He

CONTENTS.

PAGE
thinks he is not appreciated by his old friends— Dord's dis
appointment — His return to Paris — His first supreme dis
illusion — New work and new labour — His continual success
and increasing popularity . . . . . . -137
CHAPTER XIV.
Dor£ does new work in the " Album pour Rire " — Dor£ finishes
the illustration of Rabelais — Some recollections of the
apostate priest — The story of Rabelais — His learning, his good
qualities, his cunning and his talent — The great history of
Gargantua and Pantagruel — M. Paul Lacroix concludes his
life of Rabelais in a preface to the edition Dore" illustrated —
M. Lacroix's belief that Rabelais created not only this great
allegory, but was also the intellectual progenitor of Moliere, La
Fontaine, Le Sage, and others — Dore"s cleverness in com
prehending Rabelais — He knew what to illustrate and what
to let alone — Some portraits made from imagination — The
delight of Paris on meeting all the old Rabelaisian band face
to face — Some vivid and realistic sketches — The giant Gar
gantua — M. Lacroix speaks of the excitement caused by
Dore's Rabelais — General wonderment in the French capital
when it was known it was the work of a mere boy — Dord
very much elated with his success — The hero of the hour —
Gustave Dora's greatest triumph — A new Rabelais . -145
CHAPTER XV.
After the success of Rabelais — A peculiarity in Dord's signature
— Dord's dislike at being called a draughtsman — Dore con
tinues his notes — The success of illustrations of comic medie
val works — Dore" illustrates " L'histoire du Chevalier Jaufre,"
" La Belle Brunissende," the Legend of " The Wandering
Jew," and Balzac's " Contes Drolatiques " — Dore- is requested
to illustrate other comic works — Dore" founds the journal .
" Le Musde Anglais-Francais " — A glorious success for Dore"
— Daily illustrated imaginary bulletins from the seat of war
— The book called "La Sainte Russie" — Acaricatural history
of the great empire — How Dor£ worked — An incredulous
public — A contemporary speaks of Dortf's sketching — His
visit to Switzerland — Some notes from Madame Alexan
drine's letters — Dore" and his brothers win the respect of all
the guides near Chamounix — An affectionate family — Gustave
visits the Netherlands — A trip to his old home — A prophet
in his own country — The result of one wet day's indoor
work — Some lightning-like sketches — The intelligence of a
frontier Douanier — A second Solomon's judgment . . 153

xvi CONTENTS.

CHAPTER XVI.

PAGE

Dore continues to work — A photograph of Gustave Dor£ — A
boyish-looking artist — Gustave's second initiative in painting
— M. Lacroix speaks of Dord's works — Dora's early dislike
to artists, and jealousy of their works — Judging Meissonier's
pictures — Gustave's pluck — He determines to paralyze the
world — M. Lacroix gives his opinion of Gustave's new
works — An extraordinary set of realistic paintings — M. La
croix's surprise — Theophile Gautier comes to look at the
pictures — Embarrassed critics — The destination of such a
set of horrors — Some would-be purchasers for the pictures —
Gustave Dore consults his mother — Madame Alexandrine's
extraordinary way of reasoning — Some curious arithmetic —
Gustave refuses to sell the pictures to his would-be buyers —
Madame Dore's arguments — Concluding conversation about
the pictures — Pictures destined to America — Gustave's am
bition for notoriety but his love for his mother — He ulti
mately takes her counsel — Disappearance of the pictures —
Theophile Gautier's wonderment and M. Lacroix's surprise
— A natural conclusion ... ...164
CHAPTER XVII.
The summer of 1854 — Paris Salon — Dord makes his first public
appearance as a painter — Two original works — Paris public
do not realize that Dore" is the painter — The press speak
slightingly of his work — A criticism by Theophile Gautier —
Dord painter and illustrator — the house in the Rue St.
Dominique — Gustave's irksomeness at his work — Illustrating
ready fame and ready money — Gustave's incessant toil —
Madame Dore"va careful housewife and adoringmother — Her
care of Gustave — The mother and the nurse — Two loving
but jealous women — Francoise speaks about mother and son
— The domestic arrangements of the Rue St. Dominique —
Dore in danger of being spoiled — M. Daubre'e speaks of
Madame Dore' — Some recollections of Gustave's mother —
The mistress of the house and the nurse — Gustave's disap
pointment about the success of his paintings — M. Lacroix
recognizes in one of them an old acquaintance — The origin
of the " Family of Saltimbanques " — One of the realistic set
of paintings . . . . . . . -173
CHAPTER XVIII.
Dor6 illustrates new works — " La Chasse au Lion" — Dore with one
speciality of doing everything well — Sketch of the way Dore
worked — He draws upon boxwood — His honesty and con-

CONTENTS.

PAGE
scientiousness — Dora's ambition in the way of wood engrav
ing — He wishes to elevate the standard of the art to its
highest attainable point — Remarks by one of Dora's family—
The hour Dore" went to work in the morning — The studio in
the Rue du Prince — His hasty meals — M. Kratz tells about
Dora's work — Some recollections of those first years in Paris
— A list of his illustrations for the year 1855 — Something
about Balzac's " Contes Drolatiques " — -A second Rabelais —
Dore's new triumph — Paris looks upon him as a prodigy —
He is unhesitatingly styled "The first draughtsman in Europe " 179
CHAPTER XIX.
Dord's secondpublic appearance as a painter — TheSalon of 1855 —
The"Batailledel'Alma,""LeSoir,""LaPrairie,"and"Rizzio"
— Some criticisms on Dore's paintings — Thdophile Gautier
speaks of the " Battle of the Alma " — A magnificent and just
criticism — M. Gautier describes Dora's work and his method
of painting — He calls Dor£ a genius — Edmond About speaks
of the paintings — A clever and witty criticism — Some happy
similes — Some recollections of the Paris Salon— -Talent and
redtape — An American's remark about the Salon — Dore
begins to learn who are his friends — Paris disinclined to
encourage Dore" as a painter — Some elaborate pin-sticking
by critics and enemies — Dore's self-love is deeply wounded
— His supreme disillusion — Some remarks upon art technique
— Reflections made upon Dore" as apainter — Dora's ideas about
art — Theophile Gautier an artistic godfather, and Paris's
sponsorship— Dore's multiple ambitions — He begins to show
signs of overwork — Another trip to Switzerland — Some ex
tracts from Madame Dora's letters to friends in Paris — Re
flections on the indelicacy with which Dore was treated in
some business affairs — The return to Paris— Dord's regain of
health and elastic spirits  186
CHAPTER XX.
Dore conceives the idea of a trip to the Pyrenees— Dord's summer
vacation— He accompanies Theophile Gautier. and M. Paul
Dalloz to the land of Cervantes— A description of M. Dalloz,
one of Dore's oldest and warmest friends— M. Dalloz speaks
of his early acquaintance with M. Dore— The first break in
their friendship— Gustave Dore"'s childishness— A quarrel
and its reconciliation— Their journey to the Pyrenees—
Gautier, Dalloz, and Dore' together -Biarritz— The Emperor
and Empress with their Court— Theophile Gautier describes
a bull-fight— Fetes in honour of the Empress— Gustave Dore"
witnesses his first bull-fight— Gustave's disappointment at
a

xviii CONTENTS.

PAGE

the show— Gautier promises Dore" a new head-dress— -Gau-
tier's amiability— The second bull-fight— The scene in the
Correo — The Empress Eugenie— A brilliant spectacle — The
matador Domingues — A plucky fight — Gustave Dore"'s
emotion— Gautier's triumph — A dinner and a discussion on
art — Some schoolboys' pastime — A practical joke in which
Gautier, Dalloz, and Dore were the principals concerned — A
visit to Urrugne — Dord's return to Paris and his rejoinder
about Velasquez . . . . . . . x97
CHAPTER XXI.
More illustrations — Theyeari856 — "The Legend of the Wandering
Jew" — A work of unexampled popularity — "The Wandering
Jew " described by Delorme — Undoubtedly the one book of
Dore's which is absolutely himself — Dore returns to his notes
— Mentions his conception of the plan of the folio editions —
Dord is obliged to work alone — The influence of cheap
literature renders publishers incredulous — Dora's unavailing
arguments — • Dord's inception of his " Inferno " — Dore"
publishes the great work at his own expense — Its great
success — Dore plans out his work for the next ten years — An
extraordinary list of works — Dord finishes his biographical
notes — An instructive postscriptum — Magnificent projects of
a young man of three-and-twenry — Dor6 scrupulously avoids
using the word " painting " — Still sore on the subject of his
non-success — -He disdains to use the word to his com
patriots .......... 207
CHAPTER XXII.
Some remarks on Dore's " Dante " — The work of Pier Fiorentino
— Dore shows his knowledge of Latin — He studies Dante
very hard — -The art of translation— Dora's sympathy with
Dante — Alexander Dumas' opinion of Dore's talents — Some
items about the cost of the " Dante " — Dora's great success —
Some marvellous cartoons — Dore" is compared to Rembrandt
in foreshortening — Theophile Gautier criticizes Dora's
" Dante " — Some marvellous word-painting in criticism —
Gautier compares Gustave Dore to Rembrandt — Some more
descriptions of the " Dante "—Paolo and Francesca reading
—Reminiscence of the " Dante "—Gustave Dore"s supreme
power of self-concentration — Dore" pays a visit to M. Kratz—
— A new way of sketching — Gustave Dore works and talks at
the same time — Extraordinary preoccupation — Interruption
for breakfast — A hasty meal — Going back to his work-table —
Dora's absent-mindedness— An erratic genius — Finishing his

CONTENTS.

drawing and showing it to M. Kratz— It turns out to be one
of the finest in the Dante collection — -Gustave is decorated
for his success— He is made one of the Legion of Honour —
M. Dalloz describes how Gustave received the decoration —
An irritable but enthusiastic lady — The healing qualities of
the Cross of the Legion of Honour 
CHAPTER XXIII.
A summer trip through the Tyrol — M. Dalloz and Dore- go
pleasuring together — Dore' charmed with the country — Full
of schemes for new illustrations — -Up to his old tricks — A
schoolboy's escapade — Changing a mountain torrent — He
and Dalloz spend the afternoon lugging stones — Some
frightened peasants — Dore in a pugilistic mood — -He
polishes off several lusty men — Making friends with the
Tyroleans — A merry party — Dancing in a village inn— A
rustic revel — Gustave plays the violin and M. Dalloz the
piano — An old woman's offer, and a search in the mountains
— The wonderful violin which was hidden in a cave — The
old woman fetches it to Dore at midnight— Dor6 plays and
the villagers dance — Continuation of the revel — Farewell to
the village — Arrival in Verona— A visit to the home of the
Capulets and Montagues — Sight-seeing in Verona — The
tomb of Romeo and Juliet — Dor^ inspired, but not senti
mentally — Coming thence he conceives the idea of playing
the r6le of street-beggar and saltimbanque — Performing circus
tricks in the streets — -A delighted crowd, and enthusiastic
children — Dore passes round his hat, collects money enough
to pay for a good dinner — " I never dined at the Anglais
with greater pleasure " . . .....
CHAPTER XXIV.
Gustave Dore" visits Venice in company with M. Dalloz — His
delight on seeing the " Queen of the Adriatic " — In the
streets of Venice — M. Dalloz begs Dord to visit the Fine Art
Gallery — Dore's refusal — M. Dalloz and friend in the Art
Gallery — A celebrated Bordone — A familiar face in one of
the rooms of the Gallery — M. Dalloz thinks he recognizes it
— The marriage of the Doge with the Adriatic — M. Dalloz
returns to his hotel — Finds Dore presumably as he left him
standing idly in his room at the window — Dore finally con
fesses that his was the familiar face looking at the " Bordone "
— Dore"s delight in this famous picture — He never was after
wards heard to speak depreciatingly of Italian pictures —
Return to Paris — New illustrations— Some of the sums Dore
received for his work, earning 10,000 francs in one morning
a 2

PAGE

CONTENTS.

PAGE
— Dora's conscientiousness — His versatility and indefatigable
labour — Dore's generosity — His spontaneous gift to a poor
workman — Dore" illustrates "New Paris," "Aline," four
American novels, "The Tempest," " Le Roi des Montagnes,"
" Mythologie du Rhin," " Les Contes de Perrault," and
Victor Hugo's "Toilers of the Sea," "Captain Fracasse,"
Dante's "II Purgatorio," and "II Paradiso," "The Holy
Bible," " London," and " Orlando Furioso " . . . 233

CHAPTER XXV.
Dore" admires Cruikshanks — A dedication by Blanchard Jerrold
— Dore" sketches for the Illustrated London News — Baden-
Baden — Dore wins 10,000 francs at roulette — Dora's first
illness, bronchitis — Illustrating " Don Quixote " with M.
Viardot — Sketch of the Viardot family — Dord's friend, M.
Joanne, tells of the holiday at Baden-Baden — A lunch at
the old chateau — An impromptu performance of " Orpheus "
after breakfast — Scene amongst the rocks — Madame Viardot
the soloist — Dord leads the chorus — Dore revisits Alsatia —
Back to Paris — Dinner with Rossini — Dord visits the Emperor
at Compiegne — A letter from Victor Hugo — Some entries in
M. Kratz's note-book  245

CHAPTER XXVI.
Dinners and receptions at Dord's — A new studio in the Rue St.
Dominique^Dore's salon the resort of the most illustrious
people in Europe — Two photographs and their dedications —
Dord's memory of friends — Some musical evenings in the
Rue St. Dominique — Soire'es where Patti, Nilsson, Liszt,
Gounod, Theophile Gautier, Daubrde, Alexandre Dumas,
About, Taine, have all been present — Madame Dore" and
her niece receive their guests — An invitation to a dinner —
The dinner and a new pate de foie gras — A practical joke —
Some musical decanters — Drinking claret to the measure of
the Blue Danube Waltz — Dord drinks only champagne —
Madame Dord's enfant terrible — Some new guide-books
—New names for old places— Dord's gaiety and wit— The
good old days of the Rue St. Dominique — The last chord on
the violin  2g2
CHAPTER XXVII.
Dord's relations with Theophile Gautier— Sketch of the great French
poet— Evenings at Gautier's house — Some private theatricals

CONTENTS. xxi

PAGE
and charades — Gustave Dord's quickness — Compliment to a
brother artist' — The picture " La Malaria," by Hdbert —
Some of the people Dore met at Gautier's — Thdophile Gau-
tier's estimate of Dord's characters — His love for Gustave
Dore — He names him " Un gamin de gdnie " — Dord for
years spends his Thursday evenings at Gautier's house —
Dord and Gautier spend many of their holidays together in
continental travel — Gautier's partisanship — The discrimina
tion between friendly and artistic criticism — Contrast between
Dord's nature and Gautier's — New characteristic anecdote of
Theophile Gautier — The poet's death — Gustave Dord almost
disconsolate — Weeping friends and weeping nation . . 273

CHAPTER XXVIII.
Gustave Dord's personal character — Reminiscences of his early
life — Gustave Dord's laborious youth and eventful life — The
effect on his personal character — Gustave Dore's good-
heartedness — His devotion to his family — His disinterested
ness with friends — How Gustave Dord spent some of his New
Year's Days — His visits to the sick children in hospitals —
Entertaining the babies — Fairy stories for little folks — Gus
tave Dore's donations to the poor — Gustave Dore's delicate
nature — Giving away original sketches to friends — His
eccentric manner of giving to fairs and public charities —
Never offering his works, but giving large sums of ready
money — The artistic side of Dore's nature— He recalls the
great people of the Renaisance — Gustave Dord's social life —
A youthful passion — A rejected suitor — A desperate youth —
A mended heart — The days of the Empire — A celebrated
Paris beauty — Love and. friendship — A fashionable caprice —
Eccentricity versus talent — A matrimonial project falls
through — Dord's love for his mother — Gustave Dore's love
for his home — The simple life of a great artist — Dord's fancies
and their fantastic nature— A postscript to a diary in 1865 . 283
CHAPTER XXIX.
The 15th day of April, 1866, an eventful date — Organization of
the famous studio in the Rue Bayard — An agreement with
an English publisher to illustrate the " Idylls of the King "—
Talk of coming to England — Dord's fancies, superstitions,
and misgivings — Final decision — A new friend — Rev.
Frederick Harford visits Dore in Paris — Renewed talk of
London — Dord's pleasure at his English friend's acquain
tance — May, 1868, Dord arrives for the first time in London
— He renews his acquaintance with his ecclesiastical friend —

CONTENTS.

PAGE
Dord's impressions of London in letters written back to
Paris — His introduction to society — A dinner at Lady Com-
bermere's — Dord the guest of the evening — His friendship
with Colonel Teesdale, the Hero of Kars— Presentation to
the Prince of Wales — Invitations to Marlborough House —
Dinners, fetes, balls, suppers, and races — Dord the great lion
of the day — He visits the Comte and Comtesse de Paris at
Twickenham — Dord's political faith — A visit to Sydenham —
Dord's religious convictions — Inception of the great picture,
" Christ leaving the Prsetorium "—Home-sickness — Return
to Paris — Death of Rossini — Gustave makes a famous etch
ing, " Rossini on his Death-bed "— " The Idylls of the King "
¦ — Dord's idea to collaborate an opera with a celebrated
French composer, M. Widor — Dord's ambition to be a scenic
artist — " It might have been " — Letter written to a friend in
London  294

CHAPTER XXX.
Dord begins seriously to think of himself as a painter — He looks
forward to this new career in Paris — Some remarks by M. De
lorme — Reference to the " Wandering Jew " — A series of
majestic compositions — Dord's practical way of replying to
criticisms and pin-sticking — Dord is subjected to unjust
criticism — French artists in Paris — The reason why Dore was
so criticized — An instance of Dore's good fortune — A few
remarks on the exigencies of the art of painting — Dore's
qualifications towards a recognition in this new art — Dord's
incessant work — His enthusiasm about his painting— An
incident refuting the idea of his obstinacy — A proof of love
for his art — A Frenchman's opinion of Dord — Paris still
incredible, and unwilling to recognize Dord as a painter — A
few remarks on French appreciation of talent — The meaning
of the word "popularity" in Paris— Dord's continual dis
appointments — The story of Senator S  -—Dord grows
more and more unhappy about his work — Gustave Dord
relates the history of his first box of colours — The green
chicken of Josserond ........ 315
CHAPTER XXXI.
The first Dord Gallery in London — Exhibition in the Egyptian
Hall — M. Arymar and his enterprise — What he paid' Dord
for the first pictures in that exhibition — The gaming-table at
Baden-Baden, "Francesca da Rimini," "Judith," "Danteinthe
Ice-fields with Virgil," first shown to a London public — The
failure of the first Dord exhibition — The contract for the Dord

CONTENTS. xxiii

PAGE
Gallery in New Bond Street — Reputation of the new gallery
— Measure of Dord's celebrity in Paris and London — The
" Neophyte" — "Christ leaving the Prsetorium " — Its reception
in Paris — In London — The criticisms — Dord pays a double
tribute of devotion both to his inspiration and the public —
Price he received for the Praetorium picture — The price Dore
received for the Francesca da Rimini — Mr. Duncan's Art
Gallery — An enthusiastic Doreite — " The Dream of Pilate's
Wife " at the Dord Gallery — English criticisms on some of
Dord's paintings — Some of Dore's important landscapes — The
Resurrection — An incident of the sketch of the Resurrection
— Dord visits the dens of London thieves — An incident at a
press dinner at Willis's Rooms — A ball at the Mansion House
— Feminine hero-worship — Some of Dord's aphorisms — Some
curious statistics — A leaf from Colonel Sampson's note-book 330

CHAPTER XXXII.
Dord a sincere patriot — Refuses an imperial invitation — Two
reasons for his refusal to go to Suez — One of Dord's presen
timents — The Franco-German war — Picture bought by her
Majesty — " Le Psalterion " — Dore writes to Canon Harford —
Present to Dord — Dord writes from Paris about the war —
A proof of his heart and his patriotism — Something about his
brother, Lieutenant-Colonel Dore — His bravery and honours
won on the field of battle — M. Bourdelin's notes — Mme.
Dord moves to Versailles during the Commune — Dord and
Blanchard Jerrold's book on London — Some remarks on
Dord's sketches — More notes of M. Bourdelin — Dord's way
of remunerating London cabmen — Dord receives H.R.H. the
Prince of Wales — Dord at Westminster Palace Hotel —
Impromptu floral decorations — An enthusiastic street crowd
— " Hurrah for Dore " — Dord always smoking — A visit to
Castellani's — Some amateur, but nearly fatal, juggling — Dord's
love for physical exercise — Dord's reception by the English
nobility — Dore never learned to speak English — His love and
enthusiasm for England  357
CHAPTER XXXIII.
More notes — An incident in Islington — Visit to a school — An
incident at St. Catherine's Docks — Dord's affection for his
mother — Dord's generosity — Some of his characteristics — His
dislike for cards — Discomfiting a whist party — A letter to M.
Arthur Kratz — An incident concerning the picture of " The
Triumph of Christianity" — More dangerous juggling — Dr.
Lavies' recollections— Dore as a mimic — His return to Paris

xxiv CONTENTS.

PAGE
— Paris changed — A letter to the Rev. Frederick Harford —
Again in London — Letter to his mother — Return to Paris —
The original drawing for the " Francesca da Rimini " — Dord's
wonderful memory for names — A visit to Scotland — Letters
to his mother — An -anecdote concerning the picture " Le
Torrent" — Other works in the Dord Gallery . . . 372
CHAPTER XXXIV.
In 1873 my first visit to Dord's studio in the Rue Bayard-
Description of a famous studio — Gustave Dord at home — At
work on one of his great pictures — The man on the ladder —
A practical acrobat — A curious rencontre — Two Dords —
Personal description of the artist — A remarkable face — Some
personal characteristics — Talk about pictures — Looking at
the studio — Some questions put to M. Dord, and some
answers — A curious way of painting — The curious parapher
nalia of the studio in the Rue Bayard — The scaffolding and
step-ladder — Talk of England — A pen portrait of the artist —
M. Dord's servant — A valet protector — One of a thousand —
Dord's prodigality and Jean's thrift — An exemplary attendant
— Dord in conversation — A talk of illustrations and of
Shakespeare — M. Dord speaks of France — A prophet is not
without honour, and so forth — Comparison with a late artist
— Gustave Dord speaks a few words of English — Dord an
inveterate smoker — Farewell to the studio — Some personal
reflections . . . . . . . . . -391
CHAPTER XXXV.
Dord the etcher — A nearly fatal accident — The astonishment of
his friends — An etching of the " Neophyte " — Dr. Michel's
remembrances — Dord's family never surprised at anything he
attempted — " Rossini on his Death-bed " — " Le Christ " — ¦
Dord's religious works — His greatest and truest inspirations
drawn from sacred subjects — Madame Braun's comments on
Dord's character — Dord's fondness for painting his mother
and intimate friends — Dord disliked drawing from models —
Anecdote concerning a model — M. Kratz's anecdote — Dord
as a water-colourist — Dore attached but little importance to
this talent— Society of Water-Colour Painters — "La Veuve"
— Dord's contributions to the Society's art-rooms — Dord rises
above criticism — Success in water-colours gives him no
permanent satisfaction ...... 40g
CHAPTER XXXVI.
Dord's ambition to illustrate Shakespeare — Dord determined to
bring the work out himself— Six sketches of the banquet

CONTENTS. xxv

PAGE
scene in "Macbeth" — Dord never repeats himself— A letter to
Canon Harford concerning "The Ancient Mariner" and
" The Last Man " — Dore's fondness for drawing the head of
Christ — A letter to Canon Harford containing a tribute to
Lady Augusta Stanley — Great success of "The Ancient
Mariner " in America — Sums from the sale of engravings —
Dord's building projects — The "Orlando Furioso " — Dord and
Joseph Jefferson — A garden-party at Chiswick — Dord and the
Queen — Her Majesty's kindness — Dord makes the acquaint
ance of Pellegrini — At Warwick — His delight at the castle —
Portrait of Dord by the Countess of Warwick — Dore visits
Stoneleigh Court — At Stratford-on-Avon — Dord's memory . 419
CHAPTER XXXVII.
Dord as a sculptor — "La Parque et 1' Amour"— "La Gloire''—
Dord's pride flattered — Always some void in Dord's life — Time
cutting the thread of life — Group for the Opera House at
Monaco — The success of " Ganymede " — The vase called
" The Vine " — " La Nuit " — No awards or medals to Dord
— Illness of Dord's mother — His devotion to her — Death
of Dord's mother — Letters to Canon Harford — Dord's
statue of Dumas — A work of love — Some more letters
— Dord's failing health and depression of spirits — Enthusiasm
about his work on the Dumas statue — Dord's ambition to
have it placed in a public square in Paris  435
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
Gustave Dord a second time engaged to be married — There's
many a slip 'twixt the cup and the lip— The last dinners of
1882 — The house in the Rue St. Dominique after Madame's
death — Dord writes a letter of congratulation for the New
Year to his friend Canon Harford— Watching the Old Year
out and the New Year in — A sad family party — Gustave Dord
very unhappy and distrait — Felicitations for the New Year —
Remark by the company, "Is this a dinner-party or a
funeral ? "—Bidding his friends " Good-night."— M. Kratz
stops, when other guests are gone, to talk with Gustave — Dord
gives a dinner to M. Vallerand — A brilliant repast — Contrast
from the last dinner of the year— M. Vallerand and Dord's
guests enchanted with the artist's wit and sparkling manners
— M. Vallerand decides on giving Dord a dinner within a
fortnight— Gustave Dore's last dinner— Dord seemingly his
old self— A leaf from M. Joanne's note-book— A curious
freak of Dord's — The table decorated as if it were a tomb —
Some unfortunate flowers — Dord parodies a scene at Gam-

xxvi CONTENTS.

PAGE

betta's grave — A fatal impromptu — Dord's last sketches-
Two unknown figures — The day of M.-Vallerand's dinner—
A waiting host and expectant guests— A lugubrious repast —
A laconic message from Dord- — A telegram to M. Kratz . 447

CHAPTER XXXIX.
Explanation of M. Kratz's telegram — A scolding from Francoise —
Dord ill, but determined to work — He takes his caj e-au-lait
as usual- — His attitude is rather listless — He gets up and goes
to his studio, but after an hour goes back to his bed again
— Francoise hears a heavy fall — Dord has an apoplectic fit —
Francoise rushes in— Dord unconscious — Martin puts his
master to bed, and goes for the doctor — Dord's condition
very critical — A long Saturday — Dore for the first time fears
he is going to die — Some bitter reflections — Arrival of M.
Kratz — Dord tells how he fell ill — Sunday morning — Dord
opened his eyes and asked for the palms for the Dumas statue
111, but his mind preoccupied about his work — Some Sunday
visitors — Dore much better on Sunday evening — Arrival of
Colonel Dord — The third day's, illness — Dord pronounced
out of danger — At dinner he asked for champagne — How he
enjoyed it — Memories of old times — M. Kratz spends the
evening with Dord— A quiet sick-room— Dord falls into a
reverie— Is long buried in thought— M. Kratz thinks he is
dreaming — Souvenir of Alsace — " I was thinking of my youth
and my boyhood at Strasburg "— M. Kratz bids Dord " Good
night."— A last farewell— Dore agrees to breakfast with his
friend— Martin comes in to bid his master " Good-night " —
A legend of Strasburg Cathedral— The angel that appeared
to Sabine von Steinbach — The last writing on the scroll, the
name of— Gustave Dord  46o

CHAPTER XL.
Dord's funeral— An imposing ceremony at the house— Tributes to
Dord's memory— In the streets of Paris— Silent homage to
the illustrious dead— Arrival at the cemetery of Pere la Chaise
— The ceremony at the tomb— Funeral orations by M. Alex
andre Dumas and Paul Dalloz — Touching eulogies of the
great artist— M. Alexandre Dumas shines in a brilliant ora
torical effort— Contrast between his remarks and those of
M. Dalloz— The latter remarkable for its pathos — The last
Icok at Pere la Chaise — The reading of Dord's will— Dord
largely favoured some special public charities — His remem
brance of Francoise— A Poem to Gustave Dord — A visit to

CONTENTS. xxvii

PAGE
the old house — A pen portrait of Francoise — The change in
her appearance — A last look round — An artist's home after
his death — Forgetting the Regent and St. Simon only to
remember Gustave Dord — Two aristocracies — Talent greater
than birth — A visit to Dore's workroom — Phantoms of the
past — Dead or alive ? — Lost in reverie — Wandering on to the
studio — Voices from the spirit -land — The allegory of the vine
— Finishing the statue of Dumas — A sudden awakening —
Reappearance of old Fraiigoise — A public ceremony — The
mass for Dord's soul said in the church — What Francoise
does with her money— A last farewell ..... 486

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

PAGE

Gustave Dore .......

Frontispiece

A Boy who expects to be first in his Class

3
Strasbourgeoise ....
5
Early Sketches, 1839
6
Early Sketches, 1839 .
9
First Sketches .....
12
LTnspire. Strasburg Cathedral
14
Early Sketches .....
17
First Letter illustrated by Dord, 1837
18
Professor Vergnette, Gustave with his first Prize .
19
Sketch from second Letter illustrated by Gustave Dore
21
Strasbourgeois . . ....
25
Early -Sketches .....
27
Peasant's Head . ...
31
Early Sketch, 1840 ....
34
Scene, Life of Jupiter
35
Jupiter and the Goat ....
37
Jupiter and the Eagle
33
From an illustrated Dante
39
La Charitd .....
43
Scenes from Dord's " Voyage a l'Enfer "
44
Early Sketches . ...
47
Early Sketches . ...
•
49
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

PAGE
The Voyage of Mirliflor and Mistenflute  53
Original Sketch  55
Fouilloux relates some of his Adventures to the Dord and Braun
Families . . . . . . . . . -57
Madame Alexandrine teaches Fouilloux to polka. He afterwards
becomes " Un Polkeur enragd " . . . . . ¦ 5^
Dord, 1840  59
Peasant's Head . . . . . . . . . .61
Early Sketches  65
" Calypso ne pouvait se consoler du Depart d'Ulysse " . -7°
Calypso Sketches, " C'est une Epreuve des D ieux " . . 72
Calypso Sketches, " Telemach et Mentor " ¦ ¦ • • 73
Calypso Sketches, " Telemach et Mentor causent ensemble " . 75
Calypso Sketches, " Calypso sonne a. la Porte " . . . -77
Calypso Sketches, " On arrive au Clos " . . . . .81
Calypso Sketches, "J'aimerais mieux etre le Roi ici" . . 83
Calypso Sketches, " Quelle belle et aimable Socidtd " . . . 86
Calypso Sketches, " Respect a Madame " . . . . -89
Early Drawings .......... 93
"L'Union fait la Force" ........ 95
M. and Madame Dord  100
A Student at Work . . . . . . . . . 1 03
Mistenflute and Mirliflor's Voyage . . . . . .105
First Sketch for one of " Three Artists, misunderstood, &c." . 107
From " Three Artists "  in
Strasbourgeois ........ IX,
Original Sketch, Philipon Collection  ,,5
Typical Head  Ilq
Friar John and Panurge  12()
Spain  I3S
A Cripple of Palestine, "Contes Drolatiques" . . . . T39
Why it was called Pantagruelion, and the Virtues thereof . . 155
"He did swim in deep Waters " .... 1C7
Drawing of Fan made for Madame Rossini, 1862 . . .161
" Him the Almighty power hurl'd headlong from the ethereal
sky,'! Milton ....

175

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

The Landlord of the " Three Barbels
Little Peggy
Dord's " Spain "
Spain SpainSouvenir of the Tyrol
Scene in the Tyrol
La Fontaine, Fables .
"This wise man would lie against a church wall," Contes
Drolatiques ......
" Elle est morte ma tant bonne Femme," Rabelais
Don Quixote and Sancho Panza
The Toilers of the Sea
The Toilers of the Sea
La Fontaine, Fables .
Elijah nourished by an Angel
Souvenir of Italy, 1863
Flower Girl
London Slums .
Portrait of a Lady
Facsimile of private Letter sent to Rev. Frederick Harford in
The Monkey and the Dolphin, La Fontaine
London Slums .
The Marseilles Sailor
Original Drawing for Statuary
"Time" Decorative Plaque
Head of Christ .
"There both, I thought, the eagle and myself did burn"
In Scotland
Don Quixote
London, 187 1 .
Flower Girl .....
The Escape of David from the Window
Original Sketch for Bible in Dord Gallery
Facsimile of Letter sent to the Rev. Frederick Harford in 1869
Ancient Mariner, 1875 

1868

PAGE 182
1 8t)
199
201
203 229 237
240
246
246248 2532S5
260263265275 281
287 299
300 3°53"3i734o 345
35° 35i360
366 380380380
421 424

xxxii

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

Portrait of Dord ... . . .

PAGE
• 43i

Monumental Vase ... .

.438

Alexandre Dumas ... . . .

¦ 445

D'Artagnan ........

. 446

Last two Sketches by Dord, Jan. 19, 1883 .

• 461, 467

. 488

Francoise .... ....

. 490

Jill

GUSTAVE DORE.

CHAPTER I.
THE CITY OF STRASBURG — THE DORE FAMILY.
THE first time I saw Strasburg, I was agreeably but not
particularly impressed. Like every one who visits that
ancient frontier-town, I revelled in the beauty of its
grand cathedral, with its imposing pinnacle, losing itself
in the clouds and dwarfing all around it. I looked at the
gabled houses and quaint old streets, at the vaunted
Rhine flowing past the fortressed walls ; but I felt little
tempted to linger, and left the venerable city without
regret. It had not then for me the deep interest which I sub
sequently, came to feel for it when I heard that it was
the birth-place of a great artist, a man who towered in
creative power as far above his fellows, and was in some
respects as lonely, as the grand spire which keeps eternal
watch over the Schwarzwald.
In 1 83 1 Strasburg looked much as it does now.
There were the same quaint streets, and the same happy-
looking Alsatians walking about, and talking French with
a detestable German accent. Had you known the capital
B

GUSTAVE DORE.

of Alsace in that year, you surely would have remembered
la Rue de la Nuee Bleue, which was, and still is, the
finest street in the city. Here, in a comfortable stone
dwelling, with a gabled roof and fair exterior, lived a civil
engineer, with his young wife and family, consisting of one
son and a faithful nurse named Francoise.
M. Dore was a very clever man, and was always
engaged in carrying out large and remunerative con
tracts. He was married at Schirmeck, and before he
came to live at Strasburg he had spent some time at
Epinal, where his son Ernest was born ; and "when M.
Dore came to settle in the old cathedral city his wife was
already expectant of another child.
Old Francoise was an important member of the family ;
as a matter of fact she had been recommended to
Madame Dore on her marriage, by Madame Braun, a
cousin of the Pluchart family, that is to say, of Madame
Dore's mother.
Knowing that Madame Braun had been a life-long friend
of the Dore family, I lost no time in seeking her out,
to have a little chat about them. She was so very aged
that I feared I should not easily get to see her, for when
she was born Paris was still ringing with the fall of
Robespierre ; but one day I had the luck to find her,
and she told me not only about Francoise, but much that
I shall relate hereafter appertaining to the Dores.
" Francoise is the best and most faithful creature in the
world," explained Madame Braun to me. " I said to
Alexandrine Dore, ' Here, take her ; I give her to you.
She wishes to stop with us, but that is impossible. She
will just do for you.' So it came to pass that Francoise
was adopted into the Dore family, and brought up the
children, who were ever afterwards like sons to her."
Next I had the good fortune to see the celebrated
Francoise herself, and when I interrogated her upon the
subject of the Dores, she said to me, —
" In January of 1832 M. Dore went away for a few days.
yVe were then living, as you know, in Strasburg ; on the
5th of the month ; well I remember it, for it was the eve

A FRENCH BIRTH CERTIFICAT.

of Twelfth Night when Madame took to her bed. It
was a wild night, windy and snowing, and, oh ! so dreary.
It was past twelve when Dr. Goupil arrived. After
waiting a long while, he summoned me between five and
six o'clock in the morning, and he handed me a baby.
' Here, Francoise, here is your son,' he said ; ' put him
into your apron, and take him away,'- which I did. Oh !
he was such a tiny creature, but hardy and well-built.
You see, he came into the world on Twelfth Night — a

A BOY WHO EXPECTS TO BE FIRST IN HIS CLASS.
. (From first letter illustrated by G. Dore, Strasburg, 1837. Unpublished.)
circumstance considered very lucky. He was baptized
three days later, and was named Louis Auguste Gustave,
but we always called him Gustave.''
"But, Francoise," I interrupted, "Dore always insisted
that he was born on January the ist ; how could he have
made such a mistake ? "
"Stuff!" said she, rubbing her withered palms, " it
was the sixth, beyond a doubt. Perhaps he got that idea
because we all called him a new-year's gift. I am sure
no one ever presented the like to her husband. Dear
B 2

GUSTAVE DORE.

child! he was always so bright and precocious, and I
assure you he walked at the age of nine months, that is
to say, he helped himself about all over the place, and
crept swiftly, which was quite as good as walking.
Neither of his brothers was so clever or so quick as he."
" Was he never ill ? " I asked.
" He had the usual childish complaints, but nothing
that old Francoise could not cure, except once, and of
that do not let us speak. He was such a likely child,
and healthy, as a young pine. Then shortly after came
another baby. He that is Colonel Emile, the soldier ; I
loved him, too, but Gustave was my pet."
Then old Francoise cried, as she always does when she
speaks of her " child Gustave." She wiped her eyes
with the end of her apron, and went on talking. It was
easy to see that her whole heart and soul had been
wrapped up in him.
It is a very general idea that Dore was born in 1833.
In order to set it at rest for ever I enclose a certified
copy of his certificat de naissance declaration made in
Strasburg, January 9th, 1832.
2 D^ision « Mairie de la Ville de Strasbourg,
deau " Departement du Bas-Rhin.
L'frat Civil. " EXTRAIT
Registre N° " des Registres des Actes de Naissance.
N«dei'Acte « Declaration faite a l'Hotel de Ville r>e Strasbourg,
Pore", ddpartement du Bas-Rhin, pardevant l'Officier de FEtat
Loui^Auguste clvil> ^ onze heures du matin, le neuf Janvier, mil huit
Gustave, cent trente-deux, de la naissance d'un enfant du sexe
1832. masculin, ne en ldgitime manage, le six du dit mois .
a six heures du matin, et nommd Louis-Auguste Gustave!
" Prdnoms et nom du declarant, Pierre Louis Chris-
tophe Dord,
" Agd de vingt-neuf ans, domicilii a Strasbourg.
"Quahtd ou profession, Ingdnieur des ponts et
chaussdes. " Pere 'de l'enfant, le susdit ddclarant.
" Mere de l'enfant, Alexandrine Marie Anne Pluchart
" Tdmoms, etc. : Signd Dord ; G. Braun, Lieut.-Colonel
de Cavalene^Off. Ldgion d'Honneur : Mirbiller • Flack
Officier de FEtat Civil. ' CK'
" Ddlivrd pour Service de Recrutement
" Collationnd, " L'Officier de FEtat Civil.
" FLACK."

THE DORE HOUSEHOLD.

M. Daubree, Ex-President of the Institute of France,
who knew the Dores intimately, has told me a great deal
about the family from '32 to '48.
" It was a happy, well-to-do household," he said, " and
the children made it extremely lively. The three sons

STRASBOURGEOISE.
(G. Dore, 1839. Unpublished.)

were nearly of an age, but as different in disposition as
one may well imagine., Ernest, the eldest boy, was
astonishingly clever ; was visionary when he should have
been practical ; was a wonderfully good musician, and
altogether a charming child. , Emile, the youngest, was
a sturdy, intelligent, and uncommonly kind-hearted lad ;

<5 GUSTAVE DORE.
he also had great taste for music ; but Gustave's nature
was a duplex one.

EARLY SKETCHES, 1839.
(Dore's Drawing-book. Unpublished.)
" On the one hand he was full of affection, sweetness,
gentleness, and gaiety ; on the other he was silent, proud,
ambitious, dreamy, and exacting. Gustave really reigned

YOUNG GUSTAVE'S CAPRICIOUSNESS. 7
over the house. His capricious moods only endeared him
the more to his mother ; she fairly worshipped him. It is
impossible to conceive a stranger, but at the same time a
more winning lad. He was a general pet, and, for so
young a child, displayed great force of affection, He
could command any one's love, and I never knew any
of his friends who were not always under the charm
of his sweet, fascinating ways. Boys are not usually so
amiable." M. Daubree continued : "But he did not take to every
one, and was unusually quick in contracting sympathies
or antipathies. He had, with all his sweetness, something
so independent and determined about him that his mother
invariably finished by giving way to him, whilst his
brothers followed their mother's lead. He was kind
enough to her in later years, however, and richly repaid
all the loving caresses she had ever lavished upon him."
Gustave Dore had every reason to be content with
his life in early youth. His grandfather was a man of
cultivated and refined character, but I shall let Mme.
Braun describe him here exactly as she did to me the
other day. " I remember him well," she said ; " he was
all that was attractive. His manners were soft and de
ferential, and he was a welcome guest in his friends'
houses. In person he was so striking that whenever he
walked in the streets people turned round to look at
him. He was a gentlemanly man, was M. Dore, senior,
and Gustave always wished to be like him. I have in,
sisted over and over again that the poor dear child re
sembled his grandfather more closely than any of the
family, even his own father, and his features reproduced
the very traits of the old man's face."
It is easy to see from whom Dore inherited his charm
of manner and personal fascination. His maternal grand
mother was thus described to me by the late M. Paul
Lacroix, the great savant, of whom I shall speak later in
detail : — ,, , . ,
"Of all the women I have ever known, he said,
" Madame Pluchart was perhaps the most extraordinary.

GUSTAVE DORE.

She was beautiful, and sympathetically beautiful, which
is not always the case with lovely women. Her skin was
as white as a lily ; her eyes were as bright as stars ; her
mouth, although proud, was sweet ; her figure was grace
ful, and her bearing that of a duchess. But her personal
beauty was the least of her charms. She was witty,
spirituelle, and engaging to a degree that turned the
heads of half the men who. ever came near her. She was
as highly educated as it is possible for a woman to be,
and her letters, of which I have many, would not have
disgraced Mme. de Sevigne. She had a sunny nature,
and was always gay and light-hearted. I don't think
that I ever saw her downcast. Ever smiling, full of life,
energetic, interested in literature and questions regarding
the public welfare. She had every topic of the day
absolutely at her tongue's end. She was rich, and left
her fortune to the Dores, with whom she spent a great
deal of her time at Strasburg. Indeed I am not sure
that she did not stay year in and year out with them.
Gustave was her pet, but she never, strange to say,
paid the slightest attention to his caprice for sketching,
nor did she ever interfere in the least with her grand
children. " It is not strange that Dore loved his handsome grand
mother, and was so much impressed by her grace and
beauty that many of his early sketches vividly recalled
her features and expression. His mother was of a totally
different type. She was dark, with large, oriental eyes,
slim, lithe figure, and a character alternating caprice
with decision. She also had a hasty temper, which at
times she did not even attempt to restrain. Gustave was
often surprised at her irritability, but never referred to
it in any way, and always treated her with extreme
deference. Perhaps this was because she invariably took
his part, and, from the time she saw his first sketch was
never weary of telling him that he was a genius, and had
a great future before him. His brothers, who were o-ood
lads, and both very clever, were sent when quite younp;
to the Polytechnic school at Bourg."

LACROIX DESCRIBES GUSTAVE'S GRANDMOTHER. 9
Gustave Dore never knew want, nor was he called upon
in early life to make any sacrifices for his art. He loved

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EARLY SKETCHES, 1839.
(From Dore's Drawing-book. Unpublished.)
it none the less, however, and his childhood days, replete
with every comfort, were far from inculcating a spirit of
GUSTAVE DORR.

idleness in him ; when, however, at a later period it became
necessary to sacrifice certain habits, he did so gladly and
readily. He loved play, and was inordinately fond of the theatre,
of music, of circus tricks, juggling, mumming, and the
like amusement ; but he was often known to give up his
most favourite childish games in order to steal off alone
to. sketch any idea which happened to come into his head.
He would keep at work for hours together, and his
patience was remarkable in a child of his tender years.
He was generally liked by his playmates, and there
were few pleasanter lads in Strasburg than Gustave and
his brothers. The only thing which really disturbed Dore
in his early youth was the lack of attention paid by his
family to his taste for drawing. He loved his home,
however, and to his youthful mind it seemed that no
house could be happier or more comfortable than his.
This love of home and family was one of the chief and
lifelong characteristics of Gustave Dore. During the
long evenings, when there was little or no recreation in
the outer world, the Dore family assembled in the com
mon drawing-room. The father with his plans, Madame
Alexandrine, his wife, with her needle, busily employed
upon some cherished tapestry, Madame Pluchart, the
personification of elegant ease, with a copy of Racine or
Moliere in her lap ; Ernest and Emile playing at
soldiering, while Gustave, hard by at a little table, sat
with great dignity drawing quaint forms and figures in
his copy-book. This his mother used often to catch up
with a loud exclamation, and to her astonishment these
forms and faces seemed very familiar. On one occa
sion she disturbed the whole household with her cries of
surprise. " Look ! do come and look !" she exclaimed ; " dear me,
how funny, and how like papa ! See what Gustave has
done ! Here is the postman, here is Francoise, and Emile,
and a lot of people whom I don't even know ! Where did
you see them, Gustave ?
" Everywhere," he responded, laughing.

DORA'S FATHER ON GUSTAVE'S SKETCHING.

" Yes, I suppose so. But how have you been able to
make them like ?" she persisted. " Did they sit to
" Sit to me ! No, never. They are all here," he said,
touching his forehead significantly. " Why should I not
draw them like ?" Then he closed his copy-book with a
look of intense disgust, for already the idea of any one
being obliged to sit to him for a picture seemed to him
an aspersion on his genius.
This youthful pride enchanted Madame Dore. She
deemed such talent marvellous, and the boy's amour-
propre seemed to her a direct natural sign by which all
should recognize his wondrous gifts. She kept turning
over the leaves of his book, and at every page an excla
mation of pleasure escaped her. She felt virtuously
indignant when, in answer to her remark, " My son is a
genius," M. Dore impatiently cried out, " Don't fill his
head with nonsense."
" It is not nonsense," she retorted ; " my son is a great
genius ; he will be one of the first artists in the world.
He must study painting."
" Our son will be nothing of the sort, and do nothing
of the sort," grumbled M. Dore. " He shall go to
school at Bourg, but he shall not study to be an artist.
I don't want any son of mine to adopt so precarious a
calling. He shall go to a polytechnic school with his
brothers, then we shall see what he can do. But if
he wish to please his father, he will never become a
painter." Gustave felt very deeply hurt at this response, but his
mother secretly consoled him, and he kept on bravely at
his work, paying not the slightest attention to M. Dore's
grumbling. Even at that early age he was much of a
companion to his father, and often accompanied him on
long walks.
M. Dore was surprised by his son's precocity and
memory. The little fellow remembered everything that
was told him, everything he saw and heard. His parents
soon remarked his inventive faculty, as on his return

GUSTAVE DORE.

home from these walks he would describe things which no
one had seen with a fertility of imagination absolutely as-

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FIRST SKETCHES.
(Dore's Drawing-book, 1840. Unpublished.)
tounding. Strange to say, he portrayed unreal events with
a colour and liveliness which put reality into the shade,

LEGEND OF THE CATHEDRAL OF STRASBURG. 13

He was scrupulously honest, but his fertile brain often
cast truth to the wind. At an early age he evinced a love
for the extravagant and mysterious.
Any one who knows Alsace and the region of the
Black Forest is aware that hundreds of startling tales and
legends exist in that country. The young Gustave fairly
revelled in these tales. When a fairy story was told to
him, he immediately invested the characters with appro
priate dress and accessories. He classified his childish
heroes and heroines, and often went so far as to describe
their personal appearance, indicating the colour of their
eyes, hair, and complexion, their respective statures, and
even the sound of their voices. He delighted in Biblical
and mythological stories, which his mother, Madame
Pluchart, and Madame Braun used to tell him without
end. One of his favourite tales was the legend of the Cathe
dral of Strasburg.
This had so great an influence on his life that I must
repeat it here, although all the world may know it ; cer
tainly you should never stand within the shadow of the
great minster without thinking of it. And this was the
story as it was told to baby Gustave : — ¦
Erwin von Steinbach was a great architect of the thir
teenth century. Some men said to him, " We want a
cathedral for Strasburg, and to you shall be given the
honour of making the plans." The magnitude of the
enterprise frightened him, and he worried himself so
continually about it that he could not attend to his other
work. Steinbach had a daughter named Sabine. She
was a gifted child, skilled in the plastic arts, and was,
moreover, an excellent draughtswoman — altogether a
daughter to be proud of. She had also a sweet and
tender disposition, which made home a happy one to her
hard-working father. One night after fretting about his
cathedral plans, which he could not carry out to his
satisfaction, he told Sabine all his troubles. They wept
together, for she was a good and loving child, and could
not bear to see her old father disgraced as he surely

1 4 G USTA VE DORE.

would be if the minster should not turn out a grand affair.
She consoled him as best she could, and after talking over
the matter until late they prayed together. Sabine bade her
father good-night, and as she went toward her little room,
said, "Dear father, be courageous ; don't despair. God will
help us." So saying, she left him and went to bed. She
said her prayers, and again wept bitterly because she did
not know how the inspiration to plan the cathedral would
ever come to her dear father. At last she fell asleep and
dreamt that a beautiful angel came to her, inquiring why
she and her father were so unhappy. The angel stood
close to her bedside, and spoke to her with a voice
like a celestial harp. Poor Sabine again shed tears,
and told her heavenly visitant the whole story. So
the angel smiled and said, " I will help him, but
you shall make the plan for the minster." Then the
radiant being and Sabine set to work, cheerfully re
joicing over the surprise they would cause to good Papa
Erwin. In a little while all was done, and the angel
•vanished. In the morning when Sabine woke up she uttered a
loud scream, for a paper was spread out before her
covered with drawings of angels, saints, and martyrs, and
-many graceful outlines. Sabine cried out so loud with
joy that her father entered her room, and found her in bed
with her arms spread out over the paper. So she told
him of her dream, and how she and the good angel had
drawn the plans during the night. Her father exclaimed,
" Child, it was no dream. The angel really visited you,
bringing with it the inspiration from heaven to help
us ! " r
Later on he built the cathedral from the supernatural
plan, and told everybody how Sabine had drawn it, with
the angel who appeared to her in a vision. The plans
were so beautiful that the Strasburg people believed
him. Steinbach and his daughter lived happily for many
years, and when they died two statues were set up to
their memory, one on each side of the church, where they
stand to this day.

L'lNSPIRri. STRASBURG CATHEDRAL.
(Early Drawing.)

Page 14.

DOR A REMEMBERS SABINE'S DREAM. 15
This story was told to the little Gustave, with this
ending: "If you are a good boy and study well, an
angel will also come and inspire you to make beau
tiful saints and martyrs, and you will be happy ever
after." The legend made a deep impression upon Gustave's
mind, prompting him to haunt the cathedral in order to
look at Sabine and her father. He often told the
story in his own way, and was very angry because his
listeners did not know what the angel was like. He de
scribed it to them as if he had been personally acquainted
with it.
" Can't you see her ? there she is, with rose-coloured
wings, coming out of a cloud. Her face is like wax, and
her hair is streaming out behind her. She is singing ;
she carries a harp and a golden pencil. I can see her,
and hear her too."
Gustave Dore was but a tiny child, and yet he could
see Sabine von Steinbach's heavenly visitant as clearly
as ever Milton saw the Archangel Gabriel.

i6

GUSTAVE DORE.

CHAPTER II.
SOMETHING ABOUT THE FIRST YEARS OF DORE'S
LIFE.
It is a noteworthy fact that Gustave Dore was born and
spent the first ten years of his life in the shadow of the
great minster. From the Rue de la Nuee Bleue the family
removed to the Rue des Veaux, a street crossing the
grand Place de la Cathedrale, and the house in which the
Dores lived looked out on the rear facade of the wondrous
Gothic structure, so that Gustave every day feasted his
eyes upon a work of art which influenced his later years
in no small measure. He adored the church, and was
never weary of gazing at it. There was not a gargoyle
or pinnacle that was not known to him, not a painted
window that he had not looked at a hundred times. Every
statue of saint or martyr was an old friend to him. His
family and comrades remarked this excessive love for the
cathedral, and supposed it to be merely a boy's fondness
for something which he was in the habit of seeing daily.
But, later on, more importance was attached to the
predilection in question, and Dore's family had cause
many a time to think of it.

G USTA VE A ND HIS EA RL Y SCHOOL- MA TES. 1 7

When Gustave was about five years of age he was sent
to a boarding and day-school kept by a certain Professor
Vergnette, who occupied a large house in the Place de
la Cathedrale, directly facing the great minster. Young

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EARLY SKETCHES.
(Dora's Drawing-book, 1840. Unpublished.)
Dore, consequently, could neither go to nor from his class
without passing the Domkirche.
At this school he had two companions, boys of nearly
his own age, the sons of M. Kratz, a very well-to-do
citizen of Strasburg, and his acquaintance with them,
begun in the modest scholastic establishment directed by
C

GUSTAVE DOR A

Professor Vergnette, was one which ripened into a life
long friendship.
The Kratz boys were only day pupils,. but Gustave and
his brother Ernest took their mid-day meal in the school,
and were considered part of the good professor's family.
The four boys were constantly together in and out of

FIRST LETTER ILLUSTRATED BY DORE, 1837.
(Dore awaits the letter announcing that he is first in his class. Unpublished.)

Unpublished.
school hours. They spent the major portion of their
time m each other's company. When the Dore boys were
Z tT !hey W6re With the little Kratzs, and when
the little Kratzs were not under the paternal roof fcev
were to be found at M. Dore's house Y
tim^ar^ff ^ b[°therJPei^ ^^ Sunday in summer
time at Graffenstaden, M. Kratz's beautiful country

GUSTAVE WINS HIS FIRST PRIZE AT SCHOOL. 19

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Permission of M. Kratz. Unpublished.
PROFESSOR VERGNETTE. GUSTAVE WITH HIS FIRST PRIZE.
(Illustrated letter written by Gustave Dore two months before entering his sixth year.)
C 2

GUSTAVE DORE.

place, a little way out of Strasburg. No sooner had
Gustave reached the villa than he would beg permission
to play at private theatricals.
Not infrequently on arriving at the Villa Kratz he dis
pensed with the usual " Bon jour," substituting for
that conventional greeting the words, " Maintenant nous
allons jouer la comedie toute la journee."
He was passionately devoted to the stage and every
thing pertaining thereto, and entertained an equal fond
ness for music. Music and the drama ran in his mind,
seemingly to the exclusion of all other topics. His taste
for the play-house was so marked, and his faculty for
imitating singing and acting was so extraordinary, that
every one who knew him said, " Gustave will be an actor
or a musician." In short, it never entered any one's head
that he could possibly take to anything else, so strongly
were these tastes developed in his nature. I lay stress
upon this fact as it shows that we do not always exclusively
display in our earliest youth those talents for which we
become remarkable later on. The boy Dore, in the
opinion of his friends, was absolutely destined to follow a
career very different from that which the man Dore
actually pursued.
During his early school days at Professor Vergnette's,
he was not only encouraged to study hard, but his father
promised to make him a small present in money every
time he should reach the head of his class. He had not
been a twelvemonth at the Professor's when he felt
so sure of achieving that distinction, that he wrote a
little letter to his friend Arthur Kratz, describing and
illustrating with pen sketches the feelings of a boy about
to receive a reward for being at the head of his class.
Gustave Dore's ambition and self-assertion developed
rapidly during his boyhood. He appeared to care little
enough for the money with which his father offered to
reward his assiduity at school, but he could not bear to
think that any boy in his class should get ahead of him.
The pride he took in his book-learning was only equalled
by his desire to display whatever prize his industry might

GUSTAVE'S LETTER TO ARTHUR KRATZ. 21
enable him to win. It was not enough for him to be at
the head of his class ; he wished all those around him to
know it, and above all to talk about it. His wishes were
fully gratified.
A few days later he wrote another letter to his friend,
illustrating the joys of the successful competitors for
school honours. This letter was one of the most remark-

SKETCH FROM SECOND LETTER ILLUSTRATED BY G. DORK.
(November, 1837, second page, Strasburg. Unpublished.)
able productions ever achieved by a child of his years,
even if that child had been named Michael Angelo.
When Gustave Dore sent it to his friend Arthur
Kratz, he was within a month of entering his sixth
year. Madame Dore thought that her boy was a born genius.
She raved about his talent, as well she might ; but her
husband still saw no particular reason to rejoice over him,

2-2 GUSTAVE DORE.

merely observing that " Gustave was a good lad, and had
well earned his ten francs."
We may be assured that he went through the usual
elementary course of study. Beyond a doubt he resolved
the ordinary dose of diluted classics, compounded of the
ingredients — Telemachus, Hercules, Clitus, and other
mythological drugs, with which his young brain was duly
inoculated. Probably he hated them as much as most
school-boys do, and later on, as we say in America, " he
got even" with at least three of them, Clitus, Hercules,
and Telemachus.
During those school days Gustave made sketches
on his slate, copy-books, and writing-exercises. Many
of the little strips of paper, called " devoirs " in French
scholastic parlance, are preserved to this day by M.
Ernest Kratz and others of Gustave's friends. One of
them is, curious enough, adorned with a mythological
personage running in arabesques all around the margin of
the paper. The drawing was not remarkable, and was
considered to be the outcome of absence of mind rather
than of talent. " I think," said M. Kratz to me, when
speaking of it, " he did not even know what he was doing
when he designed it."
The first sketch he ever completed — a little group of
soldiers — is still in the possession of M. Ernest Kratz.
This drawing was preserved by mere chance. Its owner
found it in an old school-book, and, remembering that
Gustave had presented it to him, put it away as a little
reminder of the friend he was so fond of. He little thought
how precious a souvenir it would become in after-years.
Gustave Dore was in his eighth year or thereabout
when, in November, 1840, an event occurred which
proved the starting-point of his artistic career.
Strasburg was in gala array over a great public cele
bration. A statue of the renowned Guttenberg was at
last to be erected in the old Marche des Herbes. For
months the civic and military authorities had been
preparing for this interesting event. It had been decided
that, amongst other display, there should be organized a

THE FETE DE GUTTENBERG. 23
grand cortege, representing the industrial corporations
of Strasburg, consisting of fifteen or more chariots, to be
filled with representative members of each guild, decked
out in holiday and symbolic guise, with coronals, wreaths,
flowers, and laurel, escorted by bands of music and
outriders, equipped in the usual paraphernalia of festive
decoration characterizing great public rejoicings.
Of these corporations the first was that of the printers,
in honour of Guttenberg ; the next, that of the glass-
stainers, of which I shall speak in particular, as it plays
a very important part in this biography.
The name of the guild in question explains itself.
From the twelfth to the sixteenth century Strasburg
enjoyed, in common with Munich and several other
German cities, the reputation of being pre-eminent in the
art of glass-staining. A guild was formed under the title
of " La Corporation des Peintres-verriers," which, from
the first, flourished with extraordinary vigour. Although
this guild consisted of men of all ranks and artistic
talents, it is not to be supposed that the humble workman
who painted an obscure window in some obscure church
could do nothing more than that. He might turn his
hand to any bread- winning craft, easy or difficult of
attainment, if he was known to be a member of the glass-
stainers' guild. The rank of artist was conceded him by
the Strasbourgeois, and he was justly esteemed as such.
It would be interesting to trace the career of this cor
poration from its inception, but I have only to deal with
certain phases of its latter-day existence. Although paint
ing on glass might be falling off as an art, the guild was
certainly not in decadence as a corporation. Whatever
its craftsmen may have been in past ages, they constitute
a goodly company at the present day, proud of their
profession, and numbering in their ranks some of the
leading artists of Strasburg. As a corporation they
have their own coat-of-arms, blazoned in gay heraldic
colours, but the oldest insignia was the lantern of the
Peintre-verrier, in the shape of a many-pointed, many-
coloured star. Naturally at the fete of the Guttenberg.

24 GUSTAVE DORE.

statue, as I have said, the chariot of honour was that of the
printers' corporation. Next came the glass-stainers, whilst
amongst the others were those of the gardeners, and,
lastly, of the coopers.
Any one who has been present at popular fetes in
French towns may readily picture to himself the city of
Strasburg on the 13th of November, 1840. The streets
were decorated with triumphal arches of flowers and ever
greens ; the houses and balconies were garnished with
gay- coloured draperies ; flags were flying and bands were
playing ; military and municipal authorities drove about in
( hariots and open carriages, splendidly arrayed in gay uni
forms sparkling with decorations and medals ; the children
were in holiday attire, and every commune within a ten-
mile radius of Strasburg had supplied its quota of nota
bilities and village folk wherewith to swell the waves of
human beings that poured incessantly through the gates
of the old fortress city. These, with the rich Alsatian
peasants from a dozen neighbouring hamlets, invaded the
town, with their new blouses and gowns, baskets of food,
and their heads adorned with every sort of head-dress,
completed a spectacle which for picturesqueness, vivacity,
and variety of colour, could only be seen in one of the
Rhenish provinces.
If the whole of the city wore a gala aspect, it can be
imagined what the then newly-named Place du Guttenberg
must have been— the great square in which all the prin
cipal ceremonies of the day were appointed to come off !
Gustave Dore, with his brother and friends, had been
on the tip-toe of excitement from early morn. He was in
the streets the whole day long. The eager boy went
everywhere, and saw everything ; he seemed to be ubiqui
tous, and when night came his head was so full of what
had happened, that he positively talked himself to sleep.
It must be remembered that this was the first great public
fete he had ever witnessed. He was deeply impressed by
it, as most intelligent children of his years would have
been. His brain had been whirling with excitement from
sunrise till sunset ; and of all the people in Strasburg who

AFTER THE FETE.

25

enjoyed that memorable occasion none so fairly revelled
in universal pleasure as did Gustave Dore.
The next day the fete was apparently to him a thing of
the past. He did not even speak of it. He had seemingly
swept it out of his mind as quickly as a listless hand
would brush away a summer cobweb.

'wfeal?-- \ ^:A?,aj ^HmA:

,f.<-7 \

STRASBOURGEOIS.
(Dore's Drawing-book, 1840. Unpublished.)
The part this event played in Dore's after-life I leave
one of the principal actors in the drama to relate. M.
Arthur Kratz, the distinguished Conseiller a la Cour des
Comptes, Gustave Dore's life-long friend and companion,
shall here describe its effects in his own words, as spoken
by him to me some weeks ago.

26

GUSTAVE DORE.

CHAPTER III.
M. ARTHUR KRATZ DESCRIBES PROF. VERGNETTE'S
FETE.
" After the fete," said M. Kratz, " there was nothing
for us boys but to resume our regular daily round of
school life. We had had such a jolly time that most of
us did not find it easy to take up once more the hum
drum routine of books and rules and punishments ; indeed
the only one who went on as if nothing had happened
was Gustave. I don't remember having heard him once
mention the word fete. His was such a quick, efferves
cing nature, and so many things were rushing pell-mell
through his brain at a time, that I supposed even the
recollection of the ceremony was blotted out completely
from his memory. To only one idea was he faithful — his
fondness for playing at theatricals. His passion for this
amusement was all-engrossing, and I must tell you that
he never thought of playing any part without preparing
himself as to costume, accessories, &c. He would
improvise the most extraordinary costumes out of any
old garment, and everything available in the way of fur
niture he found the way to convert instantaneously into
suitable scenery and decorations. I never knew such a
boy in my life. He could turn his wits to anything, and
anything to his wits.

PROFESSOR VERGNETTE'S CELEBRATION.

27

" The Sunday following the festivities, as usual, he
spent with me at Graffenstaden, and we played at ' theatre'

ft \4

EARLY SKETCHES.
(Dora's Drawing-book, 1840. Unpublished.)
the whole afternoon. Then after supper we had some
music, and he sang several comic songs which were very
amusing, while his brother Ernest played on the piano,

28 GUSTAVE D ORE.

and we passed altogether a merry time. I assure you it
seemed a pity to break up our party, and for the Dore
boys to go home. Gustave on this occasion had been so
lively and amusing that every one present agreed in pro
nouncing him one of the most charming children they had
ever met with.
" You see we were not alone at Graffenstaden. Besides
my father, mother, brother Ernest, and the Dores, we
usually had a house full of friends, who constituted our
public when we performed in private theatricals. One
and all spoke of Gustave's talent, exclaiming : — " It is
certain that he will go on the stage.' ' He must become
an actor.' ' Did any one ever see dramatic talent so
strongly developed in a child of his age ? '
" Gustave was very proud, of course, but volunteered
no statement as to what he intended to do. He was at
that time a rollicking^ min, and thoroughly kind-hearted
withal. Boys often do very unkind things, even in play ;
but he was never wicked or cruel. Through his nature
there always ran an undercurrent of sentiment and tender
ness. He was so sensitive, as a child, that a mere
nothing coming from a friend would hurt his feelings ; but
he did not care a rap about what strangers said to him,
and fully held his own with other lads. I can tell you,
my parents were extraordinarily fond of him. You may
imagine what Graffenstaden was with four, no, five boys
in it at once, all nearly of an age ! We kept the house
in a continual uproar. But those were the happiest days
of our life, and no one was ever so welcome there as
Gustave, who was a superlative demon as far as fun
gaiety, and mischief were concerned.
" He went home that night as usual, and next day we
met at school. I cannot quite remember the exact date
but not long after, we heard that Professor Vergnette's
fete-day was at hand. The boys wished to celebrate it
in a proper manner, and we held a sort of council amongst
ourselves as to the style of entertainment that it would be
possible to arrange. Gustave in this, as in everything,
was the leading spirit of the enterprise.

DORE REPEATS THE FETE OF GUTTENBERG.

29

" ' I will tell you, boys,' he said at once. ' Let us repro
duce the Fete of Guttenberg.'
" ' But how ? ' we asked ; ' it is impossible ! '
" ' Nothing is impossible,' he replied. ' I will take
charge of the whole affair, and will be responsible for
everything. You shall see what I can do. We will make
it a grand success.'
" Upon this, he proceeded to explain his project.
" ' We must have four chariots,' he said, ' and I will be
at the head of the glass-stainers.'
" And now let me tell you about the fete which we
got up under his direction. About one p.m. on the ap
pointed day everything was ready, and we marched round
the cathedral square after having shown ourselves to the
professor. There were the four chariots drawn by some of
the school-boys, the rest of whom filled the cars, repre
senting the different corporations. Gustave was at the
head of his chosen guild, and had dressed himself in a
characteristic costume, including a Rubens hat, with
paper ornaments. His whole get-up was quite that of a
mediaeval artist. The respective masters of the guilds were
chosen from amongst ourselves by him, and he prepared
them for the parts they had to play. For instance, I
personified the chief cooper, and he taught me the trick
that was always performed at the fetes of the coopers'
guild. You must know that some of the Alsatian moun
taineers were extremely adroit in the performance of this
particular trick, which consisted in turning round a glass
full of beer inside the rim of a cask-hoop without spilling
a drop of the liquor. Gustave, who was wonderfully
dexterous, had learned how to do this to perfection from
an old barrel-maker who occupied a flat in the same
house as the Dores. Well, he got me up in my part, and
I headed my guild in the car, twirling the glass in the
hoop to the best of my ability. I cannot remember the
name of the boy who headed the gardeners' guild ; but
that of the printers' association was in the hands of
Ernest Dore, Gustave's eldest brother, who played a
very important part in the fete.

30 GUSTAVE DORE.

Not only had Gustave organized and completed the
preparations for the celebration, but he had decorated the
chariots inside and out, besides effecting the extraordinary
achievements I am now about to describe to you. He
painted four banners, each of nearly two yards in length
and one in breadth ; one for each corporation. Will you
believe it that he drew all the insignia from memory ? For
instance, the printers' banner displayed presses, news
papers, and so on, and that of the coopers' their old craft
symbols, of course ; but the most marvellous of all was
that which waved above his own triumphal car. He had
accurately painted the ancient lantern of the Peintres-
verriers, in the form of a star, with coloured glass points,
and at its base he had reproduced a well-known stained
glass window of the cathedral. The whole was decorated
with a design in arabesques environing the gorgeous
banner's margin ; and in a corner, underneath all, was
inscribed his own name, ' G. Dore fecit.'
" He had given orders that as we marched round the
square we should stop every now and then, in order to
work at our different trades. The gardeners made up
bouquets, and threw them to the crowd ; bulletins were
issued from the printing-press, and flung about hither and
thither ; I did my hoop trick, and made believe to drink
deep draughts of the foaming beer of Strasburg ; but
Gustave outdid us all. He stopped every time we did,
struck an attitude, and made sketches of people in the
crowd, which he launched to the right and left with great
dignity. Only when some one exclaimed that he or she
recognized a striking likeness did I realize that Gustave
was making real drawings. He was the quaintest sight
I ever set eyes on, and I think I can see him now, perched
on his car, with his extraordinary hat, his fantastic gar
ments, his head bent on one side ; every now and anon
striking his attitude and quickly making his sketches,
which he distributed to the applauding throng. We finally
drew up before the Pension Vergnette, and went into the
house, where we presented the four banners to our school
master, and Gustave made an elaborate speech in honour

DORE'S FUTURE CAREER IS DECIDED UPON. 31

of the occasion. The Professor and his family were
delighted; but when they saw the paintings on the
banners, and some of the sketches which Gustave had
strewn about him in the Place, their enthusiasm knew no
bounds. From that day forth I felt sure that my gifted
schoolfellow would never become an actor. It was
obvious that Gustave Dore was cut out by nature for an
artist, and all who knew him foretold that he would one

'JrnSw'

/Vn

/

PEASANT'S HEAD.
(Bourg, 1 84 1. Unpublished.)
day adopt painting as a career. I have heard of many
precocious feats performed by youths whose talents
raised them above the common level, but never have I
known such a prodigy as Gustave Dore proved himself to
be, when quite a little child, planning and successfully
carrying out such a marvellous imitation of the Fete of
Guttenberg as he then executed from memory.
" Years rolled on, and I had almost forgotten the
circumstance, when Gustave himself recalled it to me one

32 GUSTAVE DORE.

day whilst we were talking over our school days. He
suddenly asked me if I remembered our Guttenberg fete,
and in two words brought it all back to my memory. It
was exactly what I have told you now. Gustave added,
' I should not be likely to forget my first appearance in
public as an artist. Besides, that was the time when you
all told me that I should make a great painter.'
" I lay stress upon this fete," observed M. Kratz, in
conclusion, " for it was the starting-point in his career,
and the first revelation to his friends that he possessed
such a marvellous taste for drawing. This amazing feat
was for a time the exclusive topic of conversation in our
little circle, and although it was hard to make people
believe that he alone had planned and executed the entire
celebration in less than forty-eight hours, no one there
after ever thought of any other career for Gustave Dore
but the glorious one of art."
At the end of that term Gustave was sent to the
college of Strasburg. He was accompanied by his
brothers, and dear friends Arthur and Ernest Kratz.
There he improved his acquaintance with his old classical
tormentors, and drew many an astonishing picture in his
little drawing-books. Happily some of these have been
preserved to the present day. He studied with great
assiduity, and his precocity in all respects was truly re
markable. With all his application to serious studies, the
element of fancy predominated in his nature, and his
imagination began to overstep all limits. A new illusion
possessed him every day in the week, and the ideas
which floated through his brain were sometimes strange
enough to alarm his family and friends. He related
tales of adventures which could never have taken place
save in the fantastic realm of the "Arabian Nights;"
and, after listening to his extravagant narrations, people
were wont to ejaculate in utter astonishment, " How
can he possibly think of such things ? What room is
there in any child's brain for such astounding and fantastic
ideas ! "

GUSTAVE'S GENEROSITY.

33

CHAPTER IV

AN EXAMPLE OF

DORE'S

YOUTHFUL GENEROSITY.

At an early age Gustave Dore showed interest in people
and scenes with which he had little in common. He
would loiter in the streets of Strasburg, staring at every
odd-looking man, woman, and child whom he met. He
never seemed to be attracted by the rich or prosperous ;
on the contrary, every old concierge in the Rue de la
Nuee Bleue and Rue des Veaux was known to him by
sight, and the lineaments of every street Arab, postman,
and beggar were indelibly impressed upon his memory.
Things out of the ordinary never failed to attract his
attention, and he invariably saw the ludicrous side of a
thing as promptly as he did the pathetic. His disposi
tion was strangely unselfish, and his childish generosity
became proverbial in his family.
One day in the dead of winter, when he was barely
seven years old, he returned home from one of his street
excursions, with his legs severely scratched and his feet
bare and bleeding. Francoise called out to him, —
"In the name of heaven, Master Gustave, what has
happened to you ? For the love of the Holy Virgin, where
D

34

GUSTAVE DORi.

are your shoes ? What will your mother say when she
sees you in such a state ? Where have you been ? "

EARLY SKETCH, 1 840.
(Dore's Drawing-book. Unpublished.)
"Well, Francoise," he replied, "I have been a good
long way to-day, walking with some very unfortunate

HE GIVES HIS SHOES TO A BEGGAR,

35

people, especially one little boy — just my age — who is
dreadfully poor. He was something like me, only he was
in rags and had no shoes to his feet. It hurt me to see
him like that in winter, you know, so I gave him mine,
because he has no father, as I have, to give him shoes.
Say nothing about it. I shall wear my old ones for another
quarter. They fitted him exactly ; what luck— was it
not ? Don't tell mamma, for she would scold me ! "
Francoise tells this story with infinite delight.
" It was only one of many things he did of that kind,"
she added. " He was always giving, giving, giving. His

m &

<W

SCENE, LIFE OF JUPITER.
(Original Sketch, 1843. Unpublished.)
hand was continually in his pocket, and I never knew
him to keep his pence or spend his money; on himself.
Beggar or organ-grinder always got. it out of him ! "
He passed the greater part of his play-hours out of
doors, and Francoise says that whenever any one asked
for Master Gustave she had to run and fetch him. He was
usually in conversation with some mendicant or strolling
player, or perhaps lounging in the square, when there
would be a crowd collected, with market-women haggling,
soldiers joking and swearing, children yelling, and acro
bats kicking up their heels in public.
D 2

36 GUSTAVE DORE.

He developed a talent for gymnastics which would not
have discredited the Vokes Family, and from his fifth
year to his fiftieth he never outgrew his fondness for his
favourite pastime. He often fraternized with street
acrobats, took part in their professional rounds, and was
extremely proud of his agility. On his way home from
these expeditions he was always wrapped up in himself,
walking by his companion's side with the greatest
dignity. His curious reticence on these occasions was
frequently the subject of comment and conjecture in his
family circle. He sometimes pulled at old Francoise's
skirts when out with her, thus signifying to her to stop.
Perhaps a mere nothing had attracted his attention ;
some quaintly attired old woman carrying a wooden pail
on her head in lieu of a turban ; some vagabond pedler
displaying his tempting wares to the thrifty housewives of
Strasburg. All objects of this class ; rarely any beautiful
sight. When he had looked his full, without uttering a word,
he would return quietly to his father's house. Once in
doors, he relieved his mind by performing a few circus
tricks, or turning head over heels all through the different
rooms, and indulging in all the antics of a lively kitten,
but never saying anything about his outdoor excursions.
Next day, however, his sketch-book faithfully reproduced
the leading incidents of his promenade. There was often
a touch of pathos in his sketches, but the comic vein
ran more or less conspicuously through them all. Paul
Lacroix once said to me, —
" Madame Dore was more than ever enchanted with
Gustave when he was about nine years old. It pleased
her fancy to imagine him a genius ; she boldly en
couraged him in drawing, and made the most of his every
little sketch. However, I must regretfully confess that,
in spite of all he did, she was the only one to see anything
out of the common in the little lad. His grandmother
Pluchart refused to recognize any extraordinary talent in
her grandson. She had the tact, when her daughter
raved about him, to hold her tongue, and thus peace was
kept in the family. No discussion pro or con could elicit

MADAME PLUCHART'S ADVICE TO DORE. 37
a word from her. This was somewhat remarkable in a
grandmother. She only told Gustave to study hard, read
his Bible, and remember that he bore an honest name.
When he ventured to speak of becoming an artist some
day, she would say, —
" ' There are other and more serious things in the
world than making sketches of broken-backed animals
and weak-kneed vagrants. Think of your books before
all else. The first thing in life is to have a good
education — to be able to instruct oneself. Spend time,

JUPITER AND THE GOAT. (chap. X.)
(Dore, 1 84 1. Unpublished.)

therefore, on your books, for every one despises an
ignoramus.' " . . .
Madame Pluchart's opinions were highly cherished in
her daughter's house— so highly that even Gustave, while
he complained openly to his mother of the old lady's lack
of appreciation of his drawings, managed in secret to read
a great deal. He thought his grandmother incapable ot
deciding on art-matters, but, with no little shrewdness,
made up his mind that he could not do better than follow
her advice with respect to book-learning. No one knew
exactly when he learned to read ; it was between the age

38

GUSTAVE DORE.

of three and four ; every one was amazed when, but
eight years old, he was found able to talk on Bible subjects
with perfect ease, knew the astronomical names and posi
tion of many stars, and had learned several mythological
tales, which he speedily set about illustrating. I have
before me one page yellow with age, and stained with the

JUPITER AND THE EAGLE.
(Unpublished.)
imprint of childish fingers, but still more indelibly with
the imprint of genius.
It is inconceivable that a child of his tender years
should have calmly undertaken to execute a counterfeit
presentment of the " Father of the Olympian Gods." Not
satisfied with drawing it, he has told the adventures of
Jove in his own quaint fashion, and illustrated his text at
the beginning of each paragraph. The story of Jupiter

COMPOSES AND ILLUSTRATES LIFE OF fUPITER. 39
— Gustave's Jupiter — is related in childish language, but
with the assurance of a great writer. It is very amusing
to read. There is something almost pathetic in the
notion of the gifted little boy stealing away from his play
fellows for the love of art and in fear of incurring
ridicule shutting himself up alone for hours with his
little book on mythology, condensing a story to suit his
own purposes, and telling it as simply as he understood
it. He made a very elaborate study of the Cloud- Com-

FROM AN ILLUSTRATED DANTE.
(Drawn at ten years of age, entitled " Voyage a l'Enfer." Dore, Strasburg, 1842.)
(By permission of M. Kratz. Unpublished. )
peller, and worked at it for weeks. This page is all that
is preserved of Dore's " Adventures of Jove," and is
headed Chapter X., so that the narrative must have been
a voluminous as well as an ambitious attempt. Many
descriptions of Jupiter doubtless exist ; but I fancy that
only one page of this wonderful child's version of " Zeus,
his life and times," has survived its author.
Gustave's passion for music, especially for the opera,
was beyond all bounds. When he was seven years old he

40, Ay

'J ". ° GUSTAVE DOR A

went to the theatre to see a performance of " Robert-
le Diable," and on his return home remembered and
described correctly every principal scene in the opera.
The next day he wanted to perform it from beginning
to end, but was obliged to wait until the following
Sunday, when he was to go as usual to the Villa Kratz
at Graffenstaden.
"We gave entire scenes from the opera," says M.
Kratz, " and Gustave particularly delighted in the demons
and spirits. He was aided in the performance by his
eldest brother Ernest, who was amazingly clever, and
also displayed a great talent for acting, besides being a
born musician, playing the piano and composing charm
ingly. About this time Gustave began to study the violin,
and one of his first and favourite solos was a pot-pourri
of well-known airs from " Robert." We had great fun with
our representation of this opera, and all through his life
Gustave retained a special affection for that particular
piece. I can't tell how many times we have gone through
almost the entire score without stopping. The libretto
delighted him no less than the music, which he often
used to hum while he was at work.
When Dore was about ten years old, his love for the
supernatural and demoniac began to develop. It was a
new phase in this already strange and fantastic child's
character. One might call it " le cote infernal de sa
nature," and it certainly had not been particularly noticed
until after he had seen " Robert le Diable." His sketches
from thenceforth all bore the stamp of this peculiar style
He drew nothing but scenes in the infernal regions fallen
angels, demons, spectres, goblins, and fiends, in' every
imaginable shape and form.
M. Arthur Kratz has a very remarkable souvenir of
this epoch. It is a sort of illustrated Dante, and one of
the most extraordinary pieces of work conceivable in a
child ; also a publication of Granville's called " Les
Metamorphoses du Jour," inspired Dore to parody it which
he did most successfully in one single drawino- called " La
Charite." This was sketched in 1842, and our illustration

DORE'S LOVE FOR THE UNREAL.

41

is from the original, in fact the only one he or any one
ever made on that subject.
The drawings are extremely sketchy, possessing no
framework whatever ; but the idea is there, and each face
and figure is faultless in expression.
These, like all Dore's early productions, were preserved
by mere accident, for no one attached special importance
to them until many years later. It is to M. Kratz's love
of order and habit of never throwing anything away that
we are indebted for some of the most curious and valuable
souvenirs of Gustave Dore's early life.

42 GUSTAVE DO R±

CHAPTER V.
NOTES FROM DORE'S JOURNAL.
I HAVE before me a little sketch of Dore's life, dictated
by himself to his mother, and written down by her in
1865. He has been either so modest or so forgetful as
to omit from this memoir a great many important events,
which happily have been remembered and communicated
to me by his family and friends. The journal or group
of notes in question loses force and piquancy by trans
lation, for Gustave Dore was gifted in the use of the pen,
as well as in that of the pencil.1
He begins as follows : —
" I was born in Strasburg on January ist, 1833, and
passed nearly all my earliest youth in the mountainous
part of Alsatia. My father for many years held the
appointment of chief engineer of roads and bridges in the
department of the Rhine. It was not in Strasburg alone
that I spent my childhood, but in the little communes of
St. Odile and Barr, which are so near to Strasburg as to
be within sight of the great cathedral.
" That part of Alsatia is very rustic, and especially re
markable for the beauty of its forest and mountain scenery.
2In these notes Dord states that he was born on January ist, 1833.
The inaccuracy is extraordinary, but he really had forgotten the date of
his birthday. It will be seen by his birth enregisterment that he was
really born January 6th, 1832. — B.R.

DORE'S FIRST ATTEMPTS AT DRAWING.

43

" The person who will be charged with compiling
my biography may take note, that amidst those scenes
were born in me the first lively and lasting impressions
which determined my tastes in art, for my early attempts
in drawing were all of a similar character, and for a long
time I had but one wish, viz. to reproduce those sights and
scenes so familiar to my boyhood, and which I loved so
well. More than this, a great many of my first serious

LA CHARITIi.

(Original sketch, unpublished, inspired from a publication of Granville's, " Les
Metamorphoses du Jour." Dor^, Strasburg, 1842.)
efforts in painting were landscapes, always depicting the
country round Strasburg.
" When I was nine years old my father was appointed
chief engineer of the department of the Ain, and had the
strange fortune to be transferred from a hilly country to
one still more mountainous. The Ain was a beautiful
province of French Savoy, composed entirely of spurs
of the Alps. My father was then occupied in surveying
the unfinished line of railway from Lyons to Geneva. He
almost always took me with him on his professional

44

GUSTAVE DORE.

journeys, and often used to go as far as the extreme end
of Savoy and the Oberland. As might have been ex
pected from my early training in this picturesque school
of education, I conceived a passionate love for mountains
and mountainous scenery ; a love which has endured to
this very day. In the month of September, 1847, my
parents were called to Paris, and they took me with them."
I stop the journal in order to interpolate several im-

SCENES FROM DORA'S "VOYAGE A L'ENFER." (chap, x.)
(Strasburg, 1842. Unpublished.)
portant facts, which either through modesty or forget-
fulness he has omitted to record.
While Dore was in school at Professor Vergnette's, his
parents went to stay some little time at Saverne, a com
mune within walking distance of Strasburg. l' cannot
exactly fix the date of their stay there, but it must have
been when Gustave was between six and seven as
Madame Braun said to me once, —
" It was an extraordinary sight to see Francoise tug-

DOR AS FIRST PUBLISHED CARICATURES.

45

ging up the hill at Saverne with three boys clingino- to
her skirts, all of them like spoiled infants. Well I remem
ber it, for Gustave made a little book of drawings for me
while he was there, and I know we were all amazed,
because he seemed still a baby."
I will refer to this little book later on. With regard to
his school-going to Professor Vergnette's, there is no men
tion of his having missed even one quarter, so in all pro
bability he was in Saverne only during the long summer
holiday after Easter. At nine years of age he was sent
with his brother Ernest to the College of Strasburg.
After he had spent two years there, his family moved
to Bourg, a city in near vicinity to the Alsatian capital,
when Gustave was again sent to school. This city pos
sessed an excellent lycee, or young gentleman's college.
Gustave was then just entering his eleventh year.
His taste for drawing was at this time so strongly de
veloped that he made many sketches of the peasants
whom he met in his walks to and from school, faithfully
reproduced the faces and figures of several well-known
persons amongst the villagers, and sent his master off into
shrieks of laughter by a brilliantly executed design of
boys and girls sliding at a place called " La Martinoire,"
the public skating-pond. At the same age he made
another drawing, which was lithographed at Cezeriat,
in Bourg, with " La Martinoire." It was called, " After
the Inauguration of the Statue of-Bichat."
The above sketches are amongst Gustave's graphic
efforts between the ages of seven and twelve.
¦ At the Bourg Lycee Dore had been preceded by his
reputation for drawing. The story of Professor Vergnette's
fete had been duly repeated, and the masters soon per
ceived that his reputation had not overrated his talent.
They had the good sense not to hinder the development
of this growing passion in the boy, and he was allowed
to scribble in copy-books and ornament the margins of
his Lhomond's grammar to his heart's content ; once he
went so far as to explain his lessons to his teacher through
the medium of his fingers — the subject was the death of

46 GUSTAVE DORE.

Clitus. His comrades, one and all, had made several
mistakes in their text ; but Gustave gravely presented
his master with a drawing representing the scene of the
murder, with an exactitude as vigorous as it was astonish
ing. M. Grandmpttet, the chief master, was a man of rare
judgment, and not altogether devoid of wit. He allotted
the post of honour in the class to Gustave Dore, " for his
perfect description of the murder of Clitus." Moreover
he strongly encouraged the lad in his ambition to become
an artist. " Study well," he told him, " and your aspira
tions must be realized sooner or later." Dore's father
was still obdurate with respect to the " painting business."
He was so charmed with Gustave's progress, however,
that he promised to take the lad with him on his very
first trip out of Alsatia, if he should continue to be a good
boy, and should gain some prizes at school.
. Dore, in this as in many other respects, stands almost
alone in history. He was one of the few men of genius
who ever won any prizes at school, for birch is much
more commonly deserved than laurel by lads of even
exceptional natural gifts.
Gustave's father kept his promise, and took his pre
cocious son on that memorable trip away from Alsatia
which culminated in a visit to Paris.
Dore spent a great deal of time with his father.
Between the ages of nine and eleven, indeed, he was
rarely absent from M. Dore's side. They explored
together every nook of the forests, every hill and dale
of the mountains in the Vosges provinces. Whilst
his father was at work Gustave remained in silent con
templation of Nature's ineffable beauties, which he had
learned to appreciate at so early an age. In summer
time he scaled mountains, swam rivers, and chased the
gaily-tinted butterfly from flower to flower. He would
lie on the grass for hours at a stretch, thoughtfully
gazing up at the sky, or drinking in the beauty of flashing
torrent in wooded glen or majestic forest.
As hehimself repeatedly declared to all his friends he
revelled in Nature, and particularly her wild and rugged

DOR A LEARNS TO ADORE NATURE.

47

aspects. There was not a tree of the forest that he had
not studied — not a flower that grew by the wayside, but
its name and perfume were known to him ; not a herb nor
healing plant so cunningly hidden in the mountain clefts

EARLY SKETCHES.
(Dore's Copy-book, 1840. Unpublished.)
but his eye could detect it and his hand pluck it from its
lurking-place. He knew where wood-birds nested and
nightingales sang ; he knew the track of the deer and
the haunt of the squirrel. He could detect the trail of
the venomous adder ; the rounded summits of the Ballon

48 GUSTAVE DORE.

of Gubewiller, the Hobenech, and the Ballon d' Alsace
were familiar to him, as well as every mountain path and
crevice, every running brook and fertile valley in the dis
trict ; and he daily fed his imagination from the abundance
of ever-varying and bountiful mother Nature.
While the elder Dore walked and surveyed and mea
sured, Gustave ran on in front or lagged behind, engrossed
with observation or absorbed in fancy. His constant com
panions were a phenomenal and luxuriant imagination —
a fervid and realistic creativeness. Those days spent in the
Vosges laid the foundation of a future of free and fertile
imagery which has rarely, perhaps never, been equalled in
the history of Art. All the legends and stories which Grand
mamma Pluchart had so graphically narrated to him ; the
fairy tales he contrived to worm out of the mumbling
peasants of the " little " Black Forest ; the fables re
counted by his nurse Francoise ; the Bible stories repeated
over and again by his mother ; — all these relics of tradi
tion or creations of fancy swarmed in his brain and
peopled it with countless phantom-beings which to him,
doubtless, seemed at least as real as the actualities sur
rounding his every- day life. The low, plaintive breeze
sighing through the tall firs of the Schwarzwald was
to him the voice of some lost spirit ; the lights and
shadows gleaming athwart the sullen pines were gnomes
and elves dancing on a fairy greensward, the clefts in the
mountain-side were entrances to nymphs' grottoes or en
chanted caverns. Dore always cherished his illusions, and
often said in later life that he would not as a lad have been
surprised had genii issued from those caves brandishing
torches, and he felt convinced that every shadow cast
by the peaks of Gubewiller or Hobenech hid beneath its
ghost huge giants striding backwards and forwards,
terrible in their implacable rage.
Could it have been this child's idea which found reality
later in the inspired portraits of Gargantua, the Rabelaisian
giant, who had to stand on the towers of Notre Dame to
escape the suffocating crowd of Paris ?
: The love of the Alsatians for legends and fairy stories

DOR A LOVES THE LEGENDS OF ALSATIA.

49

is something beyond belief, and their faith in supernatural
lore is still absolutely implicit. There is not a guide or
mountaineer who cannot recount good store of startling
tales which are native to the country and impart to it that

EARLY SKETCHES.
(Dore, 1844. Unpublished.)

mysterious charm which lurks in ghost-haunted ruins
and deserted castles and palaces. I am sure any one
must be profoundly prosaic and impervious to all associa
tions of childhood's days who can listen to these weird
E

50 GUSTAVE DOR A.

narratives and, listening, refuse to believe in them, at
least for the time being. As I walked by the great
cathedral when the moon was shining on the statues of
Erwin von Steinbach and his inspired daughter, I fully
expected to see the angel's bright shape glimmer
through the dark blue of the midnight sky, and hover in
space over the forms of those two whom she had so
divinely, so opportunely favoured.
Amongst the thousands of stories young Gustave Dore
had learned by heart there were two which he cherished
with extraordinary affection. One was that of the Cathe
dral of Strasburg ; the other was the legend of St.
Odile, a fitting companion to the former, and one which
would inevitably be recited to you by the first peasant
with whom you might enter into conversation near the
walls of Strasburg ; so I may as well relate it here, for
the benefit of those amongst my readers who may not be
familiar with the " Ingoldsbv Legends," although the
poet's version can scarcely be said to be uncoloured by
a poet's licence.
St. Odile is one of the loveliest and most sublime spots
in Europe. It is situated on a table-land — almost one huge
rock — overlooking the Rhine Valley, and rears its head
aloft, gazing down upon the surrounding country like a
mighty, hundred-eyed basilisk. Perched upon the very
crest of St. Odile is a massive and feudal pile, which
towers above all the neighbouring buildings, and com
mands a view of many miles of forest and field as well as
of the great minster, its twin-sister in grandeur and
majesty. This huge structure is called the Convent of
St. Odile, and gave birth to the legend which will be told
in the valleys of Alsatia when the cloister's battlements
shall have crumbled away, and its stones shall be
compounded with the dust of the everlasting hills.
In the seventh century a great nobleman, Duke
Etticon, established himself in that part of the Rhine
Valley and took the title of Duke of Alsatia. Shortly
afterwards he married, and the one wish of his heart was
that a son might be born to inherit his honours and his

THE LEGEND OF ST. ODILE. 51

name. He lived sometimes in Obernheim, sometimes at
Hohenburg ; and in all the country round about there was
not another noble as wealthy and powerful as Duke
Etticon. The only fortified castle at that time in Alsatia was
built on a vast mountain plateau, and was popularly
believed to have once been a stronghold of the Roman
invaders. The sombre fortress cast a dark shadow over
the valley, and offered a frowning front to Alsatia's foes.
The duke's love of power and of absolute sway over his
dependants, combined to ruin his character. He became
brutal and unjust, was feared by all and loved by none.
He took possession of the castle in question, and lived
there, with his young wife.
When the long-expected babe arrived, alas ! it was no
heir, but an ugly infant girl, born blind. The duke's ragewas
so terrible that he gave secret orders that the child should
be killed. No one had the heart to obey his command,
but she was taken away from her poor weeping mother,
Bereswinde, christened Odile, and brought up secretly in
a convent of the Black Forest. When Odile grew-up she
was noted for her piety, intelligence, and goodness, and
was, moreover, no longer blind, her sight having been
restored by a miracle, as every one believed. She re
turned to her father's court at Obernheim, conducted
thither by her brother Hugues, who had been told that
he had a sister, and, without his father's permission, ven
tured to bring her back to her paternal home. The duke,
enraged at his son's presumption, struck Hugues a fatal
blow, and Odile, without a murmur, prepared to leave her
home once more. Her mute resignation completely sub
dued her father, and changed him from a sinner to a good
man. He subsequently bestowed his domain of Hohen
burg upon Odile, who thereupon built the convent that
bears her name to this day. Many tales are told of her
goodness and miracles ; but the one in which all Alsatians
believe implicitly is the following. One day, walking on
the mountain-side, she caused a spring to issue from the
rock, which spring is called the fountain of Hohenburg.
E 2

52 GUSTAVE DORE.
Its waters are believed to possess holy virtues and to
cure many ills ; in particular, to be efficacious in healing
blindness. St. Odile is the patron saint of Alsatia, and
at Whitsuntide hundreds of pilgrimages are made to the
holy shrine, and thousands, formerly blind, but who now
enjoy perfect eyesight, ascribe their cure to the healing
waters of Hohenburg fountain.
This story Gustave Dore never tired of hearing ; and
one of his favourite walks was to the fountain.
Dore was an ardent believer in St. Odile all his life
long. I once asked Mr. Kratz if he also believed in the
efficacy of the waters, and if he had ever bathed in them.
He answered, —
" Bathed in them ? hundreds of times ! Of all the
beautiful spots in this world St. Odile is the most beauti
ful, and Gustave not only adored it, but was never weary
of talking about it. Every time he saw the fountain he
always bathed his eyes in its waters, as we all did, in fact,
and I am sure he really believed in the legend of St.
Odile. That, with the legend of the Cathedral of Stras
burg was one of his favourite tales, and as a child he
never tired of listening to them both."
From these two legends were born two great worships
in Gustave Dore's life — the love of Gothic architecture,
and the love of pine-forests and mountainous scenery.
These tastes grew with his years, and we can readily see
that he made no bad use of those early hours of study
from Nature. No one has ever painted a pine-forest as well
as Dore, and no one has ever reproduced the Gothic style
with such pureness and beauty ; for from the one you can
inhale the soft odorous resin and balmy breezes of the
Schwarzwald, and in the other hear the ring of the
cathedral chimes and the murmur of the priests as they
repeat their set orisons.
So it was that the fantastic element had an early
chance of development in Gustave. He abode in spirit
with his saints, elves, and gnomes, and the result was what
might have been expected in its effect upon a highly
sensitive and gifted nature. He lived more in the ideal
world than in the real, and throughout life never conquered

DORE CHERISHES HIS ILLUSIONS.

53

the habit of believing in illusions and expecting miracles
to be performed in his favour as soon as he set his heart
upon anything.

fcc-^-ift

/^A

?A*

Kc-cA J,AC^(,<SVJ >-*-T.A<^/

csA^

L.e-i~i a^AAt>pA C4^jx cA^-<^ A^-ffs->-o -**!_,

X
OF MIRLIFLOR AND MISTENFLUTE.
'fM. Kratz. Facsimile. Chap. iii. Unpublished.)

THE VOYAGE OF MIRLIFLOR AND MISTENFLUTE
(Dore, 1S42. By permission or * ' '

54 GUSTAVE DORE.

CHAPTER VI.
DORE ILLUSTRATES A BOOK FOR MME. BRAUN.
I MUST return to Strasburg to chronicle two curious
events. When Gustave Dore was about eight years of age he
fell down in the garden and hurt his arm.
" He was so very industrious," said Francoise, when
recounting this incident to me, " that nothing would do
but he must go on with his work just as if nothing had
happened. He was always making pictures at that time.
I bolstered him up in bed; and he had a long wide board
stretched across it in front of him, upon which he could
manage to draw. He could only work with his left hand,
but never complained, went on singing to himself all
the time, and persevered from morning until night;
always at his pictures. He was never for a moment
without a pencil in his hand. I think I can see him now,
humming and sketching away steadily, and as serious all
the time as if he had been a grown-up man."
Among the numerous friends of the Dores was the
Braun family. Madame Braun was a beautiful woman, the
wife of a handsome and distinguished officer in the French
army. The Brauns and Dores were inseparable, and
Gustave was a special pet of these kind neighbours. He
spent a great deal of time with them. The Dores lived
in the Rue de la Nuee Bleue, the finest street in

SOME PRECOCIOUS SKETCHING.

55

Strasburg, and the Brauns not far off. Gustave could
not have been more than eight years old when he pro
duced one of the most extraordinary series of sketches
ever executed by a child of that age.
" Here is the book," said Madame Braun to me the other

ORIGINAL SKETCH.
(Dore's Drawing-book, 1841. Unpublished.)
day. " He was seven or eight when he gave it to me.
One evening we were laughing at him for drawing
so much, and next day he brought this to me 'as a
present.' "
It was a common little drawing-book, of the kind usually
distributed to children at school; some sheets of gilt-

56 GUSTAVE DORE.

edged paper, bound in a brown stamped leather cover.
On the first page was written in a juvenile hand, with
childish yet artistic precision, the following title : " The
brilliant adventures of M. Fouilloux, told by  ;"
the name " Fouilloux " being a marvel of elaborate calli
graphy. The next page introduces M. Fouilloux, M. and
Madame Braun's dog ! The animal is depicted arriving
at their house, where he is welcomed by the family, and
immediately makes an enemy of an old terrier, named
Fox, which had long guarded the Braun mansion, and
resented the arrival of a new and manifestly underbred
dog. M. Fouilloux and M. Fox stare at each other from
either side of a partition ; for the terrier has been obliged
to submit to the indignity of sharing his kennel with the
unwelcome intruder.
The expression of these two dogs' faces would not
have been unworthy of Landseer. A mild questioning
yet respectful glance is cast by poor Fouilloux at his
neighbour, whilst the latter's countenance, wrinkled by
displeasure, is sulky and provocative. He knows that
Fouilloux is there by his master's decree, and therefore
dares not molest the new-comer, but looks at him as
though he would like nothing better than to tear him to
pieces. The drawing is childish and uncertain, but the likeness
to the dogs is perfect, and the sentiment explained by
the dialogue very well expressed. There is so much life
in the sketch that one might almost expect to see the
two dogs spring from their kennel at any moment, and
engage in mortal combat.
We are then made acquainted with a series of the
hero's adventures. M. Fouilloux goes to the grocer's,
and makes free with certain wares in the shop. He mis
takes pepper for sugar; sneezes, and is almost discovered.
He hides under a table ; the shop-folk search for him ; a
strange dog rushes in just in time to be soundly beaten
as the culprit, while M. Fouilloux makes good his escape,
and the innocent cur, howling with rage and mortifica-

FO UILLO UX RELA TES SOME OF HIS AD VENTURES. 5 7

tion, slinks away with its tail between its legs, not in the
least realizing what it has been thrashed for.
In this sketch M. Fouilloux under the table, his
hair standing on end with fright ; the angry grocer and
his wife ; the spilt pepper, and the strange dog, — are
executed with admirable dexterity and liveliness.
M. Fouilloux next goes to a bath, takes cold, and
falls ill. The scene represents Colonel Braun holding
Fouilloux, whilst Madame Braun administers a dose of
castor-oil to the invalid. In this instance, as in others
of the series, the likeness of Colonel Braun is faithfully
reproduced.

FOUILLOUX RELATES SOME OF HIS ADVENTURES TO THE DOR]£ AND BRAUN
FAMILIES.
(G. Dore, 1840. Unpublished. By permission of Mme. Braun.)
The next scene represents M. Fouilloux's convales
cence. The interesting patient, dressed in a long-sleeved night
shirt, with his paw pressed to his bosom, explains his
sufferings. Madame Braun is standing at the back of
his chair, listening to him with motherly attention and
interest. Colonel Braun, standing in front of him, also
listens to his statement, and seemingly weighs his every
gesture with profound sympathy and comprehension.
They both exclaim, '' Poor Fouilloux ; how he must have
suffered ! "
In the next sketch Fouilloux is represented dancing.

58

GUSTAVE DOR A.

The text explains : " Madame Alexandrine (Gustave's
mother) teaches M. Fouilloux the polka. He learns
with such aptitude and delight that he becomes a polkeur
enrage." The figures in this sketch deserve special notice, for
they are all perfect likenesses, only Madame Braun's face
being a little indistinct. Madame Dore was never more
accurately portrayed, the profile being fine and clearly
cut, whilst the expression of the eyes and mouth, and the
pose of figure are absolutely true to nature.
I am sure that everybody would enjoy the entire

MADAME ALEXANDRINE TEACHES FOUILLOUX TO POLKA.
BECOMES UN POLKEUR ENRAGlS."

HE AFTERWARDS

(G. Dor£, 1840. Unpublished. By permission of Mme. Braun.)

series of M. Fouilloux' s adventures, but I cannot repro
duce it here in its entirety. The closing sketches are,
humorously considered, on a par with those of the con
valescence and dancing-lesson.
The young Gustave finished his volume with the
following : —
" I beg M. and Madame Braun to send me within the
next fortnight the text of drawings which I might have
forgotten, and the adventures which have taken place
since their return to Strasburg. From these I should
like to make a second volume.
" DO NOT FORGET.

THE END OF FOUILLOUX S ADVENTURES.

59

" I embrace the authors of the romance."
It may be inferred from the above that Madame Braun
had written or suggested this little history to Gustave.
As I have said at the bottom of page 44, he was either at
Saverne, a commune very near Strasburg, where his
parents passed some months during his seventh and eighth,
or at Bourg, where his family resided after his tenth year.
Madame Braun cannot quite remember at which place he
executed this work,but thinks it must have been Saverne,
as he was so very young at the time. Even after this won
derful display of his child's talent M. Dore remained obdu-

(Dore, 1840.)
rate in his idea that Gustave should not study to be an
artist, and distinctly discouraged any more miscellaneous
drawing. " It made the boy visionary," he said, " and in
attentive to his books." He was as good as his word.
The second volume of M. Fouilloux' s brilliant adventures
never saw the light of day.
This would place the sketch beyond a doubt at
Saverne, as we know that at Bourg Gustave's talents
for drawing had already received less discouragement
from his father, from the fact that he had been permitted
publicly to exhibit two sketches.
Dore at this time (1840) gave evidence of a wonder-

60 GUSTAVE DOR A.

fully retentive memory, a copious fund of natural
humour, and a disposition to take extreme views of most
things. He was very gentle, but extremely self-willed.
He adored his mother, and was inexpressibly dutiful to
her; but his father exercised little control over him, and
his brothers frequently suffered from the extravagances
of his hasty temper. He often threw them down and
pommelled them soundly. In these juvenile struggles
he was never worsted. He was very light-hearted, how
ever, and never bore malice, but forgot his little quarrels
readily, and generally made them up by performing a
few circus tricks, which he had picked up with amazing
facility, his brothers joining in. Thus peace would be
re-established. I now take up Gustave's journal from the point at
which it records his visit to Paris.
" In the month of September, 1847," ne writes,
" my parents were summoned to Paris upon important
business, and took me with them. Their stay was
only intended to last three weeks. The idea of re
turning to the provinces after having once contem
plated Paris, the centre of light and cultivation, dis
heartened me sadly. I set my wits to work to find
out how I could possibly contrive to remain behind
when my parents should leave, because at that time I
had only one idea — that of consecrating myself to the
career of the fine arts. This idea, however, still en
countered a lively resistance from my parents, who had
destined me, like my two brothers, to undergo a scien
tific training at the Polytechnic School. One day, after
staring for some minutes at the shop-window of Auber
and Philipon, whose place of business was situate on
the Place de la Bourse, on entering my hotel it fortu
nately occurred to me to dash off a few caricatures in
the style of those at which I had been looking. Taking
advantage of the momentary absence of my parents, I
ran back to the shop, and presented my little drawings
to those well-known publishers.
" M. Philipon examined my sketches kindly and atten-

DORA MEETS M. PHILIPON.

6 1

tively, questioned me minutely as to my position, and
then sent me back to my parents with a letter in
viting them to come and have a talk with him about
me. They went to see him, and M. Philipon spoke
most urgently to them, bringing to bear all the argu-

PEASANT's HEAD.
(On the way to Bourg. Sketch by Gustave Dore at the age of nine, taken from his
Drawing-book. By permission of Dr. J. Michel. Unpublished.)
ments he could think of, in order to vanquish their
objections and overcome the fears inspired in them
by the notion of my undertaking the career of an
artist. Eventually he obtained their permission for me
to remain at Paris, assuring them that thenceforth he
would utilize my sketches and pay me for them."
I stop the notes here to insert two curious docu
ments for which I am indebted to the Paris Figaro of
December 4, 1884:

62 GUSTAVE DOR A.

On April 17th, 1848, M. Dore sent the following letter
to M. Ch. Philipon. The letter explains itself, and was
accompanied by a contract in duplicate relative to young
Dore's agreement to work for M. Philipon. The letter
reads as follows, in translation : —
" Bourg, April 15th, 1848.
" Sir, — I have the honour to send you in duplicate the
contract concerning my son, Gustave. I leave it entirely
to your honour, your care, and your judgment, to direct
my son in his career ; I did not even need a written
document ; your word would have perfectly sufficed, and
I like to believe that you would not have doubted mine
when spoken on behalf of Gustave. He is a young man,
imbued with honourable and correct sentiments, and you
may rely upon it that he will never fail to fulfil any of his
engagements toward you. Pray accept the assurance of
my perfect consideration. (Signed) DOR£."
The contract runs thus : — ¦
" Between Pierre Louis Christophe Gustave Dore,
formerly a pupil of the Polytechnic School, Knight of the
Legion of Honour, Chief Engineer of Roads and Bridges,
and Ch. Philipon, 29, Place de la Bourse, Paris. M.
Dore, sr., wishing to develop the talent of his son,
Gustave Dore, aged sixteen, in the profession of litho-
graphical work, has addressed himself to M. Philipon,
who promises to procure for M. Dore, jr., lithographic
work both in pen and pencil. M. Ch. Philipon guarantees
to M. Dore, jr., one cartoon per week. During the
three years which form the term of the present agreement
M. Dore, jr., may not execute any drawing whatsoever
for any other publisher. In virtue of the minority of M.
Dore, jr., M. Dore, sr., guarantees the fulfilment of the
present contract in all its obligations, with this reserva
tion — M. Dore, jr., will be obliged only to furnish one
cartoon per week, that is to say, if he has no time to do
more by reason of his attendance at college, or durino-
the epoch of the holidays, which he will be at liberty to

SOMETHING ABOUT M. PHILIPON. 63
enjoy, or on account of any sickness or malady. Executed
in duplicate at Paris, April 17th, 1848.
" (Signed) Ch. Philipon.
"Dore."
I will now take up Gustave Dore's notes from the
point at which I interrupted them in order to insert the
above documents. With respect to M. Philipon's kind
ness, Dore wrote : —
" If I have laid stress upon this fact, it is because I
esteem it the one which exercised the strongest influence
upon my life ; for from that day it was decided that I
might give myself up to my own tastes. But for the
obliging initiative of Philipon (I underline the word
obliging, because what I did then was very incorrect and
strangely juvenile) I should have returned to the neigh
bourhood or interior of a provincial town, there to waste
several of the best years of my life.
" This circumstance was also the cause that for a long
time — in fact from 1847 to ^58 — most of iny published
works were in the nature of caricature.
" Philipon had just founded his celebrated Journal
pour Rire, in November, 1847, and for this journal I
was engaged to produce a weekly page of drawings.
At the same time, from that date until 1850, I occupied
myself — sometimes well and sometimes badly— in
finishing my studies at the Lycee Charlemagne. It was
there that I was so fortunate as to have Edmond About
and H. Taine for fellow-collegians.
" The school of caricature was not much to my taste,
and although during four or five years I produced
drawings innumerable, it was simply because the only
publisher who accepted my work had but one exclusive
speciality of publication. This speciality was caricature ;
the publisher was Philipon.
"All my time that was not employed in working for him,
I occupied with serious studies in drawing. At last,
about the year 1853, I found an excuse to free myself
from the actualities of comic work, which were a source
of extreme annovance to me."

64 GUSTAVE DORA.

I must now take leave of Dore's autobiographical notes
for a short while. He has faithfully chronicled his visit
to M. Philipon and its immediate results; but I find that,
through diffidence or obliviousness, he has omitted to
chronicle several years of his life which may justly
challenge comparison with those of the most celebrated
artists for an extraordinary combination of imagination,
energy, and achievement.
Gustave Dore found some old friends of his family
residing in Paris, amongst others the late very celebrated
writer and historian, Paul Lacroix, whom I shall describe
later on ; a man of vast experience, who was not slow
to apprehend pernicious effects as likely to result from
young Dore's premature independence. Gustave, with
out being vain, began to feel an inward strength and a
confidence in himself such as rarely stultify but often
retard greatness. He has said, as above quoted in his
journal, " that he studied seriously — sometimes well and
sometimes badly," and that he " studied the art of serious
drawing when not working for Philipon."
There are many ways of defining his idea of " serious
study." He certainly never lacked application, but it
was the result of imaginative, not real study. Accord
ing to M. Lacroix, " Dore seemed only to reproduce.
His marvellous memory, rarely at fault, stood him in thq
stead of studies from Nature. He was too lavishly
gifted by nature, and when he needed to make any kind
of sketch, classic or otherwise, he drew from the bound
less founts of memory and imagination." His quickness,
is well illustrated by the following incident : —
One morning M. Templier, a well-known publisher,
showed Gustave Dore a photograph which he wished to
reproduce that day in his journal. Dore picked it up,
looked at it carelessly, and laid it on the table. He did
not even comment upon it, and the conversation turned
to other subjects. Dore went out hurriedly, forgettino- to
take the photograph with him. At four o'clock he met
M. Templier, who at once asked for the required sketch.
" Dear me," replied Dore, " I forgot the photograph ; but

AN EXAMPLE OF DOR A S QUICKNESS.

65

I will make the sketch at once." He picked up a block,
and in a few moments handed an admirable drawing to
M. Templier. It was an excellent copy of the photo
graph,, the only change being one for the better, viz., an
indistinct road had been clearly and accurately indicated

yc£±.

EARLY SKETCHES.
(Dore's Copy-book, 1846. Unpublished.)
in such style as to enhance the general effect of the
picture. He subsequently explained that glancing
casually at the photograph he had noticed the road as
almost a blemish, and had at once seen in his mind's
eye how it might be improved.
Such amazing quickness could not fail to excite wonder

66 GUSTAVE DOR A.

and admiration. Publishers talked about it, friends
repeated it in all directions, and a few days later a
Parisian newspaper printed the anecdote.
Dore began, and not without justification, to look upon
himself as a marvel.

DOR A AT COLLEGE AT PARIS.

67

-<3s

CHAPTER VII.

DORE AT THE LYCEE CHARLEMAGNE.
Gustave accords but two lines to his college days in
Paris, which were certainly amongst the brightest of his
life. He was sent to the celebrated Lycee Charlemagne,
one of the finest institutions of the kind in the world.
Amongst so many lads he was soon at home, and a warm
friendship sprang up between himself and the late Edmond
About, one of the cleverest writers of France, and H.
Taine, the great historian and philosopher. Gustave's
reputation for drawing had preceded him, and the boys
all looked with eager curiosity at a stripling said to
possess the genius of Michel Angelo and the pencil of
Leonardo da Vinci. They made a great fuss over him,
called upon him to make little sketches for them out of
study hours ; in fact, a general feeling of hero-worship
marked his fellow- collegians' attitude towards him.
It is astonishing to think how constantly he worked,
and how much he accomplished during those school
days. He was drawing for Philipon and illustrating
Lacroix's volumes, besides sketching in secret for half
a dozen different publishers, to each one of whom he
wished to offer entirely new and original works. His
pencil was never idle. He was very quick at his studies,
however, and took great delight as usual in the mysterious
and unreal. He developed an astonishing aptitude for
poetry, history, mythology, and Latin, and was always
first in his class when questions were put to him with
F 2

GUSTAVE DORE.

relation to famous characters in the world of ancient and
classic lore.
One day 1 Professor Gerard was giving instruction in
history, and trying to explain to his pupils the salient
points of character and personal appearance of a certain
Roman emperor. He terminated his lesson with these
words : —
" Dore, go to the black-board and sketch a portrait of
Nero, so that these young gentlemen may understand
perfectly what I mean, and what he looked like."
Gustave forthwith made a sketch which completely
satisfied both master and pupils.
M. Berger, a great wit, whose figure out-Falstaffed
Falstaff, and who was called " the coarsest yet subtlest
man in France," 2 was also one of Gustave's masters,
and commented as follows upon the boy's trick of ex
pounding his exercises by the aid of his pencil : —
" Each one has his own method of demonstration.
That is your way of translating Greek. Stick to it. I
respect your idiom, although it is not mine ; " and,
taking him aside, he added, " as long as you remain in
my class no question concerning Vitellius will be put to it,
because you would instinctively make my portrait serve
for that of Vitellius, and I have still preserved a remnant
of vanity."
There is nothing more of interest to record respecting
Gustave Dore's school-days. Before they were terminated,
however, he had begun to illustrate in secret Balzac's
" Contes Drolatiques," Rabelais, and Eugene Sue's
" Wandering Jew" and " Legendes Populaires." These
books he kept hidden in his desk, and no one heard any
thing about them from him until later on.
He paid for his own tuition at school entirely with the
proceeds of his work for Philipon. It was considered
little short of marvellous that a lad of his years could
earn so much money by so precarious an occupation as
illustrating comic journals.
1 See " Gustave Dore-," by Rene" Delorme, Paris, 1880.
2 "L'homme le plus gros, mais le plus fin de la France."

HERCULES AT THE HOME OF AUGIAS. 69

He was the envy of all the artists in his profession, and
became quite a pet about town in Paris. The boy's face
was so well known as that of "the precocious draughts
man," that people grew accustomed to it, and he soon
excited little or no comment. There was so much talk
at first about Philipon's prodigy, and his name was so
constantly dinned into the ears of the Parisians, that the
old proverb, " Too much familiarity breeds contempt,"
was exemplified in his person. His drawings displayed
such unvarying constancy of merit that the world began
to say, " Perhaps we have made a mountain out of a
molehill." All this time Gustave had but one idea in his mind —
Art ; but he thought out his subjects by night, and
spent his days in serious study at the Lycee Charlemagne.
It never entered his head to take lessons in drawing.
Considering that he never had any, this was not strange ;
but he never was heard to speak of drawing from models
as other art-students did, and few of his associates had
the courage to suggest to him that he should do so.
He had leapt into notice, and the long road of appren
ticeship of thought and action, so laboriously trodden by
all great artists, had been traversed by Gustave Dore at
a single bound. He knew nothing of the terrible despon
dencies which follow unsuccessful effort.
At twelve, he had conceived a Hercules, which he
had presented to Philipon, and his amazement may
better be conceived than described, when he saw his
first effort printed and offered to the public under the
title of " Hercules chez Augias."
When the editor of Le Journal pour Rire first saw
this study of " Hercules at the home of Augias," he
could scarcely believe his senses. Gustave himself
seemed astonished when Philipon questioned him about
it. He only knew that he had made the drawings from
his own idea of the great demi-god, and it did not strike
him as strange that what he had in his head should .be
so easily expressed by his fingers. He said to Philipon,
with the utmost unconcern, " Oh, that is not so much.

7°

GUSTAVE DOR A.

I have still a thousand sketches in my portfolio, and
as many more here," tapping his forehead with easy
assurance. Amongst the mass in that portfolio I have before me

"CALYPSO NE P0UVAIT SE CONSOLER DU DEPART D'ULYSSE."
(Unpublished.)
a little drawing-book, containing illustrations of the
" Story of Calypso." This was invented at a time when
Gustave had had little instruction in writing beyond the
mere use of a pen. The description of Calypso on the

THE STORY OF CALYPSO. 71

first page is one of the funniest sketches he has
ever made, and we may call it a superb schoolboy's
revenge. The story of Telemachus is so incessantly
dinned into the ears of every boy and girl in France that
no one can wonder that Dore's first artistic impulse at
school was to be even with his professors on that matter
at least, and to show the world what he really thought
of this classical but insupportable quartette. The first
drawing, as you see, represents Calypso. The love
lorn nymph stands by the sea-shore bewailing, her un
happy lot. It commences as follows : —
" Calypso could not console herself for the loss of
Ulysses. For ten days the poor lady had been nailed like
a block to the beach. Fasting had considerably thinned
her form and changed her complexion. Her tears had
pitifully unfrizzled her locks. She sobbed terribly, and
exclaimed, ' Oh, Ulysses, my cabbage, come forth from
the waves. Alas ! how much thou makest me suffer,' "
&c, &c.
The rest of the poem is in the same strain ; but the
most curious part of it all is this. We do not know
what was the language of ancient and lovely Ogygia
when Calypso raved up and down its wooded shores.
Gustave Dore's goddess, however, speaks a jargon pro
bably unknown at Babel, but which could be better
understood in the little communes of St. Odile and Barr
than in that country where Ulysses languished, enslaved
by the charms of Atlas's daughter. Of course Mentor
and Telemachus speak the same comprehensive tongue.
A very celebrated and distinguished Dominican Friar,
Pere C  n took up this little childish volume. Read
ing the bethumbed text and looking at the sketch of
" Calypso, fair and slim," he shook with laughter.
" Look, look ! " he said. " Dore did not even know
French when he did it. It is indeed most curious.
How on earth a lad of ten could ever concoct such a
conversation passes all comprehension, and a Calypso
who speaks the dialect of an Alsatian province would
have startled even Homer himself."

72

GUSTAVE DORE.

Nothing stopped Dore when he had some idea to
illustrate. He composed all the so-called poems, and
when a word had to be used which he could not spell
in French he wrote it down in some dialect without a
moment's hesitation. He was very courageous, certainly,
and showed his precocious cleverness by trusting to his
inspirations even before they were prompted by concrete
knowledge. Perhaps, had he waited to read Homer as
a classic, he never would have given us Calypso as a
Barroise.

CALYPSO SKETCHES, " C'EST UNE ^PREUVE DES DIEUX."
(Unpublished.)
Amongst his other early drawings were two sets of
heads of old men and women in and about Strasburg,
exact likenesses, and some of the best character-sketches
he ever made. They were all drawn between the ages
of seven and ten.
At Paris, Gustave had the good luck to find an old
friend of his mother, Madame Heronville, who proved a
tender guide and counsellor to the young Alsatian. She
resided in the Rue de Saint Paul, and took him to live
in her house. This arrangement was very convenient to
him in more ways than one. Firstly, he was constantly

DOR A DELIGHTED WITH PARIS.

7.3

under her eye, and she proved a second mother to him ;
secondly, her dwelling was so near to the Lycee Charle
magne that he could run backwards and forwards between
his school and his home without incurring any waste of
that time which had become so valuable to him. It was
strange that he never took lessons of any drawing-

CALYPSO SKETCHES, "TELEMACH ET MENTOR.''
(Unpublished.)
master, and was never heard to express even the con
jecture that he might need one. He once said himself
that he positively could not remember when he first
commenced to sketch.
The boy's delight on finding himself domiciled in Pans,
with the prospect of remaining so for a long time to

74 GUSTAVE DORE.
come, may readily be imagined. To a youth who had
spent all of his early years in the provinces, and who had
known no large city but Strasburg, his sudden transfer
to the French capital seemed almost Aladdin-like in its
magnificent reality. It is true that at Strasburg he had
seen one of the finest cathedrals in the world, some
quaint old houses of remarkable architectural interest,
and the matchless Rhine. He had also had opportunities
of studying the charming Vosges range of mountains
throughout its length and breadth, the beautiful valleys
and lovely hills which adorn the province of Alsatia, and
the Black Forest with its endless gloom of lofty pines,
its stately firs and tangled brakes, its impetuous rivulets
and fragrant mountain-flowers. But of the majesty and
grandeur of a great city he had not had the slightest
conception during his early childhood.
Paris was to him one long dream of delight, a dream
which had for its awakening successive enchantments
each more vivid than its precursor. Here, every object
he encountered was justly calculated to stimulate the
imagination and improve the taste of one already a
denizen of an ideal world of beauty. The public squares
with their majestic buildings ; the superb churches and
wondrous cathedrals ; the palaces of the Louvre and
Luxembourg with their wealth of artistic treasures ; the
theatres, wide streets, arid elegant avenues ; the Palais
Royal and the famous arcades, each shop-window of
which reveals a fortune in rare jewels and brilliant bric-
a-brac ; the boulevards with their glittering display,
the gardens of the Tuileries, the Place de la Concorde,
the Champs Elysees, the statues and fountains, the Bois
de Boulogne ; — in short, Paris as we all have known and
loved it ; Paris, rightly pronounced to be " La Capitale
du Monde entier," was in itself a liberal education for
Gustave Dore. The museums were dearest to his soul
of all public places of resort. He spent a great deal of
his time at the Louvre, perfectly fascinated by those
wondrous masterpieces, which have for ages past set
older hearts than his beating, and older eyes swimming.

DORA VISITS PARISIAN ART GALLERIES.

75

He wandered up and down its long galleries, lingering
for hours before those canvases which bear witness to
the greatness of art and the immortality of genius.
He looked at the crowd of virgins and children, the
Marys and Magdalenes, saints and sinners, the works of
the great masters of Flanders and France, Spain and
Italy. From the paintings he passed to the sculptures ; to

CALYPSO SKETCHES, " TELEMACH ET MENTOR CAUSENT ENSEMBLE.
(Unpublished.)
the spot where the Venus of Milo stands cloistered in
the pale, solemn light which but enhances her loveliness ;
to the halls where Michel Angelo reigns, and where
Puget, Houdon, Michel Colombe, and Jean Goujon lend
the glory of their lives to the honour of their countries.
In this world of dead yet living beauty Gustave Dore
roamed and loitered for hours, accompanied only by his
love for the beautiful, his marvellous imagination, his
adoration of art, and the works of those great artists in

76 GUSTAVE DORE.

whose footsteps he so ardently longed to follow. He
absorbed the exquisite inspiration of genius as silently as
the bud drinks in the dew at even, that it may unfold
into more perfect bloom next morn.
It is a well-known fact that although for a time he half
lived in the Louvre galleries, he was never known or
seen to copy the smallest work. Perhaps he felt the
pitifulness of the labour of that crowd of well-intentioned
but uninspired marauders who sit in bands before the
Cennacolo of Da Vinci, or the Virgin of Raphael, as it
would seem, only to accentuate and enforce the contrast
between the beauty of original and the misery of un
original ' efforts ; or to accustom the public eye so per
sistently to the glaring errors of copies that it fails to
recognize the merits of an original when brought face to
face with some absolute masterpiece.
Gustave Dore was too proud a lad, and had too much
reverence for great works, to even attempt their imitation.
He was sullenly and obstinately silent in the presence
of his gods ; but perhaps on this very account they
entered so deeply into his heart and imparted so quick
and broad a development to his artistic intelligence.
M. Georges Duplessis, an accomplished curator of
the Bibliotheque Nationale, who kindly showed me a
magnificent collection of Dore's early works, says that
he came there very often to look at the marvellous
treasure of prints and engravings, ancient and modern,
which are stored up in such number and beauty at
that institution. They are too well known to need
recapitulation. Gustave spent many hours at the
National Library, where he always attracted great
attention. There was something so simple yet so earnest
and dignified in his manner, that people used frequently
to ask who he might be. The name of Gustave Dore
invariably elicited the exclamation, " Ah ! I thought so •
but what a child he looks to be so well known ! " In
the room dedicated to engravings he frequently took
a little memorandum-book from his pocket and made
notes, but never copied faces or figures. Sometimes he

DORA A STUDENT IN PARIS.

77

took notes of a costume, sometimes of an ancient helmet
or weapon — a date or an inscription— never aught else.
" He was scrupulously exact to the smallest detail,"
said M. Duplessis, "and often came running back to look
at a thing to which he had already devoted an hour, in the

CALYPSO SKETCHES, "CALYPSO SONNE A LA PORTE.
(Unpublished.)

fear of having neglected to notice some trifling matter."
He lived the real life of a student, and seemed beset
by a passion for work. Even then he slept very little ;
indeed, not enough for a growing lad. He was up with
the lark, and seated at his table as soon as he could
to draw a line. Then, when lazy Paris began to

see

78 GUSTAVE DOR A.

open its eyes, he started off to school, or made hurried
excursions to picture-galleries and museums, with the
restless eagerness of a tourist who has a circular railroad-
ticket wherewith to " do the Continent " in five days. A
peculiar reticence about himself characterized him during
those early days. He rarely told any one what he was
doing — never where he had been. He raved about Art
in general to his familiars, but almost invariably gave the
same phlegmatic response to questions as to how he
passed his time : " I have been working."

THE DEATH OF M. DOR A, SR.

79

CHAPTER VIII.

MADAME DORE ARRIVES IN PARIS.

In the latter part of 1848, Gustave lost his father, who
was carried off by a sudden illness. He never saw
him after that parting when M. Dore consigned him to
M. Philipon's care, and it was decided that he should
live in Paris and study to be an artist.
M. Dore left a small property, which yielded his widow
a regular income. Although it was much less than had
been expected, it sufficed to keep her and her boys in
comfort. Gustave forthwith began to help her with his
earnings, which proved no inconsiderable aid.
Madame Dore conceived the idea of taking a large
house, and providing a comfortable home for her sons.
She selected a residence in the Rue St. Dominique, fronted
by a courtyard, and looking out from the back upon a
small garden. "The house," old Francoise told me,
" was so much in need of repair that it took a year to
get it ready for the family. In the meantime Madame
Dore lived with Gustave in the Rue St. Paul, and spent
the whole winter running about and hurrying up the
workmen, who, as it seemed, were never going to get

80 GUSTAVE DOR A.

through their job of cleaning, painting, papering, and
the like."
This house was one of considerable historical interest.
It had belonged to and been occupied by the famous
Due de St. Simon, and is mentioned in his memoirs. It
was the scene of many remarkable incidents. To cross the
threshold was to recall to mind the days of the Regent,
of M. and Madame du Maine, the gallant young Duchesse
de Berri, and all the illustrious personages upon whom
St. Simon has so ruthlessly directed the attention of
posterity by his indiscreet revelations.
The house was comfortable, as well as palatial, with
high, airy rooms, pleasantly and conveniently arranged.
When it was finally ready Gustave's joy knew no bounds.
On the first night after the Dores had taken possession
of their new abode they all dined together, and he began
to jump and dance about like a schoolboy. He sprang
upon the dinner-table and kicked up his heels so high
that he shattered the new chandelier, which was a very
costly affair ; and Madame Dore was at first inclined to
be very angry. It was evident, however, that he had
not done it on purpose, and some one observed that it
was a good omen on coming to live in a new house to
break glass over the table where the first meal was to be
partaken of; so the evening passed off very gaily in
spite of the little accident which had ruffled Madame
Dore's temper at the beginning of the dinner.
Gustave's first idea on entering the new house was to
arrange some tableaux vivants, representing scenes in the
life of the Due de St. Simon ; and nothing would do but
that these tableaux must be performed at the very first
evening-party Madame Dore gave to her friends. There
are many persons still living who remember that brilliant
entertainment, and the strange sensations they experienced
whilst witnessing the reproduction of historical scenes in
the very rooms in which those scenes had been enacted
in reality a century back. The notion was entirely
Gustave s, of course, and, as at the Guttenberg Fete in
Strasburg, he devised the whole celebration With the

ACTING SCENES FROM THE LIFE OF ST. SIMON. 81

aid of his brothers and M. Kratz, his plans were fully
executed. It was a fantastic idea to awaken the echoes
bf those voices whose music had been stilled for so many
years, and to summon up from the shadowy past forms
and faces long since crumbled into dust ; but it was just
such, an one as might have been expected to suggest
itself to Gustave Dore. He was as deeply engrossed in
the tableaux vivants, and as thoroughly imbued with the

CALYPSO SKETCHES, " ON ARRIVE AU CLOS.
(Unpublished.)
spirit of the past, as though he had assisted at the
Regent's council with his ministers in the year of grace
1 718. "I have since learned that Madame Dore got the house
through a relative, a lineal descendant and heir of the
St. Simon family ; for it seems that the Plucharts were
indirectly descended from that illustrious race. This
would account to some extent for young Dore's enthusi
astic interest in, and love of the place. The interior
G

GUSTAVE DOR A.

arrangements of the/mansion were excellent. Madame
Dore's bed-room was next to the drawing-room. It was
a large and cheerful apartment, named the " Blue Room,"
and one of its walls, near Madame Dore's .bed, was
adorned by several family portraits, curious miniature
medallions, arranged with the greatest precision, the
largest one in the centre and the others graduating off
in size on either hand, so that the smallest occupied each
end of the row. Gustave arranged them thus, and so
they remain to this very day. At the foot of Madame's
bed was a door leading into a very small room occupied
by Gustave. There he had his little bedstead, and the
chamber still bears the aspect of a schoolboy's sanctum.
There are dozens of pictures hanging to the walls, all
signed autographically for the most part by the artist-
friends he made when he first came to Paris. Nothing
could be more curious than this little, stuffy room, be
strewn with photographs, books, and engravings, a bust
here and there, "and on the wall a small plaque or bas-
relief of his own profile, one of the best portraits pf him
I have ever seen. I am told that he did it himself, and
it shows how accurately he must have been acquainted
with his own features and expression. The mouth is
firm and haughty, the eyes are eager and piercing, the
sensitive nostril betrays an impressionable nature, while
the full slender throat supports the head with regal
dignity, and the countenance is in every respect that of
a mam of genius. It has a youthful look, however,
strangely at variance with the firm expression of the
features. There must be some history attached to the
modelling of that bas-relief, which I would gladly have
learned, but so far no one has been able to enlighten me
in this regard.
One of the first things Gustave did after his family
had settled in the Rue St. Dominique, was to execute a
portrait of his father from memory. He afterwards
repeated it in oil, and it was considered a marvellous
likeness. M. Dore had a fine face, clean-shaven, blue-
eyed, smiling, and frank. His nose was small and

A PORTRAIT OF M. DORA, SR.

83

Grecian in shape, and his mouth was likewise small and
well turned. Taken altogether, it was a very handsome
countenance, and wore a sweet but resolute expression.
Gustave must have resembled his father very much,
especially with respect to his head, which, although larger,
had much the same contour. The eyes of father and

CALYPSO SKETCHES, "j'AIMERAIS MIEUX ETRE LE ROI ICI."
(Unpublished.)
son were nearly identical in colour. Gustave's forehead,
however, was much higher than that of M. Dore, senior.
It seems to me that the portrait is very well drawn ;
but its greatest merit lies in the colour and expression,
which are singularly life-like and natural.
One of the pictures in Gustave's room was an en
graving of the late Paul Lacroix's likeness, representing
that great writer at the age of about thirty, when he was
already an erudite of distinction. It would be difficult to
G 2

84 GUSTAVE DORE.

conceive a handsomer, more elegant, or more distin
guished-looking man. His face beams with that
inherent goodness which he dispensed so largely to all
his friends, and of which young Dore had received so
many convincing proofs.
" Gustave occupied this little room for many years,"
old Francoise told me ; " he never got to be so big a
boy but that he wanted to sleep within sound of his
mother's voice. He could neither go to his room nor
from it without passing by her bed ; hers was the first
greeting he heard in the morning and the last to salute
him at night. How many times, when he came home
late, did he find her still awake ! He used to be angry
if either of us sat up for him ; but, of course, even if she
had been asleep, his walking through her room would
have awakened her ; so it came to the same thing."
Dore used his mother's bed-room a great deal as a
studio. It was very well lighted, and he had a particular
fancy for working " in mother's room," which he seemed
to think the best and nicest place in the house.

PAUL LACROIX.

S5

&!A«=-^St''

CHAPTER IX.
SLIGHT HISTORY OF PAUL LACROIX.
THE late well-known writer, Paul Lacroix, whose nom-
ae-plume was Bibliophile Jacob, being one of the oldest
friends of the Dore family, was better qualified than any
other man living to give an exact description of the life
Gustave Dore led when he first arrived in Paris. I lost
no time in visiting this accomplished writer, with the
purpose of inducing him to talk about the artist.
However, before I relate what he said about Dore, I
must preface my remarks with a slight sketch of Paul
Lacroix himself, as he was one of the most celebrated
men of his day, and as what he told me about Dore,
plays an important part in this history. My first visit to
M. Lacroix was made on the 27th of June of last year, to
the Bibliotheque de l'Arsenal, where for thirty years he
had occupied a splendid and richly furnished apartment.
My conversations with M. Lacroix were held in the pre
sence of M. Daubree, and had only just been corrected
and written down when Paris was shocked with the
news of his sudden death. When I saw him, although
he was seventy-seven at the time, he looked like one who
had many years before him, and his memory was absolutely
unimpaired. Paul Lacroix was born in Brittany in 1807. His father
was a celebrated poet called Lacroix de Mire, and

CoOS

CALYPSO SKETCHES, " QUELLE BELLE ET AIMABLE SOCIETE.'1
(Unpublished.)

SOME OF PAUL LACROIX S WORKS 87
during the first empire his poems and romances were
greatly in vogue. Paul's brother Jules is one of the lead
ing French men of letters, and has translated Sophocles
and Shakespeare in a very superior fashion. Jules and
Paul were brothers-in-law to the great Balzac, and the
Lacroix boys were in and out of the latter's house as if
it had been their own. Paul Lacroix began his literary
career very early in life, and had no speciality, turning
his pen to the treatment of many subjects. At seven
teen he had published an edition of Clement Marot, and
five years later he brought out three comedies at the
Odeon. He was an excellent classical scholar at twenty,
and spoke Latin, as well as several modern languages,
with great ease and rare correctness.
Published in his twenty-eighth year, his superb "History
of the Sixteenth Century " was for a time the talk of the
literary world. He was decorated with the cross of the
Legion of Honour in recognition of so valuable a work.
At thirty-five he directed a very celebrated journal called
the Alliance des Arts. The work which probably will
outlive all his others, and which immortalized his name,
was the " Danse Macabre." This was written so
long ago that few people to-day connect the name of
the author with it. He was a young man to attain
such fame, and this book was sold "by millions of
copies " in one country and another throughout Europe.
" Le Roi des Ribauds " almost attained a like celebrity,
and there was a moment when Lacroix's romances en
joyed a much greater popularity than even those of his
contemporary, the renowned De Balzac. His activity
was amazing. He was never idle for a moment — always
had a dozen works on hand at one time, each one
different in its relation to the other ; he was so learned
that he could give information and speak on almost every
subject with as much ease as he could on literature. His
knowledge of past events, and his clear perceptive
faculties made him an authority on any question. When
some Paris savant got into a mess over his dates or
facts, Lacroix could set him right without even referring

GUSTAVE DORE.

to authorities. His memory was marvellous. Probably
few men — certainly few French men of letters^— ever lived
a life more filled with arduous work and incessant study,
or had a more brilliant natural disposition or wider general
instruction than he.
He was a very handsome man, and used to be greatly
amused with the idea entertained by some people, to wit,
that because he was such an erudite he must perforce be
a wizened, dried-up, little old creaturS. He evidently
trusted little to his natural inspiration and talent, because
he considered everything he had ever done the result
of hard work and incessant research. We can readily
understand how strongly struck he was with Dore's talent,
and how easy it was for him to use the word " study."
Lacroix was a brilliant talker- and charming narrator.
He had a sweet, genial nature, but towards himself was
relentless, inflexible, and as hard as adamant; with his
mania for erudition and love of literature for literature's
sake, he daily added to his self-imposed tasks, and be-.
came the most indefatigable worker of France, so in his
advancing years he doubled, and often tripled, the cor
responding hours of labour .of his youth.
Some of his greatest works are the compilations of
manuscripts, his editions of ancient classics, his prefaces
and notes, and enlightenments of long-forgotten; but im
portant authors. His "History of the Sixteenth Century "
and these other works will be of value to the student
when the echoes of " La Danse Macabre" and " Le Roi
des Ribauds " will have long since died out. When I
saw M. Lacroix he had just entered his seventy-seventh
year. He was strong, tall, and vigorous, looking like a
mountain-pine. His blue eyes sparkled with intelligence
his clean-shaven face glowed with a colour strangely at
variance with his white hair. He spoke with great ra
pidity in the choicest of French, and with a certain in
tonation which seemed characteristic of his own inflexible
disposition. When he spoke of Gustave Dore, and said
how he begged him to study, one could see his' heart and
soul were crystallized in that one word. The firmness

PAUL LACROIX'S LOVE FOR DOR A.

89

with which he pronounced it, the light in his eye, and the
expression of his face, all went to show how much im
portance he gave to that necessity in a student who had
already been richly endowed by nature. I think I can
hear him saying the word now, and I know that he pro
nounced it to Dore with even a firmer and more earnest

CALYPSO SKETCHES, •' RESPECT A MADAME.
(Unpublished.)
intonation. He set so much value upon study. He re
membered only too well his own youth and natural gifts,
and how he had perfected them, not to impress the motto
of his life upon one whom he loved as a son, in whom he
saw not only a prototype, but still more, if possible, a
born genius.

90 GUSTAVE DOR A.

On the occasion I have referred to above, M. Lacroix,
with a simple preliminary, began at once about Gustave
Dore. This is what he said upon the subject, as nearly
as I can translate his observations into the vernacular.
" Ah, poor Dore, what a prodigy, what a phenomenon !
I knew him when he was a tiny baby, and I remember
him particularly at the age of thirteen or thereabouts.
He had already made some extraordinary drawings
when only six or seven years old. At thirteen he
was characterised by as remarkable an obstinacy of
disposition as talent for drawing. His grandmother
Pluchart was a wonderful creature, and, really, in some
respects he was very like her. She was witty, beautiful,
cultured, and elegant ; she possessed a handsome fortune,
which was .left in part to the Dore boys. Had she told
me that she had a grandson of great talent, it would have
been very easy to have directed him. He had a great
capacity of affection, and his marvellous memory served
him in many ways. He never forgot any one. I felt sure
he would have paid more attention to me than many
others. You see his parents were not here, and I was
one of the few friends who might have ventured to ad
vise him. Without doubt, some early guidance would
have contributed largely towards effecting some practical
amelioration of his ideas.
" Philipon, with whom he fell in at the age of fifteen,
accepted at once some of his drawings. I have often
thought the transaction was perhaps somewhat prema
ture, for it justified Gustave in regarding himself as en
dowed with uncommon talent. He was really born to
draw and to design. So fond was he of his work that he
had at that time but one ambition — to elevate the stan
dard of wood engraving and carving. This subject com
pletely engrossed his thoughts. He talked about it con
tinually, and had the assurance as a mere lad to fancy
himself a master in the art. He often said, ' Until the
day of my death I shall never cease to advocate this cause.'
" I think he always kept to that idea, but later in life it
had to take its place amongst others equally fascinating to

SOME OF DOR AS FIRST WORKS IN PARIS. 91
him. One day, looking through his album, he brought
forth some drawings which amazed me. These, the first
sketches that made his name known, by attracting public
notice, were drawn for Philipon. It was but natural at
the age of sixteen, that his head should have been a
little turned when he learnt that all Paris was alternately
laughing and crying over his marvellous works. He
made hundreds of designs that were not even used, so
rich was his imagination and so felicitous its result. I was
so much struck with some other drawings, and with what
he had done for Philipon, that I told him he should be
entrusted with a new edition in four volumes of my books,
which were then being brought out at Du Tacq's.
" The publisher thought I was crazy to put it in the
hands of a mere lad, but his wonderment ceased when he
saw Gustave's work. Previously Dore had offered many
designs to eminent houses, which had all in turn flatly
refused them. This hurt him terribly. He was so sensi
tive about it, that some of his best works were positively
forced upon different people, and others given away to
publishers because he longed to be able to say that so
and so was his publisher. He fancied he could only
make a figure in the world by being kept constantly
before the public.
" As I say, I gave him occasional things to do, and made
an arrangement with my own publisher for other little
sketches which the latter did not want to take, but with
respect to which I was only too happy to guarantee him
from loss out of my own royalties. This money was
paid to Gustave, who never for a moment imagined he
had earned it by any other means than his own talent. I
noted that each time he was paid even the smallest sum
for any work he seemed electrically inspired with new am
bition. He always came to me directly, and would say, —
" ' You see, M. Lacroix, for all the fuss they made about
not wanting it, and such like rubbish, I am paid, and paid
well, for my work, which means that I work as well as if
not better than any one else. There can be no question
about that. I am an artist, it is clear.'

92 GUSTAVE DOR A.
" I was pleased to see that he was ambitious, but always
begged him to study, study hard, and some day he would
really become an artist.
"'I don't need to study much now,' he would reply,
striking his forehead prophetically, ' I have it all here.' _
" But to return to my books. After speaking to him
of them, I had sent them to him. He came to see me a
week or two later. ' Now,' I said, 'let us talk of my
story. Have you read it, or even begun it ? '
" ' Oh,' he replied cheerfully, ' I mastered that in no
time, and the blocks are all ready ! '
"'What blocks?' I shouted, rising hastily from my
chair in astonishment. ' Ready with what ? '
" 'Your woodcuts,' he answered calmly ; ' they make
just three hundred. Here are some of them,' and he
commenced extracting numberless pieces of wood from
pocket after pocket, ' and the rest are in a basket at the
door.' " All the while he was carelessly piling up pieces of
wood on my table. I was so amazed that I could not,
and, in fact, dared not show my feelings, for he was in
such tremendous earnest. I think I can see him now as
he stood before me, fire flashing from his beautiful eyes ;
his colour coming and going, while his. face shone with
the light of genius and enthusiasm ; his slim hands diving
swiftly into his pockets, each time bringing forth a block
of wood enriched by a perfect marvel of design and
skilful draughtsmanship. I picked up one or two without
commenting on their value. ' Take them to Du Tacq, the
editor,' I said brusquely, ' and let us see what he decides.
" ' Very well,' he replied ; and forthwith he turned a
somersault over my best sofa, capered and danced about
the room like a practised acrobat for a few seconds, then
with a heavy sigh of relief and a cheerful ' au revoir,'
suddenly vanished through the door. I trembled for my
pictures and china whilst he was performing his rapid
evolutions ; but he sprang about like a cat, quite as
gracefully, and much more charmingly.
" When he was gone I took up the blocks, and— I could

DU TACQ'S OPINION OF D ORE'S TALENT.

93

not help it — the tears started to my eyes on looking at
them. He was so gay and light-hearted, and did every
thing with so little effort, though so young, taking his
talent — genius, I might say — as such a matter of course
that there was little hope of inducing him to study
seriously. I went to Du Tacq earlier than I should have

EARLY DRAWINGS.
(Dore's Copy-book, 1844. Unpublished.)
otherwise done, because I was anxious to know what he
thought of the drawings. He said, —
" ' I have not words to express myself adequately in
speaking of such marvels. They are all admirable, and
some are such beautiful specimens of work that I have
appropriated them and taken them home to Madame Du
Tacq. I did not tell young Dore this. I merely looked

94 GUSTAVE DORE.

at them and made some commonplace remarks, asking
if he could and would reproduce those particular drawings.
He readily complied, thinking, no doubt, I was not quite
satisfied with them ; but judge for yourself. Those I have
selected are so fine and exquisite that they resemble the
figures in a Velasquez. I was not satisfied because I
was enchanted. I would never have allowed any engraver
to touch them. They are to-day with my wife, framed,
covered with glass, and hang in the place of honour in
my salon, as if they were the rarest works of Raphael
or Michel Angelo. I have had some experience with
wood-designers, but never have I seen anything in any
way to compare with the amazing talent and precocity of
this lad. He has a great future before him.'
" Those were the publisher's very words. I thanked him
for having withheld the full expression of his admiration
and delight from Gustave, whom it would have so
extravagantly elated that I should never thereafter have
dared to mention the word ' study ' to him.
" Du Tacq was right. Few could appreciate his mar
vellous draughtsmanship, for some of his finest efforts were
ruined by unskilful workmen. This so distressed him
that he ran about all over Paris hunting up engravers, just
as a jeweller travels about the world trying to match
precious stones. He absolutely fretted himself thin be
cause his drawings were so utterly spoiled in the engraving.
" It was a curious sight to see the boy scolding and
haranguing men three and four times his age because
they worked badly. He even attempted to show them the
right way to engrave, and gave them elaborate instructions
in an art he had never learned himself. Some of the
engravers were ungenerous enough to make him feel this.
Then he would leave them in disgust, and undergo a fit
of despondency because they received his advice coldly
and seemed to be laughing at him in their sleeves.
" ' It is because I am so young and so little,' he would
say ; ' shall I never grow up — never ? '
" ' Voyons' I said, ' you are still a child ; why should
you not look like one ? Don't fret. You will grow old.

DOR A FRETS OVER HIS PERSONAL APPEARANCE.

95

I promise you that you will grow old, and quickly enough
too. In a few years you will want to lock young, and

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" L UNION FAIT LA FORCE."
(Early Sketches, 1845. Unpublished.)
will come complaining to me because I cannot restore to
you your boyhood.'
" ' I shall never do that, M. Lacroix,' he muttered. ' I
have been too often humiliated because people think me

96 GUSTAVE DORA.

over young to be entrusted with serious work. Only
yourself and Philipon really appreciate what 1 am.'
" I rejoined, —
"''You are nothing but a silly child, ill-contented with
what you have, and foolish enough to fret about trifles.
You are not thankful for your great gifts, and if you are
thin and pale it is your own fault, you work too hard. Be
patient, and worry yourself less.'
" Upon this he forthwith proceeded to class me with his
enemies, a few rival artists, and to say that I was their
friend, not his.
" ' Naturally,' he exclaimed, ' you think that I can draw
fairly for a boy, but you know in your heart that you
consider so and so ' (naming some contemporary) ' a
better artist than myself. You may hurt my feelings,
but you cannot break my spirit. Those artists whom you
prefer to me are really my inferiors. I feel and know that
I have more talent in my little finger than they have in
their whole bodies, but you are all against me'. Then he
began storming again, hiding his face with his hands and
assuming attitudes of extravagant pathos.
" I tried to console him, but ineffectually. The fit had
to work itself off, and a night's sleep would usually
suffice for this purpose.
" He finally stumbled upon three young artisans almost
as clever at engraving as he was at drawing. You may
imagine his delight. After that I heard very few com
plaints about the ' destruction of his work.' They were
youths of great quickness and intelligence, very, amiable
and young enough to appreciate his superior genius. So
he instructed them in their own art, and especially in that
of faithfully reproducing his drawings, and for some
time he worked with greater contentment and courage.
These engravers seemed to seize Dore's thoughts by
intuition ; they became his friends, and their united
labour was one of love.
" From that time forth Dore took his rank as one of the
best designers of the day. One reason why his remark
able talent was at first doubted was because of his own

DORA'S DAILY OCCUPATIONS.

97

physique, which was strangely against him. At the age
of seventeen he had the face and appearance of a lad of
twelve. His continuous application kept him thin, and
his figure looked very boyish. His complexion was
nearly colourless from excessive work and insufficient
sleep. You would hardly have thought him a hardy
Alsatian, unless you had known what an enormous
amount of real drudgery he went through. In those
days I never knew him to complain even of a headache,
and he was insensible to fatigue.
" He spent much of his time at the Louvre and other
museums, and about that period took a new turn, no
longer raving about himself, but about the great classical
masters. Thinking him newly inspired, I waited patiently,
hoping he would come some day and say, ' M. Lacroix,
you are right, I feel I must study from nature and
models.' " I waited in vain."

H

98

GUSTAVE DORE

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CHAPTER X.
DORE IS JEALOUS OF HIS CONTEMPORARIES.
"I SAW him almost daily," continued M. Lacroix, "and
noticed that the more success he achieved the more
despondent he grew. One morning he came in and
began to declaim — as he had frequently done before —
against some brother- designer, an oldish man, but one
of the remarkable artists of the day. Remembering how
the draughtsman in question had worked his way up by
sheer industry, and how perseveringly he had toiled in
his youth, I observed to Gustave, —
" ' You speak of M.  . Recollect that he never had
your talent ; but then he commenced work in early life,
and according to the correct method. You wish to be a
great artist ? Well, then, you must draw from models.
Your Michel Angelo, Raphael, Rembrandt, Rubens, Da
Vinci, whom you so often have raved about to me, all
studied from nature in that way ; whilst as for you, you
are of no -school, and have no real knowledge of what
you are doing. Any one can see that you have ideas,
but 1 tell you, if you wish to become a great and correct
artist, not merely a celebrated one, you must study in a
quite different way. It does not suffice to sketch ; you
must work upon certain fixed principles ; and as to
DOR A OBJECTS TO STUD Y FROM THE NUDE.

99

figure-drawing, it is a moral and physical impossibility,
unless you have first studied from nude models.'
" He angrily replied, —
" ' Models, models ; always the same word, M.
Lacroix. Now let me confide something to you. I
know very well what you mean, and have often made
studies in my mind ; but my real models I find in the
swimming-school, where I see about three hundred every
day.' " He made this announcement with arch-delight, his
temper having already cooled down, and looked trium
phantly at me, as much as to say, ' I have you there.'
"'But,' I objected, 'you can only see men and boys
at the baths ; how about the other, fairer sex ? Besides,
the swimming- school is the haunt of portliness ' (des gros
ventres). " He hemmed and hawed for a second or two, and
then rejoined, —
" ' That is true. But I have all sorts of men,
women, and children in my head, and am exactly ac
quainted with the anatomy of every human being. I
know it by — instinct.'
" I was silent. His confidence amazed me. Then he
started off, delighted to have held his own, capered about
like a young thoroughbred, turned somersaults, and
walked on his hands, finishing by a perilous feat that
would have rendered a professed acrobat dizzy. What
could one do with such a nature as that — at one moment
a man and at the next a child ?
" One thing I noticed. Although he would never
gratify me by even pretending that I was in the right, he
showed by his actions that my words had taken root in
that hardened soil, his obstinacy. You will laugh at his
cunning as I did.
" He went all over Paris in search, not of models, but
of engravings, and discovered a marvellous collection of
works of this kind, reproduced from drawings by Michel
Angelo, Rembrandt, Raphael, &c. ; engravings which
could not now be bought for love or money, and so
H 2

GUSTAVE DORE.

perfectly copied by eminent artists from the masterly
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originals as to be in themselves studies of enormous
value. He secreted these engravings and made the most

DORE'S FIRST OIL PAINTING.

of them. Some days after our conversation on models,
I took occasion to congratulate him on a figure he had
drawn, which exhibited so great an improvement on his
previous work in that line that I felt sure he had taken
my advice. He looked at me with a triumphant smile
and told me all about the engravings above referred to.
" ' I wish to inform you,' he added, ' that I learned
every one of those engravings by heart, and copied them
from memory.'
" He then showed me the whole collection of his copies,
and upon my word some of them seemed to me even
superior to the originals. They certainly were very
beautiful, and were characterized by a softness which
was perfectly enchanting. He was immensely proud of
this feat, and often referred to it with unmingled satis
faction. But he would never study from the nude. Still
I did not quite despair of inducing him to do so. His
having thought enough of my words to even procure those
engravings gave me a faint hope that he would see himself
with time how necessary it was that he should not depend
alone upon his memory and imagination.
" One day in the midst of our conversation I inadver
tently called him ' a draughtsman.' He fired up at this,
and informed me that he was an artist, and wished to be
considered a painter. Although I had seen nothing of
his painting I wisely held my peace, thinking he had
some surprise in store for me. But that was not the case
as yet.
" When he was about sixteen, he went with his mother
to Dieppe, where he began to talk about himself as an
artist. As a matter of fact, one morning he produced
his first real painting there, and showed it me with great
glee. It was drawn with masterly skill, but was painted
all in one colour. The subject was pretty enough ; a
fisherman hauling in his little boat before a storm. The
man was represented in a stooping attitude, handling a
rope ; he was grey, and so were the boat, the rope, and
everything in the picture. Even the water was grey ;
and doubtless the fishes, had he painted them, would

GUSTAVE DOR A.

also have been grey. The effect was singularly comical,
and naturally enough I laughed at it.
" He was furious at me. I told him that the drawing
was quite correct, and the subject a very agreeable one ;
but that no human being calling himself an artist had
ever painted a picture all of one colour, and that colour
an unnatural one.
" ' Your notions of colour,' I added, ' are all false. In
fact, you know nothing whatever about it ; not even how
to prepare a colour. Study and — -'
" ' Oh, you think so, do you ? ' he answered, firing up ;
' well, just wait a little, and you shall see what I can do.
I tell you that I was never intended for a draughtsman,
but for a painter ; and although you scoff at me now,
your derision shall not last.'
" I said no more, for I should only have irritated him.
" Later he proved his words with truth enough.
" Shortly afterwards he returned with Madame Dore to
Paris. His father was dead, and Gustave found himself
to a certain extent his mother's stay. He absolutely
adored her, and his worship was fully reciprocated.
" His mind was now filled with the idea that he must
hire a large studio, as no great painter had ever worked
without one. He soon invited me to dine at his mother's
house, and during dinner remarked that he had a few
trifles to show me. When we had finished he suddenly
exclaimed, —
" ' You shall go with my mother and see my work,
and then she and you shall decide whether or not I
am an artist. Nothing you can say will now hurt my
feelings. I shall die without having been understood ;
but no matter, I know in my heart that I am a great
artist.' " So after dinner we went off to his studio in the Rue
Monsieur le Prince. It was an enormous room, none
other than the ancient studio of the great Jean Goujon.
Gustave proudly pointed to his works. There were
twenty-five enormous canvases, some landscapes, some
interiors, and one in particular, which I shall never forget,

M. LACROIX LOOKS AT SOME PICTURES.

103

called ' The Saltimbanque and his Family.' I was com
pletely stupefied. When and how, in Heaven's name,
had he found time to execute such a number of paintings ?
My curiosity was soon gratified.
" ' Look,' he said triumphantly, striking his boyish fore
head, — ' Look at these. Twenty-five pictures, mostly
all landscapes, and all — all, M. Lacroix, painted by me
alone in this very studio.' Raising his voice he added,
' Models, forsooth ! Your old hobby ! Bah ! my mind

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A STUDENT AT WORK.
(Early illustrated Letter, 1845. Unpublished.)
is my model for everything. Mother understands me,
and she tells me that I am a great artist.'
" He then sidled up to her, kissed her, and stood with
his arm round her waist, proudly contemplating his work.
I was too much amazed to speak, for I saw that he had
indeed made progress since painting his grey fisherman
at Dieppe. Amongst the paintings were some scenes of
remarkable power.
" You see, he worked with such miraculous quickness
that he was often reluctant to mention the actual time he

io4 GUSTAVE DORA.

had spent in .painting or drawing. Remembering this
.fact, I ventured to question him upon this point.
" ' I don't mind telling you,' he responded. ' I have
worked at these things for a fortnight, off and on ; but I
shall take precious good care not to tell any one else.
People would immediately think that my pictures were
worth nothing if they knew how long I had taken to paint
them. Mind you do not even hint at the truth.'
" Thus ended the model question. I marvelled at him
greatly ; but the tormenting question constantly recurred
to my mind, how can he do it ? How has he accomplished
such wonders in so short a space of time ?
" After this feat he took what he called a little holiday,
and returned to his native town, Strasburg. Thence he
went on a walking-tour, and spent two months in the
Vosges. On his return to Paris he told me how
luxuriously he had revelled in the beautiful scenery, and
how his heart had warmed at the sight of the dear old
mountains, which he had learned to adore in early youth.
" ' I think I have climbed every one of them,' he said ;
'and as to the pine-forests, I know that I lived half my
time in them. Oh, how beautiful it all was ! The good
it has done me is beyond expression. I made no
sketches, but just roamed about from morning till night,
thoroughly enjoying my idleness ; and I promise you,
M. Lacroix, that every mountain, river, tree, stick, and
stone I saw is engraven indelibly on my heart.'
" To testify to the impression the forest had made upon
him, soon after his return he painted from memory one of
his best pictures, called ' A Pine-Forest in the Vosges.'
It is really a work of art, depicting the tall, slender trees
we all know so well ; a figure clad in homely country
fashion, a dog, a sheep ; the whole glowing with that
richness of colouring usually only imparted by Nature to
her works. To this picture I was able to award unlimited
praise. It seemed inconceivable that he had not made
a preparatory study of its subject, but had painted it
right off from memory. I remarked that he had improved
greatly in landscape-painting. Then we both laughed

DOR A ILLUSTRATES SOME LINES FROM VIRGIL. 105
aloud, remembering the twenty-five canvases displayed
in the studio, erst Jean Goujon's, some of which had been
painted by lamp-light.
" ' Ah ! ' he said, ' so you think me a real landscape-
painter ? '
"'Yes,' I answered, 'you are indeed, and an admirable
one too. You remind me of the lines .in Virgil; I think
they are from the yEneid." '
Here M. Lacroix stopped and smote his forehead, a la
Dore. " Ma Joi ! I am getting so old that I fear I forget
the exact words," he continued ; " but, yes, it must be
from the yEneid ; something about a field, a lone flower

(G. Dore\)

MISTENFLUTE AND MIRLIFLOR S VOYAGE.
(G. Dore, 1840. Unpublished. By permission of M. Arthur Kratz.)
blooming there, and so on. I remember then I quoted
the lines in Latin to him. He listened very attentively,
and made some comment on their beauty and the
harmony of the Latin tongue ; then we discussed their
real meaning, in French of course, as I do not think Gus
tave was then a profound Latin scholar. The conversation
shortly took another turn, and I returned home, still
1 Probably these lines : —
" Purpureas veluti cum flos succisus aratro
Languescit moriens ; lassove papavera collo
Demisere caput, pluviacum forte gravantur.'' sEneidos, lib. ix 435.

106 GUSTAVE DOR A.

thinking of his new Vosges picture, and of the real pro
gress it revealed. I confess that I was very happy, for I
loved Gustave as if he had been my own child, and no
one more fervently than myself could have wished him to
obtain the desire of his heart ; for that desire, I well
knew, was to rank as an oil painter, not as a simple
designer on wood.
" A few days later I was asked to dine at his house. He
conducted me at once into the studio.
" ' Here you are, my friend ; what do you think of that ?'
he exclaimed, showing me a canvas two yards long and a
little over half as high, on which he had painted a superb
landscape, charming in light and shade, delightful in con
ception, and excellent in colour. I had almost got over
showing surprise at anything he did ; but forgetting his
usual habit I could not help ejaculating, —
" ' But how did you possibly manage to do it ? I did
not know you had been away. Where did you study — in
whose fields ? ' for, I assure you, the flowers he had re
produced bloom only in Nature's gardens. They were so
numerous and various in colour that while contemplating
them one felt the same delightful sensation derived from
suddenly coming from a sterile plain into a field teeming
with bloom and blossom, and yet a peculiar effect of
mist gave this field an air of strange melancholy. One
sad, solitary flower, a poppy, hanging drooping over a
hedge was so natural that I wanted to pick it.
" He laughed, and replied, —
" ' Where did I study? Your old words, my friend. I
have not studied since the last time we met, when, whilst
talking about landscapes, you praised me, and suddenly
quoted some lovely words. They struck me then, while
you were speaking; I saw their true meaning in
my imagination. Oh ! I don't forget what you say,
M. Lacroix; this picture is intended to illustrate your
lines of Virgil.'
" He rushed up to me, and looked lovingly into my
face with a charming smile ; but seeing the wonderment
written thereon he was as delighted as a child with a new

M. LACROIX CALLS DOR A A GENIUS.

107

toy, and immediately began to caper around, jumping
over tables, chairs, pictures ; in fact, over anything and
everything that came in his path. This was his way of

FIRST SKETCH FOR ONE O'F '-'THREE ARTISTS-, MISUNDERSTOOD, ETC."
(Paris, 1847. Unpublished.)
expressing his relish of my amazement ; for he regarded
surprise on my part as the greatest imaginable compli
ment to his talent.
" He continued his evolutions, whilst I kept on think
ing. Although it was the old story of imagination versus
study, I fully realized that, no matter by what means,

-io8 GUSTAVE DORE.

natural or supernatural, he had achieved a great work.
Then, too, I was touched by the delicacy of such an
attention, in proving, as it did, how accurately he had
remembered my words. Had he lived a lifetime in
Elysian or Virgilian fields, daily sketching them, he could
never have produced anything more beautiful or natural,
for his picture was the successful work of rare inspiration,
which we all know is beyond price. As he neared me
in one of his gambols I caught him in my arms and
embraced him tenderly. As I did so, the word of all
others that I had never theretofore pronounced in his
presence escaped me : —
" ' Gustave, I yield. You are a genius ! ' "

THE PLUMET'S PLEASURE TRIP.

109

CHAPTER XI.

THE PLUMET'S PLEASURE TRIP.

At the age of seventeen Dore composed a very amusing
book, called " The Unpleasantnesses of a Pleasure Trip "
(" Desagrements d'un voyage d'Agrement "), illustrated
with twenty-four lithographs and one hundred and
seventy-four drawings. This was brought out at Arnould
de Vresse's, and attained immense popularity. The text
is very diverting. An introductory paragraph informs
the reader that M. Plumet, a retired dealer in trimmings,
living in an apple-orchard at Auteuil, and of romantic
proclivities, goes with his wife one night to the opera.
In ecstasies over "William Tell," and especially the air
" In Sombre Forests," sung by Mdlle. Nau, the Plumets
decide upon "doing" Switzerland/
The sketches begin with the Plumets at home after the
opera. Madame Plumet dreams of wondrous nymphs
floating in mid-air, between unclimbable rocks, while M.
Plumet no sooner lays his head upon his pillow than his
heart soars away on wings to the summit of the snow-
crowned Alps. Plumet's dream is extremely funny. The
heart, fitted with white, full-fledged wings, hovering in

GUSTAVE DOR A.

the air above the merchant's couch, was a new way of
expressing in comic depictment his great desire to see
the land of William Tell.
In the ensuing sketches the Plumets pack their boxes
and start off for the land of the Alps. It is impossible
to describe the realism of these fanciful drawings. M.
Plumet is stout, short, and fifty ; Madame Plumet fat,
fair, and — naturally forty. A dog accompanies them in
their travels, and Dore loses no time in mixing up Plumet
and his dog with Alps, tourists, hotel-keepers, and so on.
M. Plumet resolves to write down his impressions.
These constitute the funniest illustrations of the series,
especially the sketch illustrating Plumet's description of
Chamounix and its surroundings. The stream of beggars
going over the hill, and losing itself in space, will be
readily appreciated by every human being who has ever
visited Switzerland.
M. Plumet asks some questions of his coachman, as
for instance : —
" Cocher, pourquoi y a-t-il done tant de mendiants et
de cretins dans ce pays ? "
" Ah, vous savez, m'sieu', on ressemble toujours au
pays ; quand il est vilain, on est vilain," and so on to
the end of the book.
Paris laughed a long time over the Plumets and their
unfortunate pleasure trip. I am sure no Frenchman ever
"did" Switzerland thereafter without thinking of them.
The scenes were so real, and yet so grotesque in their
reality, that it was impossible not to take the lesson to
heart. This book is now become extremely rare. Perhaps
there are not a dozen copies in existence. The drawings
were very well engraved, and the public began to tatk
more than ever about Gustave Dore.
During that year he sketched a "Menagerie Parisienne,"
for the Journal pour Rire, and " Les different s publics
de Paris," for the Journal Amusant. He next composed
"Three Artists, incomprehensible, misunderstood, and
discontented. Their journey in the provinces and else-

SKETCH FROM " THREE ARTISTS." 1 1 1
where. Their devouring hunger and deplorable end."
(" Trois Artistes incompris, meconnus et mecontents.
Leur voyage en province et ailleurs ; leur faim devorante,
et leur fin deplorable.") This was also brought out at

FROM "THREE ARTISTS."

A. de Vresse's, with twenty-five lithographs containing
one hundred and fifty-five drawings, and achieved a
marked success.
His next little work was for the Journal Amusant,
called " Folies Gauloises depuis les Romains jusqu'a

GUSTAVE DORA.

nos jours. Album des mceurs et des costumes." This
book was no less successful than the preceding ones.
Dore worked so quickly that he amazed even his pub
lishers. It sufficed to suggest a notion to him ; he forth
with gave it artistic being upon the wood ; and while
Paris was devouring his latest production, another was
already in process of preparation. He seemed possessed
by a demon of work, and was the despair of all his
contemporaries, who had only one hope, viz., that he
would tire of such excessive labour. But they hoped in
vain. He worked for the pleasure of working, never for mere
gain. His drawings were only fairly paid for at that time ;
indeed he produced them with such marvellous facility that
he was oftener under-paid than not. Publishers readily
saw how little effort production was to the gifted lad, and
were not slow to make capital out of his very quickness.
He absolutely flooded the market with his work. Perhaps
this was unwise. " But one paramount idea beset him,"
said M. Lacroix, " to be constantly at work and con
stantly before the public. When his sketches were not
accepted and paid for, he often gave them away, in order
to be able to say, ' So-and-so is my publisher.' For a
time he literally depreciated the value of his own labour
by the enormous prodigality of his pencil."
Certain it is that he outstripped every draughtsman in
Paris by the rapidity as well as the perfection of his work.
Publishers usually have to storm and swear a great deal
before they can get their orders executed by artists. It
was quite a novelty for them to encounter a youth who
upon receiving an order carried it out even before the
time stipulated.
At that time his name and fame began to reach
England. He received an order from T. Warne and Co.
for some original work. This was executed with his
usual rapidity, and was soon published under the title of
"Two Hundred Humorous and Grotesque Sketches
with eighty-six plates and three hundred and two draw
ings by G. Dore." This book had an enormous success.

DOR A 'S DELIGHT A T HIS GR O WING RENO WN. 1 1 3
Gustave was not a little flattered that the country which
boasted so many famous artists should solicit anything
from its French neighbour, and the English commission
stimulated him to work harder than ever at his art.

STRASBOURGEOIS,
(Original Sketch, 1847. Unpublished.)

He began immediately afterwards a series of sketches
which show the fertility of his imagination and the ampli
tude of his school education. They were called " Historical
Pencillings; or, from the First Century to the Nine-

ii4 GUSTAVE D OR A.

teenth " (published in London in 1865, by Hotten and Co.,
to-day Chatto and Windus.) These are certainly some
of the most remarkable efforts of Dore's genius. They
were composed in the midst of youthful dreams and
enthusiasm, in those " salad days " when the world
was seen by him through the rose-coloured lens of
youthful success, when his spirits were high with hope,
and the midnight oil often burned till dawn of day
in his studio ; in those days when Gustave Dore rushed
about all over Paris to find the engraven " models "
M. Lacroix has told us about, when he gazed long and
frequently at the Hercules in the Salle Jean Goujon,
the Venuses in the Salle Puget, and the sweet saints
portrayed in the marvellous Mantegnas at the Louvre.
Certain it is that he imagined people and costumes
which showed him no mean archaeologist, and that he
spent much more time upon them than he ever acknow
ledged. This was unusual for him, who had always culti
vated the habit of working with lightning-like quickness,
and who invariably found it necessary to pretend that it
took him a longer time to execute a drawing than it
really did, lest people should think his work inferior in
quality if they knew how rapidly it had been done.
He had evidently been laying M. Lacroix's words to
heart. At any rate he worked very hard on these
" Historical Sketches," and although they were destined
not to see the light of publicity for many a long year, he
was amply repaid for his pains. From the first sketch,
"An Ancient Briton contemplating the costume of his
descendants," to the last of the series, " Dandyism
Ruralizing," they exhibit a power, knowledge, and appre
ciation of his subject which are simply astonishing. The
" Ancient Briton " is succeeded by " Druid Worship," in
which a human sacrifice is accomplished with great 'ela
boration of detail. A nude female figure, contorted with
terror, is forcibly held down on the altar amid a group
of Druids, faithful to their prescribed rites, their im
mortal gods, and their mortal prejudices, fhe natural
accessories to this striking scene remind one of Long-

SCENES FROM HISTORICAL PENCILLINGS. 115
fellow's " Evangeline," and the first words of that great
poem, — "This is the forest primeval."
Dore's background is indeed that of a " forest primeval,"
displaying lords of the woods, great oaks with massive
trunks, and strong, fair branches. The victim is stretched
out on a flat stone altar, one Druid is praying that the
gods may receive the sacrifice graciously, and gathered
round are the eager spectators, thirsting for blood and
anxious to appease the anger of their deities. There
are warriors clad in glittering armour, women with anxious
eyes and curious faces, babes in the first of " the seven
ages," children strutting about proudly bearing the
burden of their fathers' war-clubs ; dogs with curly
heads and dogs with smooth heads ; armour, banners,
spears, trinkets, and many other accessories which go
to complete a scene of Druid worship, described, per
haps, by Caesar, but certainly created by Gustave Dore's
imagination. We are next shown a scene of " Devotion in the Fifth
and Sixth Centuries." Instead of a flat altar and
writhing victim, we have a magnificent minster. In
stead of blood-stained warriors, fanatic Druids, inquisitive
women, and precocious children, we have nobles, old
and young, who have renounced the pomps and vanities
of this life to spend their days in gloomy cells ; women
fair and stately, maidens sweet and comely, also devoted
to this new religion, requiring from its votaries so much
in the present and promising so much to them in the
future. We see the joyless band marching along in
couples through the lonely forest towards the minster.
They are thin, ascetic extatics, who obviously have not
partaken of solid food for some considerable time. That
was not the age in which an apostate Rabelais supped
regularly and heartily in order to support his positive
religious convictions. Dore's devotees are true disciples
of early Christian teachers, who prescribed self-denial
and even maceration as specifics for the atonement of
sin and the attainment of grace.

n6

GUSTAVE DORE.

The next sketch represents a new phase of mediaeval
Christianity. In the beginning of the thirteenth century
a longing for a purer religion than that of persecution
and bloodshed resulted in the Church's ferocious attack
upon the Albigeois, followed hard at heel by the terrors
of the Inquisition. This mediaeval institution caused
great consternation in Spain, and even Rome yielded the
palm to a newer and more refined system of gaining
converts. When members of a family suddenly disap-

ORIGINAL SKETCH. PHILIPON COLLECTION.
(Paris, 1848.)
peared as though the earth had swallowed them up, any
previous suspicion that they might have incurred the
wrath of the Inquisition became, a dismal conviction, and
they were thought of as dead. Dore's sketch illustrates
one of the Inquisition's specifics for saving souls alive
and is called " Torture by Water." The " subject " is
secured to a slanting slab, head downwards, whilst
gallons of fluid are being poured down his throat through
a funnel. The judges of the Holy Tribunal are looking
calmly on ; the masked Inquisitors are gathered round

MORE HISTORICAL SKETCHES. ti7
in ghastly hoods, pierced with black holes, through
which their merciless eyes gaze upon their victim ; the
cold-blooded attendants are manipulating pump and
pitcher ; it is a scene, in a word, depicting but too truly the
horrors and mockery of that barbarous torment ; for we
all know that after the agonized sufferer had confessed,
he was invariably burned alive, the destruction of his
body being considered by his sanctified torturers essential
to the redemption of his immortal part from eternal
flames. The fifth sketch is called " Knight Errantry in the
Twelfth Century."
Chivalry is a word which was undoubtedly well under
stood in that century, and has had the good fortune to
be not wholly misapprehended in this. If we are to
believe in romances and poets, however, we are somewhat
behindhand nowadays in certain little practices that were
in vogue with the immortal Don Quixote and the heroes of
Walter Scott's " Tales of the Crusaders," not to speak
of older and more mystical heroes immortalized in the
Norse legends and Teutonic mythology.
Gustave Dore imagined a scene which must have
belonged to the legendary epoch ; for surely no human
eye has ever witnessed such a spectacle as that which he
has vigorously drawn : a cavalcade of desperate knights
in full panoply of steel, mounted on high-bred and richly-
caparisoned steeds, horses and riders rushing " pesle-
mesle " onwards to combat and victory with levelled
lances, following the ardent warrior who precedes them
by but a spear's length. Manifestly these knights are
eagerly pressing onward towards that mystic goal of
honour, that peaceful river of eternity which flows, clear
and calm, in front of a frowning turreted castle, and
bears upon its bosom phantom-freighted ships of quaint
and antique shapes.
I cannot attempt in this place to describe the subjects
in detail of all the drawings constituting this series,
suffice it to say that they include "The Judgmentof
God" (6th tableau), or the judicial combat by which

n8 GUSTAVE DORE.

disputes were formerly settled in champs-clos hand-to-
hand encounters, and a sketch entitled " Les Droits de
Seigneur." This latter is an amusing drawing, repre
senting a shepherdess, already betrothed to a rustic
swain, whose unfortunate prettiness causes her to remind
an old mediaeval baron of a certain feudal law then existing,
and of his own desire to put that law into execution.
Her lover, the swine-herd, is struggling in the grasp of
the baron's retainers ; the swine, wonder-stricken, are
grovelling on the earth. A dog, indignant at the attempted
outrage, barks with ungovernable fury ; but the fair
shepherdess seems quite resigned to her fate. It is very
hard in the nineteenth century for a shepherdess to resist
a baron ; we are not surprised that in the fifteenth it was
impossible. Vide Dore's sketch.
No. 8 is entitled "A Tournament — Beauty the Prize.
A.D. 1450." We are introduced to a number of lords
and ladies, the great border baron, William Peveril, Lord
of Whittington, and other Shropshire magnates. One of
his two nieces, Milette, is the beauty to be contested for
by the bravest knights.
The next sketch (No. 9) depicts a splendid pageant of
nobles, lords and ladies, in the first period of the Renais
sance, dames of high degree with train-bearers and body-
servants, knights in armour, and courtiers in velvet and
powder, a long procession of wealthy idlers proceeding
towards a stately park. Perhaps Dore had in his mind
Francis the First and -the Chateau d'Annet, where that
spendthrift prince kept so splendid a court, thronged
with beauties and beaux, and where fair Diane de Poictiers,
after having ruled the father, continued her sway over
the son.
Next we have a ball in the reign of Henri III., a ball
at which everybody is dancing, and merriment is general.
The extraordinary ruffs worn at that period by both sexes'
are here faithfully depicted. A girl of twelve begins life
under a cloud, her head having entirely disappeared
within a fence of about ten yards of white muslin.
A charming sketch of old Paris is (No. 11) " Surprised

PARISIAN SCENES.

119

by a Watchman — Reign of Henri IV." An expectant
Juliet receives her Romeo, who is perched gracefully
upon the topmost round of a silken ladder. The inter
view is not one which the covipaguons du guet should
have interrupted. They are on their rounds, and sud
denly turn their lanterns upon the loving couple instead
of on the usual marauders who infested the streets of
Paris after nightfall during the sixteenth century. This
picture is one of the most life-like of the series, and

TYPICAL HEAD.
(DoriS, Paris, 1850.)

shows that Dor6 was thoroughly at home with its
subject. No. 12 is a superb drawing, called " After Richelieu's
Edict against Duelling." The scene is laid in the famous
Place Royale, where crowds are passing to and fro,
courtiers are carousing, and three duels are going on at
the same time, the last that were fought fcr many a day
after the publication of the astute cardinal's decree. The
faces of the lookers-on of both sexes, and the blood
thirsty expression of the combatants are depicted with
extraordinary life and animation. The costumes are
marvels of correctness, and the entire scene a faithful
representation of an episode of the reign of Louis XIII.

GUSTAVE DORE.

No. 13 is " A Charge of Light Horse during the Reign
of Louis XIV." The " light " horses are huge animals of
enormous power, rearing and plunging as they bear their
stalwart riders towards the fray. The effect of some of
the figures is rather that of centaurs than of mounted
troopers, for in the confusion which prevails throughout
the picture it is difficult to distinguish where the man
begins and the horse leaves off. This sketch is absolutely
alive with real moving creatures, the mass of mingled
men and horses suggesting a real rather than an imagi
nary battle-field. The humorous intention of the sketch
is made manifest in the wild exaggeration of every
creature and thing therein portrayed. The horsemen's
top-boots are large enough to have housed the old
woman who lived in a shoe and her numerous family,
but the special triumph in caricature is a horse with
steaming flanks, distended nostrils, and flowing tail, which
soars away into space like a cloud in a summer sky.
No. 14 is entitled " Racine performed before the
Court of Versailles," and in it we observe the modest
requirements of the stage in the time of Louis XIV., as
far as "mounting" and "setting" are concerned, com
pared with the break-neck extravagance of the mise-en
scene of to-day. Shakespeare played his pieces in a
barn, while Moliere and Racine had not much more
elaborate scenery at their command than had the great
English dramatist. The chief difference between then
and now was that in those days the world had poets,
nowadays it has pretenders. Formerly there were
simple representations, now there are gorgeous spec
tacles. Society was perhaps mistaken ; but it certainly,
at the epoch referred to, preferred mind to matter.
The perfect stage management of the Lyceum or
Frangais would scarcely have permitted the strange
jumble of antique and modern costumes worn by the
actors in Racine's drama. Perhaps their charm lay in
their incongruity, for the noble audience portrayed by
Dore is almost irritating in its symmetry. It would be
difficult to divine what was passing in their carefully

THE AGE OF WIGS.

"dressed" heads. T. Wright said of this drawing:
" The spectators are admirable ; they resemble a very

/fJb Atsfjan^

(Dor<5, Paris, 1850. Unpublished.)

regular grove of laurels, quaintly and nicely trimmed.
It was the age of wigs."
The next of the series is (No. 15) "A Pastoral under
Louis XV.'' Dore undoubtedly was inspired by the long-

GUSTAVE DORE.

drawn-out novels of Honore d'Urfe, who crowded his
pages with such marvellous imaginary shepherds and
fancy shepherdesses that the pastoral mania raged in
Paris for many and many a year. The world of French
literature was peopled by ideal rustics, and even the poet
Fontenelle persistently followed in the footsteps of his
predecessors with verses redolent of new milk and
freshly-mown hay. These shepherds and shepherdesses,
however, were modelled after creatures of rarer mould
and much more exquisite fashion than those existing in
the days of Astrea. There is a certain mythological
charm about Dore's divinities that suggests garments
fashioned from rose-coloured clouds, eyes sparkling with
immortal light, senses inflamed by those promiscuous
fires which flicker round those delightful goddesses for
whom the word " Love " had a limitless meaning, and who
attuned their nascent feelings to sweet sounds issuing
from the pipes of great Pan. The scene in Dore's sketch
teems with soft delight ; the gentle herds tenderly
exchange vows of love, two lambkins kiss each other's
lips, whilst the eyes of countless Cupids gaze fondly
down upon them through the branching trees -. —
" From valleys where the pipe is never dumb ;
Or from yon swelling downs, where sweet air stirs
Blue hare-bells lightly, and where prickly furze
Buds lavish gold." Endymion.
Even sheep in the time of Louis XV. appear to have
felt the influence of Court etiquette, and to have fashioned
their manners accordingly.
No. 16 is dedicated first to the reign of Louis XVI., and
to the marvellous head-dresses worn by the ladies at that
epoch. Dore has portrayed many great people here and
there in his pictures, but they are insignificant compared
with their coiffures. These extraordinary creations of
art resemble a fairy spectacle or pantomime, where ships,
houses, animals, and balloons mingle with the clouds and
spring about in all the wild hilarity of ungovernable
extravagance. Happily the reign of those head-dresses

MADAME DE STAEL. 123
is over, or we should still see the magnificent chande
liers smitten and overthrown by reckless monstrosities —
monuments of woman's folly and fashion's eccentricity.
No. 17 brings us to " Fashions under the Directory:
the Incroyables, 1798." Who has not seen the pretty
picture " Une Noce sous le Directoire," and noted the
costumes and general style of that epoch ? Dore gives,
as usual, an over-florid sketch of the dandies and
dandyzettes of a century ago, but one which perfectly
represents the sumptuary exaggerations of that period.
We hear much talk of the nineteenth century and its
extravagances ; but I think few ladies of our times get
beyond jewel-studded garters, and rarely display even
these to society. Surely none wear diamond-rings on
their toes in public, like the heroine of the Banbury Cross
legend. As to the dress of les merveilleuses, it is the
nearest approach to the ideal of the aesthetes and Oscar
Wildian disciples ; but the Victorian era would scarcely
permit its dames and damsels to display their charms so
shamelessly as did the lovely merveilleuses in the time of
the French Revolution.
No. 18, "Corinna, or Vocal Charms, 1810," distinctly
suggests the subject that was present to Dore's mind
when he executed this sketch, namely, Madame de
Stael and her daughters in exile at the Court of Russia.
The subject is treated in a humorous spirit, and with
highly diverting effect. The eminent authoress stands
to the right of the picture, holding in her hand the
inevitable sprig of myrtle, whilst her offspring, arrayed
in classic Greek robes, with filleted locks, sit or stand
before the Czar and his suite; one girl is playing on a
harp with ten thousand strings, whilst her anxious mother,
probably remembering Napoleon's retort, gazes rapturously
upon her Corinnes. Madame de Stael was plain, but not
inordinately stout. Could she take cognizance of her
dimensions in Dore's fancy portrait of her, she would
rise bodily from her tomb and mournfully reiterate her well-
known lament : " I would give half my knowledge for a few
personal charms, and consider them cheaply bought."

124 GUSTAVE DOR A.

No. 19 is called "Dandyism Ruralizing, 1830," and
exhibits a pleasure party, padded in the bust and
tightened at the waist, filling one of nine boats — alas,
only too real ! — that float on the lake of the Bois de
Boulogne in Paris. One of the party is whiling away
the idle hour by declaiming or explaining poetry. We
are reminded of Lalla Rookh and Feramorz, although
neither of Dore's heroines resemble that soft-eyed
princess any more than his heroes resemble her hand
some lover. We may judge of their mutual enchant
ment, however, by the expression on their faces, which
bespeaks the liveliest pleasure and enjoyment.
" Ten Years Later, or a Change of Fashion, 1840,"
closes the series. We have made a long journey, some
thing like " Round the world in eighty days." In order
to get from the Druids in the year of our Lord one, to
the dancers in the year of our Lord 1840, through what
peripetia have we not passed ? There is a considerable
difference between the characteristics of the ball under
Henry III. and of that under Louis Philippe, although
there was undoubtedly as much real amusement at the
Tuileries of yore as at La Grande Chaumiere or the
famous Jardin Mabille in the days of the Citizen King.
This drawing is enormously clever, philosophically as
well as artistically. In the foreground we have the short-
petticoated dancing grisettes, or demi-mondaines, revel
ling with the white-cravatted students, those zephyr-
heeled denizens of the Latin Quartier, who suggest not
only Mabille, but the no less notorious Bal Bullier, that
happy hunting-ground of idlers and pleasure-seekers.
In the background we have Britons, Germans, Ameri
cans, and Frenchmen of forty years ago. In the dim
perspective are shadowy forms and vague objects, slidino-
down-hill on the Montagnes Russes, a species of amuse
ment then in vogue at La Grande Chaumiere. There is,
indeed, a change of fashions and manners since the first
drawing; and one can readily understand the amazement
of " an ancient Briton " contemplating the costumes of
his descendants.

GUSTAVE DORA'S DISAPPOINTMENTS. 125

CHAPTER XII.

GUSTAVE DORES DISAPPOINTMENTS.

I HAVE given a detailed account of the historical
cartoons because they are really some of the most
remarkable productions of Dore's facile pencil. They
have also special value as showing very distinctly the
bent of his mind and its fertility, as well as his method
of studying at the age of fifteen. He must have amassed
an enormous amount of learning before he could have
devised such faithful sketches of so many different
epochs. Of the twenty tableaux composing this series
there is not one that is not a masterpiece in its way.
The inspiration is genial and generous ; the execution
concise and felicitous. From the fact of this series
remaining so long in his portfolio, we may presume that it
was one'of those unfortunate works which, as M. Lacroix
said, " Gustave offered over and over again to different
publishers, who one and all refused even to look at the
drawings of such a mere child."
We can readily imagine the disappointment suffered
by the heart-sick lad, who, after toiling so steadily, and
with such fine, hopeful courage, saw the work of his
inspiration doomed to neglect, as it proved to be, for
many a long day.

1 26 G USTA VE DORA.

M. Daubree says, " At that time Dore began taking
trifles seriously to heart, and although he rarely com
plained, his disappointment secretly corroded and em
bittered his naturally sweet and calm disposition. He
never could realize that he was still but a boy, and that
his time must surely come."
However, much as he brooded and fretted, he seems
to have worked more. The note attached to the
historical studies or cartoons describes them as having
been executed at the age of fifteen. This could scarcely
have been possible, as Dore was only fourteen when he
arrived in Paris. He began them whilst he was working
for Philipon, and illustrating several volumes for " Biblio
phile Jacob " (Paul Lacroix), besides studying daily at
the Lycee Charlemagne. These occupations, with his
" hours and hours " spent daily at the Louvre and other
museums, must have entirely filled up his first year in
the French capital. He has also said that he worked
much longer "than he cared to tell," on those very
cartoons. Again, a year more or less makes a vast
difference in a lad's studies at that age, and although
Dore had stored away in his mind much more knowledge
than any one suspected, his condition was scarcely such
at fifteen as to have permitted him to design and bring
to completion so important a series of historical
drawings. The wonder is that he had time for anything beyond
his daily studies at college and the page of illustrations
he was under contract to furnish weekly to M. Philipon.
However, it is beyond doubt that the drawings he then
made, and which remained unpublished for years, may
be counted by thousands instead of hundreds.
The fall of Louis Philippe and the Revolution of '48,
with all its horrors, afforded opportunities for sketching
which were not wasted by the young draughtsman. The
Lycee Charlemagne was situate in the Rue St. Paul, a
street absolutely traversing the heart of the Faubourg
St. Antoine, a Parisian district sown with the seeds of
all that is revolutionary and more that is vile -. one of

THE REVOLUTION OF '48 IN PARIS. 127
those working districts each house of which swarms
with innumerable inmates — where every alley and court
at a moment's notice is filled with a clamorous mob, as
prone to empty itself into the streets as is the lava to
pour down the slopes of Vesuvius. It was in this very
quarter that Dore witnessed some of the most awful
scenes upon which the human eye has ever rested. An
angry people, rising against its rulers, with improvised
barricades defended to the death. The insurrection
expressed itself to the terrified senses of Paris in can
nonading, massacres, military mutinies, buildings in
flames, agonized cries of mutilated wretches struck down
by shell or bullet, groups of excited soldiers fighting
masses of maddened men, women, and children, a thou
sand times more fiendish and horrible than any spectacle
afforded by a Waterloo or a Sedan.
Dore was then at an age when such scenes were bound
to make a profound impression on his exceptionally
receptive nature. He looked on with the eyes and heart
of a patriot, but all the while he was instinctively
studying those fluctuating masses of enraged humanity,
and in his mind's eye already saw those living groups
transferred to paper by his pencil. Day and night he
was in the midst of all that was most terrible, never
taking notes, but silently absorbing every minute episode
of that awful struggle.
It was undoubtedly during this period that he acquired
his marvellous skill in grouping. In his earliest sketches
we often see two or three figures together, but never in
anything like the number he afterwards dealt with so
freely. Many of Dore's admirers have marvelled how
one who had never been engaged in active combat could
possibly succeed in depicting such realistic battle-scenes.
Gustave Dore possessed in a supreme degree the art of
grouping masses of men, and making them look on
paper as they do in real life. The correctness of his
drawing has been frequently called in question, but
never the vivacity and fruitfulness of his creative power,
nor the life-like realism of his subjects. It was chiefly

128 G USTA VE DORE.

during the Revolution of 1848 that he made those studies
from real life which have since conferred immortality upon
his name. The lesson was a terrible one, but wonderfully
efficacious. We are forcibly reminded of the old proverb,
" A quelque chose malheur est bon."
No. 13, for instance, of the historical series, "The
Charge of Light Horse," is so full of vitality that we
cannot help fancying that Gustave must have had some
cavalry attack upon the rioters of the Faubourg St.
Antoine in his mind when he produced it. Were this so,
it would be a conclusive proof that those cartoons were
not drawn by him at fifteen years of age.
The albums containing " Three Artists," " A Pleasure
Trip," and the Historical Cartoons, are out of print, and so
extremely rare that now almost any sum would be paid for
single copies. M. Lacroix told me that of his own books
illustrated by Dore, which sold by thousands upon thou
sands at that time, he himself did not possess one copy.
" Bibliophile Jacob " was one of the successful authors of
the day, and the editions of his works illustrated by the
rising young draughtsman were many of them sold in
the provinces, which fairly drained Paris of them.
At the age of seventeen Gustave Dore collaborated
with Gini and made several " Military Sketches " pub
lished in No. 9 of the series of " Petits Albums pour Rire."
These are in the collection of M. Philipon.
His next great popular success was " The Life of a
Parisian, Marceline and others," No. 22 of the " Albums
pour Rire," also in the Philipon collection. This work
was so rich in creative humoristic design that ideas have
been persistently stolen from it for the last thirty years,
and probably will continue to be for the next hundred to
come. Gustave was always highly delighted whenever he
achieved a new success. But he was too ambitious to
rest and be thankful, and began moreover to exhibit
touchiness when any one spoke or wrote of him as a
" draughtsman." He felt in his heart that he was an
artist ; but Paris regarded him as a draughtsman on wood,

SKETCH FROM RABELAIS.

129

and he was so constantly before the public in that light
that it was hard to think of him in any other. Besides

he was making the world laugh, and Paris was the city
of all others which needed to be constantly amused. His
ambition, however, soared far above that, but his own
K

1 30 G USTA VE DORE.
mania for incessant work kept him continuously before the
world as a caricaturist and nothing more.
His next published works were "Les Collegiens," ist
part, No. 32 of " Les Albums pour Rire," also in M.
Philipon's collection, and " Les Collegiens," 2nd part, in
collaboration with Bertall, No. 36 of the same collection,
also executed for M. Philipon.
These albums must not be confounded with " Le
Journal pour Rire," which was a weekly sheet, and the
one to which Dore furnished the front-page drawing. I
will here reproduce some notes on this subject from Dore's
own journal, which I have before me. He shows more
than plainly his feeling about his work, but also his reasons
for continuing it. He says, —
"From 1848 to 1850 I was occupied in terminating
my studies at the Lycee Charlemagne, where I had the
happiness to have for school-fellows Edmond About and
Hyppolite Taine.
"The branch of art styled caricature was a long way
from being the one to which my natural tastes attracted
me, and although during four or five years I had produced
a number of drawings which readily ran up to thousands,
it was simply because the only editor (Philipon) who then
accepted my sketches, had but one exclusive speciality
of publication, that of caricature.
" I worked faithfully then, during all the time at my
disposal, at serious studies in drawing.
"At last in 1853 I found a way to escape apparently
from the continuation of comic work which I own had
begun to annoy me excessively. Seeing what a run there
was. upon the ' Journal pour Rire,' which was in enormous
vogue at the price of twenty centimes a copy, I begged my
publisher's permission to execute an illustrated Rabelais,
which should appear serially in the same form as the
comic periodical in question.
" This was the first thing of mine which made a sensa
tion, and, by eliciting praise from the press, brought me
conspicuously before the notice of the public."
These few words are Dore's modest account of one of

DORE'S PRODIGALITY OF TALENT. 131

the greatest feats ever performed in his line of talent.
As, however, he has made no mention above of two im
portant works produced by him in the year 1853, I must
speak of them before treating of his Rabelais.
One of these works was by Paul Lacroix, called, " Le
Singe, ou la Famille de l'Athee. Histoire du Temps de
Louis XV. Edited by J. Bry. Illustrated by Gustave
Dore. 14 drawings." It is generally believed that this
was the volume Dore illustrated for " Bibliophile Jacob,"
when he was a little over fifteen. That can scarcely be
the case, for M. Lacroix told me that there were
" basketsful of engravings." " I have," he added,
" more than one hundred and fifty blocks here in my
house: whilst Dore speaks of but fourteen drawings." La
croix published perhaps a hundred volumes, and although
his memory was marvellous, it is not unlikely that the
name of that particular one may have escaped his recol
lection. The family of Gustave Dore have no knowledge
of any work illustrated by him previous to the year 1853 ;
and Dore himself says nothing about it in his notes.
However, as he was in the habit of despising his early
efforts, there would be nothing uncommon in his making
no mention of them.
In speaking of the work of a talented lad, it is very
easy to attempt to make him out a prodigy by advancing
the dates of his work by several years. However that
may be, the drawings, first and last, which were made
for M. Lacroix — to use his own words — " were marvels
of beauty in drawing and design ; " and Du Tacq him
self compared them to the great classics.
It seems to me as great an honour to be compared to
Michel Angelo at twenty as at fifteen, and vastly credit
able to have been thought of in connection with him at
any time. Dore should not have complained in those
early days, when his genius outran his patience and his
pencil outstripped both ; for he had many warm partisans,
and more sages than one predicted a great future to the
little Alsatian artist.
His executant prodigality was his own worst enemy,
K 2

1 3 2 G USTA VE DOR A.

for before the public could ever have time to digest one
of his works, another was flung at its head with such
swiftness as could not but depreciate its value. The
public likes to be caressed, flattered, and cajoled; it
wishes to command, not to serve ; and when there was
no alternative but perdreaux, toujours perdreaux, not
understanding the man, not appreciating his superlative
genius, society was prompted by sheer satiety to call his
talent in question, as it were, by not setting the highest
value upon it. Later on he learned to keep both the
public and the publishers waiting, and from the day that he
acquired that lesson perfectly, he became a happier man.
I may here again refer to his good fortune in having
for friends such youths as Edmond About and Hyppolite
Taine, and such a man as Paul Lacroix. He certainly
had a very good example before him of hard workers in
the owners of these names, since so celebrated through
out not France alone, but the entire world.
It was a curious coincidence that Gustave Dore should,
on his arrival in Paris, have fallen in with three such
widely different literary characters : a book-worm, a
novelist, and a philosopher; each at the head of his
professed branch of art ; each a marvel in his way ; and
all three equally attached to the gifted young artist.
M. About, or, to give him all his names, Edmond Fran
cois Valentin About, was born at Dieuze, on the 14th of
February, 1828. He studied at the Lycee Charlemagne,
and although he was five years older than Dore, they
were class-mates in many studies, and speedily became
close and devoted companions. About was one of
the wittiest and most brilliant men in France. His
precocity was as remarkable in its way as that of Dore,
and Gustave frequently spoke of About's gaiety and
spontaneous fun, which kept his school-mates in rare
good humour, sending them off into fits of laughter on
the slightest occasion. The intimacy was interrupted
when About joined l'Ecole Normale, and again in 1852,
when he went to the French school at Athens. This
was a Government appointment, having no very definite

SOMETHING ABOUT THE LATE EDMOND ABOUT. 133

object, except the hope that young Frenchmen having a
taste for belles-lettres, and being free to choose their
studies, would compose papers on the history or archaeo
logy of Greece. About remained two years in Athens,
and realized the hopes of his family, by sending a pam
phlet to the Academy of Inscriptions, called, " L'lle
d'Egine." To everybody's surprise, this pamphlet was
not a history of Greece, but a clever satire, and. France
soon rang with its author's name. Two years later
he wrote his great work, " La Grece Contemporaine,"
which has been translated into many tongues, and has
attained universal popularity. This book is a marvel
of shrewd observation and clever writing. Edmond
About then became the fashion, his novels being in great
demand at every library in Paris.
A Parisian journal, speaking recently of E. About and
his forthcoming admission to the French Academy, said,
" His style is pure and delightful ; his verve carries
everything before it, and his wit, besides being inex
haustible, has the rare merit of being absolutely spon
taneous. It is no more effort for About to be funny
than it is for him to breathe. One would think that the
vein might become exhausted ; but, no, the more he
draws upon it the more it yields, and we may safely look
forward to another age where the only spirits of pure
and sparkling humour shall be drawn from ' About's
Fountain.' " ' Alas ! About stopped on the threshold of the
Academy, and whilst I was correcting these notes Paris
was doing honour to her illustrious dead.
Dore delighted in him, and often referred in conversa
tion to the killingly-funny stories he used to tell to the
boys at school. No one doubted but that he invented
them on the spot ; but however strictly their veracity
might be questioned, their wit never could be. He and
Dore were devoted friends for a long time, and nothing
could have exceeded the felicity of their companionship ;
which, especially in the early years of their acquaintance
ship, left little to be desired.
H. Taine, or Hippolyte Adolphe Taine, the second of

134 G USTA VE DORE.

Dore's distinguished college companions,wasof verynearly
the same age as About. He was born on the 28th of
April, 1828, atVouziers, in the Ardennes, and finished his
studies in Paris, presumably where be had begun them,
at the Lycee Charlemagne. In 1853 two magnificent
essays, respectively entitled " De Personis Platonicis"
and " Essai sur les Fables de Lafontaine," were rewarded
by the diploma of " Docteur des Lettres." Taine has a
brilliant intellect, which he has cultivated to the highest
degree. He is not without wit, but his style is as far
remoyed from that of About as the north from the south
pole. The one is all effervescing lightness, superficial,
but as congenial as froth to champagne ; the other
specially gifted by nature to reason solidly and explain
his reasonings in a pure, but somewhat ponderous style.
Taine out-distanced his companions in the race for fame,
however, as in 1854 his great work " Essai sur Tite-Live,"
was crowned by the French Academy, that immortal
goal so ardently dreamed of and desired by all French
men of letters. It is not often that a young litterateur
of twenty-six finds himself thus honoured. The turn of
Taine's mind is clearly indicated by his works, which are all
more or less serious, classical, and scientific. In 1856
he published " Les Philosophes Francais du dix-neuvieme
Siecle;" in 1857, " Essais de Critique et d'Histoire;"
" L'Histoire de la Litterature Anglaise " in 1864, and
various other well-known works. In this century, when
originality is at a premium, Taine may certainly claim to
have invented a decidedly new and original method of
judging of a people's literature from a scientific stand
point, to wit, that there are three things to bear in mind
when writing the literature of any people : the race to
which a nation belongs, its geographical position and
stage of civilization in literary growth, and lastly, the
period to which all these appertain. Taine has, without
doubt, propounded the psychological question with re
gard to all literature. He has written many later works,
but none so curious or original as his " History of English
Literature." In 1878 he was elected a member of the

DRAWING FROM DORA'S SPAIN.

J35

(Original Drawing. Published by Sampson Low and Co.)

136 G USTA VE DORA.

Academy, preceding his contemporary About by seven
years ; and, although there could never have been any
question of rivalry, he left both Dore and Paul Lacroix an
immeasurable distance behind him in the favour of his
compatriots, in the meantime the latter amused himself by
signing his name " Bibliophile Jacob, Membre de toutes
les Academies."
Dore's relations with Taine were always of the most
cordial character. He admired Taine's powerful intellect,
solid and genuine talent, while the latter accorded all
honour to his old schoolmate's brilliant imagination and
marvellous versatility of thought and pencil. I have heard
that, while they were never what may be called intimate
friends, they lived their lives, so to speak, in constant
contemplation of one another's genius and steady advance
before the world in their different roles of successful
artist and man of letters. Dore illustrated several of
M. Taine's works, which are amongst the illustrator's
finest efforts. The time passed in this labour was to
Dore a period of mutual profit and pleasure, as it could
not well have been otherwise. Taine was ever associated
in Dore's mind with some of the happiest hours of. his
boyhood, those passed in the Lycee Charlemagne, when
the present was bright with nascent hopes, and the future
promised a smile in every turning of life's page. Until
the Jast leaf was folded over, Dore cherished the same
sentiments towards this life-long friend.

DORA TAKES A SUMMER HOLIDAY.- 137

CHAPTER XIII.
DORE TAKES A SUMMER HOLIDAY.
GUSTAVE Dore was in the habit of taking a summer
holiday every year. It was probably this slight respite
from work, and change of scene and air which enabled
him to keep on labouring as he did at such an inhuman
rate from morn till night, month in and month out. He
began to be very much sought after in society, and many
a house in the noble Faubourg St. Germain was proud
to open its doors to the talented young artist. Society
amused, but scarcely interested him. He would go to
half a dozen " at homes" during an evening, say a word
or two to the host or hostess, and when some one wished
to be introduced to " the rising young artist, M. Dore," he
was nowhere to be found. Could that some one, however,
have penetrated to the studio in the Rue Monsieur le
Prince, he would probably have discovered Dore long
after midnight, sitting by a little lamp and working away
at his blocks, utterly indifferent to the world and its
triumphs, and forgetful of everything but his inspirations
and his art. Outside this latter Dore found his greatest
happiness in listening to music. He was devoted to
the Opera House in the Rue Lepelletier, and a regular
attendant at the Old Opera House, where the master-

138 GUSTAVE DORE.

pieces of Meyerbeer, Rossini, Gluck, and Halevy were
performed, at that time, in a superior manner. There
was also " Les Italiens," the home of Italian opera,
whither all Paris flocked to listen to such artists as
Grisi, Mario, Lablache, Alboni, Viardot, Tamberlik, and
many other brilliant stars in that brilliant musical
firmament. Who does not remember and speak of les
beaux jours of this charming theatre, when Rossini,
Verdi, Bellini, and Donizetti reigned, whilst Cimarosa
and Mozart were dutifully sandwiched in between more
modern and sensational composers ; when there was an
Imperial box imperially filled ; when the beauty, nobility,
wealth, and fashion Of gay Paris crowded the stalls,
boxes, and upper circles with all that was brilliant and
critical in that cultivated capital ?
In the midst of this distinguished throng Dore often
found himself, and probably no one present was a keener
dilettante than he. Not alone did he understand and
enjoy music, but he had developed a charming tenor
voice, and sang with admirable taste and sentiment. It
was a wonder how he managed it, but he rarely in those
days missed a " first night " of any sort ; certainly never
one at the opera. Mr. B  , one of his intimate friends,
said, " Gustave has two passions : his blocks and music.
I think one strain of Rossini would always avail to inter
rupt his finest inspiration ; and the overture to ' William
Tell ' would make him forget everything else, and send
him into an ecstasy of delight."
_ Not content with singing, he continued to play the
violin, as at Strasburg, and took a few lessons of the
late M. Vaucorbeil, a distinguished performer, and one
of the recent directors of the new National Opera House
in Paris. Again arises the old question, " How did Dore
find time to do so much ? "
That was one of the queries no one ever attempted
to answer. He not only made time to play a little for
his own amusement, but to study in secret, achieving
such rapid and marked progress that in a short time his
master told him that he needed no more lessons, adding,

DOR A PLAYS THE VIOLIN.

139

" The pupil has gone as far as the master can teach him ;
already he outstrips him." By this remark we may judge

A CRIPPLE OF PALESTINE. " CONTES DROLATIQUES."
(By permission of Chatto and Windus. Original Sketch.)
to some extent of his aptitude for the violin. Of course
he lacked that technical perfection which practice and

i4o GUSTAVE DORA.

experience alone can give ; but he is said, even at that
time, to have played everything with remarkable taste.
and beautiful smoothness of execution.
Music was one of his great consolers, and it was for
tunate for him that he possessed this most reposeful of
all tastes. Nothing so tires and wears the brain as work
ing in a groove, and no two arts could be more directly
opposed than those of painting and violin-playing.
At that time Dore did not perhaps fully appreciate
how many resources he had within himself. He was so
eager to work at his drawing that had he imagined for a
moment that music as a recreation could ever cause him
for an instant to forget his special art, he probably would
have denied himself even this delightful pastime. It was
an amusement to him chiefly because it was a change
which permitted his brain to work awhile in another
direction. Dore never did anything by halves; whatever
he took up was pursued with violent energy and un
flagging exertion until he considered that he had accom
plished what he had undertaken to perform. His tenacity
of purpose was as remarkable as his ambition was
audacious. It must not be supposed because he had begun his
career with signal brilliancy that he experienced
nothing but success to feed his mind upon. On the
contrary, he had a great deal of up-hill work, and as
many jealousies to contend with as a pretty woman has
to encounter from her plainer sisters. It is not so easy
in this world for any one to say with truth, " Veni, vidi
vici." Dore, however, said it, and meant to go on as he
had begun. _ The public of Paris is a curious one, and
its appreciation shows itself in the same way with respect
to most things. No matter who the person or what his
profession, if he please at first he is accepted at once,
and the question of talent becomes a relative one to be
considered subsequently. I do not know whether this
peculiar facility of Parisian public appreciation is not
more hurtful to its recipients than that of a less gracious
people. It more resembles caprice than real judgment

DORE'S FRANK NATURE. 141

and he must be a very clever person, irrespective of his
special talent, who can not only hold his own and stem
the tide, but grow steadily in public favour, and manage
to float with the current. Dore felt this with that sort of
instinct which is the bane of highly strung and highly
gifted natures, and the more success he had the greater
became his mental preoccupation. He found, as what
eminent artist has not, plenty of enthusiasts eager to
place him on a pedestal, but whose enthusiasm died out
when they were called upon to keep him there. His
ambition was overpowering, and prompted him not alone
to excel in his own special branch of art. He dreamed
some day of being a Da Vinci and a Michel Angelo as
well. He had too frank, honest, and unsuspecting a nature
to even think of concealing this triple aspiration.
Flatterers may be base, but they are enormously clever,
and always know just how to reach and when to touch
the right spot. There was always just such a crowd of
" well-meaning," " well-intentioned " harpies about Dore,
many of whom were profoundly jealous of his success,
and only anxious to avenge their own failures by filling
his head with injudicious compliments, the effect of which
was that when their backs were turned, and he did
not find similar tribute of flattery pouring in from all
directions, his peace of soul began to be undermined, and
at twenty, after all his successes, he talked about being
" unappreciated and misunderstood."
A happier lot was his, however, than that of most
young artists in his position. After a harassing day,
chiefly spent in the streets, when he had been talking
with publishers and with flatterers, had been alternately
wounded and complimented over and over again, he
would arrive at the Rue St. Dominique in the semi-fretful,
semi-nervous state which results from such mental and
corporeal wear and tear, to find in a comfortable home the
one creature in the world whom he loved, and who, as he
well knew, thoroughly appreciated him, waiting to receive
him with open arms, a heart full of love and ready to

142 GUSTAVE DORE.

offer the thousand and one consolations which only the
ingenuity of a fond parent could devise ; for who in all
this world knows so well as a mother how to heal man's
wounded self-love, or how to console his every little
anguish and heart-ache ?
Very different, indeed, was his fate to that of other
artists of his day who had lived a joyless life in every
sense of the word, to whom the comforts of home had
been denied, who had never known parental guidance and
protection, but had been compelled to struggle with
poverty, contumely, and despair ; whose aspirations and
genius had been born, matured, and bred in the garret
where they were destined to expire, unillumined by the
smallest flash of mundane satisfaction or success.
It is very certain that at that time Gustave really ap
preciated some of his blessings. The happiest effect,
however, of the mutual love between himself and his
mother had for result that, instead of being led away by
the thousand and one whims and vices which inevitably
tempt a young artist in a great city, he loved his home,
and was insensibly drawn towards those family influences
which so happily developed later on into a love for domes
ticity towards simple recreations and enjoyments that his
own fireside readily afforded. Destiny was very good to
him, for unconsciously he was thus paving the way to the
only real happiness he ever knew during his restless but
eventful career.
After the Byron illustrations were finished and the work
published, Dore took his usual vacation, going with his
mother and brother to Switzerland. He was absent from
Paris nearly two months, and, as he said afterwards,
" fairly revelled in the glorious scenery of the Alps."
This love of mountains and mountainous country grew
with him as did his love for his mother or his art. In
Switzerland he was as free as the winds, utterly liberated
from all the trammels which had begun to restrict his
liberty in Paris. We may judge of the life he led in the
mountains by an extract from a letter written by his
mother to a friend in Paris, and dated " Chamounix, 20th

GUSTAVE AND HIS FAMILY IN SWITZERLAND. 143
August." wHis freedom, intrepidity, and daring caused as
much anxiety to her as they gave pleasure to him. She
wrote as follows : —
" Gustave frightens me by his excursions amongst the
glaciers. He came back from the ' garden,' however, very
well, as did his brother. The guides say that they are
exactly like so many chamois."
An outburst of high spirits is always followed by re
lapse or reaction. We may presume that even whilst
bounding chamois-like amidst the glaciers he was not
always in his happiest mood. Perhaps he was thinking
of his great undertakings, and wondering whether or not
they would turn out successful. There is really no
mountain of hope high enough to take us away from the
flat table-land of reality, when once we begin to doubt
ourselves. That Gustave suffered from a depression of
spirits was very evident, but probably this feeling was the
outcome of his enormous mental and physical labour
during the winter of 1852 and the spring of 1853. The
state of his body and mind at that time may be gathered
from the following sentence also written by Madame
Dore from Chamounix : — ¦
" Rabelais cheers him up a little. . . . He has just got
to his twentieth block."
The words are few, but they speak volumes. Dore
returned home through Alsatia, where we are told he
" renewed many of the friendships of his youth."
Nothing of note happened there, with one exception,
He was treated like an ordinary mortal, which seemed to
him rather strange after his successes in Paris. He had
pictured to himself the reception he would have in his
old home, and by reason of his own wish to please, had
probably exaggerated the sentiments he would inspire
there. It is a very difficult thing to make the people
with whom you have been brought up ever see anything
out of the common in you. Perhaps there never was a
truer adage than " familiarity breeds contempt." Certain
it is that Gustave was received with affection, but without
outward signs of honour. He was too young, too youth-

144 GUSTAVE DORE.

fully enthusiastic to quite appreciate the cordiality of his
compatriots. It is a strange thing that the blows which
stab deepest must always be struck by those we love most
dearly. Dore could not have forgotten the proverb about
the prophet not being honoured in his own country ; yet
instead of appreciating the smallest mark of remembrance
shown to him by his compatriots, he ate his heart out be
cause their recognition went no further than expressions
of affection. He had been so proud to return to all
those old friends an artist of pure metal, already stamped
with the hall-mark of Parisian favour, that he never got
over their saying nothing of his talents, brilliant position,
or immediate prospects. He had been away four years,
and did not realize how much it really was to his credit
that, on returning to his own province after so protracted
an absence, he found himself not totally forgotten and
wholly ignored.
He came back to Paris with those first vivacious and
prolific seeds of unhappiness sown in his breast. The
blow struck so deeply that he never quite recovered from
it. It was his first supreme disillusion. Thereafter he
was never weary of reflecting that he was misunderstood
and unappreciated by the friends of his youth and by
many of his own country-folk.
However painfully he brooded over this grievance he
none the less went on steadily with his work, and early
in 1 854 gave to the world the result of new labour and
more profound thought and study than any one had
theretofore supposed him capable of. He was rewarded
by a success which should have gone far towards al
leviating his humiliations, many of them imaginary, and
all far inferior to the triumph which his real genius so
suddenly wrought for him. Yet so deeply rooted was the
souvenir of his old home-friends, that his first remark when
he realized that he had really made a hit is said to have
been, " I wonder what they will think of me now."

DOR A S FIRST SERIOUS DRAWINGS.

145

CHAPTER XIV.

DORE ILLUSTRATES BYRON.
AFTER the publication of the illustrated Byron, which
came out in cheap numbers at the price of twopence
each, Dore" (as he has mentioned in his notes) went to
work upon a set of drawings to illustrate an edition of
Rabelais, produced in the form of the popular " Album
pour Rire " series, sold in Paris at twenty centimes per
copy.1
1 It seemed impossible to learn anything of the illustrated Byron
beyond the fact that it was printed in the Bry edition, in small volumes,
at four sous each, and on such cheap paper that probably not one of the
blocks is now extant. It is moreover impossible at present to procure
a copy of this work. One was bought for the Bibliotheque Nationale
in Paris ; but after repeated search for it I was obliged to abandon
my quest. Dr. Michel, Dord's nephew by marriage, assured me that the
work was in the Bibliotheque, but that he knew of no other copies iri
existence. The Byron illustrations are of major importance, in the
sense that they were the first really serious sketches done by Dord when
he was yet only known as a caricaturist. Dr. Michel assures me that
fliey combine some of the most exquisite gems of thought and inspira
tion, for Dore, with the world at large, was a Byron worshipper.*
* Thanks to M. Thierry, the head curator of the Bibliotheque
Nationale, after protracted search the long-sought-for edition has been
found. The drawings are fully identified as being Dord's, but, strange
L

1 46 G USTA VE DORA.

At the very name of Rabelais a host of memories
rush over us. Who has not heard of that learned and
masterful satirist, the very incorporation of wit and
wisdom, humour and fancy, whose genius has handed
down to us one of the greatest books the world has ever
known? One can imagine the lad Rabelais playing
tricks in his father's house at Chinon ; his destination to
the priesthood and education to that end, begun with the
Benedictines and finished at Fontenoy le Comte ; then
an ordained priest, studying the " profane languages_ of
Greek and Latin ;" his wondrous bonhomie ; his drinking
in village wine-shops and supping with uproarious com
panions at midnight ; his transfer from monastery to
monastery ; his vagabondage and strange vagaries ; his
friends and enemies ; the persecution he suffered because
he would persist in studying Greek ; the story of his
friendship with the Seigneur du Bellay ; his drunken
marauding in the streets ; the public confiscation of his
cherished classics ; his desertion by comrades and pro
tection by Popes and Kings ; his employment as a sort
of domestic at the house of Geoffroi d'Estissac ; his
career as a doctor of medicine and cure in the little
village of Sonday ; his falling in with a worshipper of
learned men, Jean du Bellay, who from that time forward
became his friend and protector. Rabelais as a sort of
upper servant in a noble family — Rabelais as a mendi
cant, storming in the Du Bellay kitchen because the food
given to him was neither succulent nor rich, and seizing
the viands and wines destined for the master of the house,
who, hearing the disturbance, came in and recognized
" the most delicate wit and most erudite personage in the
republic of letters" — Rabelais renouncing the curacy of
Sonday in order to study and practise medicine, and
plunging into botany with a view to learn all about
plants and their medicinal qualities — Rabelais at Mont-
to say, none of them bear his name. The only palpable reason for this
omission would be that Byron having been Dore's first serious illustrated
work, he hesitated signing the illustrations until their success or non-
success should have been publicly assured. — Feb. 20th, 1885.

PAUL LACROIX ON RABELAIS. 147
pellier practising medicine and studying astronomy,
nominated a Doctor of the University, but leaving the
town before he had even taken up his degree — his trip
to Lyons and visit to the Eternal City, where he fell in
with the Bishop of Ceramith, who taught him Arabic —
Rabelais back again in France, and after a thousand
extraordinary adventures writing his wonderful book the
history of Gargantua and Pantagruel ; the innumerable
obstacles cast in his way ; his final triumph in achieving
the publication of his great work ; his retirement to
Meudon, where he spent his days in "peace and tran
quillity," only to run away therefrom and die in a little
old house in the Rue des Jardins in Paris, on April 9th,
1 553 ; in short, the one and only Rabelais, whose master
piece of wit and humour really records some of his chief
adventures, notably under the pseudonym of Friar John
of the Funnels. No more remarkable or exceptional
phenomenon stands revealed to us by the literary and
political history of the sixteenth century than Francois
Rabelais, who redeemed all his vices — for the most part
those of the ecclesiastics he satirized — by the prodigal
splendour of his genius and learning, and by writing the
most fantastic, grotesque, extravagant, and inimitable
work of imagination and humour of his own or any
other age.
M. Paul Lacroix thus concludes his life of Rabelais: —
" Rabelais dead, his gospel, as he called it — ' the book,'
as it was styled by Cardinal du Bellay — became the
breviary of the most serious, and at the same time most
frivolous of readers. Dr. Copus and the poet Passerat
consecrated part of their lives to commenting upon it, and
perhaps to understanding it. The romance of Gargantua
and Pantagruel was more admired and more popular than
had been the romance of ' The Rose ' two centuries
previously. In it, as in an encyclopaedia, all the moral and
physical sciences of the sixteenth century were to be
found. It was flavoured, so to speak, with the very elixir
of human reason. If Rabelais has grown old, as far as
regards his diction — he who affected a literary style
L 2

148 GUSTAVE DORE.

already antiquated in his own times — his ideas and
opinions will remain eternally young by reason of their
intrinsic truth. Rabelais, the greatest genius of his
epoch, did not only create this work of fiction, so comic,
so profound, so vast, and so sublime, which will outlive
even the French language ; he was also the intellectual
progenitor of Moliere, La Fontaine, Lesage, and Paul
Louis Courier."
The history of Gargantua and Pantagruel is well-nigh
exhaustive of human thought, and a veritable treasure-
house of wisdom and erudition. Its freedom of language
has long since been forgiven by Frenchmen, and indeed
by literati of all nations ; and it is by no means strange
that a person of Dore's extreme appreciativeness for
anything comic should have been inspired by an eager
ambition to illustrate the works of Francois Rabelais.
Dore was just twenty years of age when he began the
undertaking. That he should have succeeded in carrying
out so vast an enterprise is little short of marvellous, for
he could but have spent a very small portion of his life in
studying this stupendous " magnum opus." His com
prehension of it, therefore, can only be accounted for by
assuming that he was blessed by one of those sudden
inspirations of genius which every God-gifted artist
experiences at some moment of his lifetime, but which
few have the felicitous faculty of turning to such good
account. The fact is that Dore so perfectly comprehended
Rabelais that he knew, as it were by instinct, just what
to touch and what to let alone. He demonstrated that
he had divined the cure of Meudon's philosophical and
allegorical problems by leaving them to their own mystic
beauty, instead of even attempting to illustrate them.
Seldom does ambition know so well how to curb itself
judiciously. That he did so says as much for his
intelligence as for his draughtsmanship, and for his good
taste as for both.
Had Dore never thereafter taken pencil in hand, his
extraordinary illustrations of Rabelais would alone have
stamped him a genius.

PARIS RINGS WITH DORA'S PRAISE. 149
He has modestly said, " It was the first thing from
my pen which created a sensation and caused me to be
signalized through the daily press to the world's notice."
As a matter of fact, when it appeared, Paris rang with
his praise. From the first sketch, in which Gargantua is
shown unrolling his scroll before the pigmies, to the last,
where " Au bout estoit descript le pays d'Egypt, avecques
le Nil et ses crocodiles, cercopitheques, ibides," &c, the
book is a succession of realistic, vivid, and superb draw
ings. Perhaps the most remarkable feature of Dore's
work is the series of portraits which he made from —
imagination. Picture to yourself the surprise and delight
of the Parisians who knew Rabelais by heart, and who
were thoroughly familiar with the characters in his
marvellous book, upon suddenly coming face to face
with them — as real as any of the well-known characters
of history, and a thousand-fold funnier. Then, too, the
admirable sketches of localities, " Ce cabaret fameux ou
Ton montait de la basse ville par autant de degres qu'il
y a de jours en l'an ;" the dinner on the grass, where all
danced pesle-mesle to the sound of flageolets — Gargan
tua going to mass ; his arrival at Paris with his gigantic
stud, and the excitement he caused there, when, as
Rabelais says, —
" II fut vue de tout le monde en grande admiration, car
le peuple de Paris est tant sot, tant badault et tant
inepte de nature, qu'un basteleur, un porteur de rogatons,
un mulet avecques ses cymbales, un veilleux au milieu
d'un carrefour, assemblera plus de gens que ne feroit un
bon prescheur evangelique. Et tant molestement le
poursuivirent, qu'il fut contrainct soireposer sur les tours
de l'ecclise Notre Dame."
And again — Gargantua visiting the Chateau de Vede,
and how he demolished it ; his further adventures with his
noble companions, Tripet, Hastiveau, and Tocquedillon,
and their end ; the death of his wife and the birth of his
son Pantagruel.
One of the most vigorous drawings in the collection is
a sketch of Gargantua weeping over the death of Badebec.

ISO G USTA VE DOR A.

He is portrayed with his enormous face framed in a
square black window, his gigantic hands clinging to its
ledge, his features distorted by anguish, the tears oozing
out of his closed eyes, and dropping between his fingers
down upon the heads of the passing multitude, in the
form of great oblong pearls, whilst the bereaved monarch
sobs out his piteous lamentation : —
" Ma tant bonne femme est morte qui etait la plus
ceci, la plus cela, qui fut au monde . . . . et soudain il
pleurait corrlme une vache."
I can hardly do better than quote Paul Lacroix again
with respect to the illustrated edition of Rabelais and its
success. " I cannot describe to you the excitement it caused," he
said to me. " Wherever I went, Rabelais rang in my ears.
The names of Dore and Rabelais were the topics of the
day throughout Paris, and no one talked about anything
else but this wonderful book and its more wonderful
illustrations. People would not believe that their author
was a mere boy, and many pooh-poohed the notion even
to my very face. I assured them that it was Dore,
the fact being that it could have been no one else. Not
only were the drawings remarkable, but any one could
see at a glance that they did not show to advantage, or
even adequately display their intrinsic merits. In the
first place, many of them had been spoiled by inefficient
workmen, for a large number of engravers had been
employed upon this work ; and in the next, it was printed
on such cheap paper that many of the most delicate
effects were absolutely stultified. Gustave fairly stormed
with rage when he saw them as they turned out, and
thought of them as he had drawn them. It was not
alone the drawing which proved so successful, but the
fine conceptions, and the phenomenal imagination he
revealed in carrying those conceptions out. These
specialities testified to the wealth of his creative and
imaginative power, which was far beyond that of any
artist of his day, old or young. What mattered how
badly the work was engraved, or how coarse the paper

RABELAIS PUBLISHED IN ENGLAND. 151
upon which it was printed ? These drawbacks were
impotent to disguise the brilliancy of his genius, which
burst upon Paris like a meteor.
" He had told me that he was reading Rabelais, and
was enchanted with the works of that easy-going priest.
But I did not dream that he would so soon set to work
to illustrate my edition of them. Of course I was
delighted when we were at it together, for I believed in
him, and wanted him to have every possible chance of
distinguishing himself.
" No one's delight could have been keener than mine
when I saw in black and white all those extraordinary
personages — Gargantua, Pantagruel, Panurge, Epistemon,
Triboulet, Friar John of the Funnels, and the whole
grotesque crew that we had all pictured to ourselves so
often in imagination. Dore had lodged them in towers
and caves, and had made masterly sketches of mediaeval
palaces and mediaeval hovels ; but the principal thing
was that the people were all there in life-like array, and
when I saw them I laughed as I had never laughed
before throughout my life.
" It was so clever of him to have realized exactly what
was fit for illustration. Of course many of the philo
sophical passages he never even dreamed of touching,
or, at least, never attempted to depict them, which said
a great deal for his tact and judiciousness.
" He was very much elated by his success. He
had made Rabelais eternal ; I think it was quite
natural that he should be excited about it, and that his
head should be just a little bit turned by such a splendid
recognition of his talent. So .many editions of the book
were printed that many of the blocks were fairly worn out.
It is deeply to be regretted that little should remain of so
admirable a work but a few copies here and there, and
the memory of one of the most colossal triumphs ever
achieved by a lad of Gustave Dore's years."
Rabelais was brought out in England by Messrs.
Chatto and Windus, and achieved a grand success. It
is issued in capital form, and contains all of the large

152 G USTA VE D ORE.

cartoons, besides most of the smaller original drawings.
Those blocks which were worn out in the Bry cheap
editions were replaced by Dore for Messrs. Chatto and
Windus, and it is said that their perfection even out-
rivalled that of the first sketches. Rabelais' popularity
is still unabated in England, and the cuts we give are
-from - the originals in Messrs. Chatto and Windus's
edition of the work.

DORA SPEAKS OF RABELAIS.

lS3

CHAPTER XV.

A NEW SIGNATURE.
The title of his "Rabelais" is thus registered in Dore's
journal : " ' The Works of Francois Rabelais, containing
the Lives of Gargantua and Pantagruel, preceded by a
Historical Notice of the Life and Works of Rabelais,'
by P. Lacroix, bibliophile. Illustrations by Gustave Dore.
Paris: J. Bry, 27, Rue Guenegaut. 1854. One volume,
4to. Sixteen drawings without the text, two hundred
drawings with the text."
It will be seen that, although Dore began his Rabelais
in 1853, it was not published until the early part of 1854.
I have the book before me, and notice a peculiarity in
one of the first drawings. Instead of the usual signature,
" G. Dore." it bears that of " Dore, D.," probably meaning
Dore, dessinateur. Whether he did this purposely or not
is not known, but it is certain that he never signed his
drawings in that way on any other occasion. Who may
tell what was passing in his mind when he deliberately
indicated the one word of all others that he most hated,
the one designation which under no circumstances could
he ever endure to have bestowed upon him ? Whenever

154 GUSTAVE DORE,

he was, even inadvertently, called draughtsman, he would
fire up and hasten to explain that he was not a draughts
man, but an artist. He certainly was the latter in inspira
tion at any time, and after so great a success as followed
his Rabelais, might be forgiven were he to consider himself
anything and everything that was extraordinary and above
the average calibre of human nature.
Dore continues in his notes : —
" The success of this book induced several publishers
to make researches in the literature of the past for subjects
which would readily lend themselves to the same style of
drawing ; that is to say, to the illustration of mediaeval
buffooneries (du moyen age bouffon). It was thus that
I came to illustrate the following romances of chivalry :
' L'Histoire du Chevalier Jaufre,' ' La belle Brunissende,'
' Fier-a-bras d' Alexandre,' ' The Legend of the Wandering
Jew,' and, finally, the ' Contes Drolatiques ' of Balzac.
" Several publishers were disposed to order many other
works of the same category, but I feared that a too
copious production of that class of illustrations would
give the world the idea that I was a specialist in that
school, and that opinion was the one of all others that I
particularly wished to avoid. So I positively refused to
execute illustrations of Boccaccio, Brantome, Montaigne,
' Les cent Nouvelles,' &c.
" The war against Russia had just broken out when I
conceived the notion of founding a journal in which I
could give daily, so to speak, the bulletin of the passes
at arms of the English and French soldiers, and I called
this weekly collection ' Le Musee Anglais-Francais.'
" This double journal was printed in the two languages
— French and English, and was in the hands of every one
on both sides of the Channel who applauded our glorious
alliance. Of all my works this was the one by exception,
the first number of which made the greatest sensation!
This collection of sketches naturally came to an end with
the Crimean war."
I must interrupt the notes here in order to speak of
the book called " La Sainte Russie," thus mentioned in

LA SAINTE RUSSIE.

155

Dore's catalogue : " Histoire Dramatique Pittoresque et
Caricaturale de la Sainte Russie, d'apres les Chroniqueurs

WHY IT WAS CALLED PANTAGRUELION, AND THE VIRTUES THEREOF.
(Rabelais, G. Dore. Original Sketch. By permission of Chatto and Windus.)
et I'Historiens, Nestor, Nikam, et Kharamsin. Paris
J. Bry. 1854. 207 pages, 500 dessins."

156 GUSTAVE D OR A.

One may judge somewhat of theamount of Dore's labours
on reading the last words of the above note, " five
hundred drawings." To say that it was colossal barely
describes it. Imagine the brain-work, not to speak of
the physical toil performed by his fingers, which wielded
the pencil so rapidly and indefatigably.
A contemporary observed that " to watch him designing
hs sketches was enough to make one dizzy ; his fingers
absolutely flew over the surface of the block, and every
time he took up a fresh one it seemed to be finished
before one had time to realize what he had been about.
This extraordinary quickness of execution was out
stripped by that of his imagination, always miles ahead
of any possible mechanical work. It seems all but
incredible that any artist should have been able to
accomplish so much in so short a space of time. A
convincing proof of his extraordinary duplex faculty of
lightning-like conception and scarcely less rapid execu
tion was that he never in those days made a sketch
twice over. Some he rarely glanced at, but threw the
blocks aside as soon as they were finished, sure that his
faithful pencil had exactly reproduced his fancies and
conceptions. To describe the success achieved by "La Sainte
Russie " would be but to go over the old ground of his
Rabelais triumphs. Certain it is, that had anything been
wanting to add to his fame, that something would have
been supplied by this last feat, which so rapidly succeeded
the most brilliant series of imaginative sketches the
nineteenth century had ever seen. As they appeared
upon the very heels of Rabelais, public amazement almost
rose to incredulity. Yet there could be no doubt that
he, and he alone, had drawn every one of the sketches,
for, as M. Lacroix had said, " There was no other artist
in Paris who could in any way approach him in imagina
tion, whilst his style was so distinctly original and yet
so versatile, that it was impossible to imitate it. No one
could ever be prepared for what he was going to do, as
one thing after another was showered upon the public

MADAME DOR A ON GUSTAVE'S ILLUSIONS.

J57

with such prodigality of thought and freshness of design
that one-half the world was dumb-founded and the other
well-nigh petrified with astonishment."
Dore's partisans became as numerous as the sands
on the sea-shore. His name was on the lips of every
Parisian, and the daily press began to speak of him as
the genius of the Academy, a second Raphael of design.
This year he took his usual summer vacation, and went
again to Switzerland. While sojourning among the Alps,
Madame Dore wrote the following letter to M. Lacroix : —

" HE DID SWIM IN DEEP WATERS."
(Rabelais. By kind permission of Chatto and Windus.)
" Gustave is mad with joy and confidence in the future.
He regards disappointments with scorn. He absolutely
refuses to return home through Alsatia, and heartily de
spises those compatriots of his who did not receive him
any too well last time. I take supreme pleasure in
contemplating his dreams of the future."
We are to suppose that he successfully continued his
excursions, as, after speaking of indifferent things she
adds :—
" The guides have conceived an absolute affection for
him."

1 5 8 GUSTAVE D ORE.
Further on, speaking of the good advice he had
received, she writes : — -
" He is immensly proud of the interest you take in him,
and that will doubtless direct him in the right way with
out his even suspecting it."
It will be seen by this that it was by no means an easy
task to proffer advice to Gustave Dore, or to " direct "
him. He was not spoiled by prosperity, but he could
not help feeling what all the world saw, namely, that he was
exceptionally gifted, and that the future belonged to him.
He had but to command it. One must make allowances
for his youth and impressionable nature. Wherever he
went he was received with acclamations and open arms.
Everybody had heard of the young genius Dore ; every
body wanted to see him ; in a word, he became the rage.
Women spoiled him and men envied him ; people wanted
to know how he looked, how he behaved, and how he
spoke, even what he ate and drank. It was like the
excitement that follows in the wake of a high C tenor or
a fashionable prima donna. Dore had made one bound
into popularity, not through any trick or caprice of the
public, but by the rare and legitimate means of super
human effort, added to super-splendid natural talent. He
had fairly earned his laurels, and must not be blamed if
he conspicuously wore them, albeit less with the dignity
of a man than with the delight of a spoiled child. There
is always a charm in novelty, and such an one as this
could not but have been particularly delightful to him.
His gaiety must have been contagious, for in none of
Madame Dore's letters dated at that time does she speak
of any ill-humour in the party, which, be it understood, was
composed of herself and three sons, with an occasional
friend. There was something very sweet in the affection pre
vailing in this family, and in the filial devotion of the
sons' general attitude towards their mother. She was
never in the way ; on the contrary, no excursion was
complete without her. It was " mother " here and
" mother " there. The three boys seemed to vie with

A HAPPY FAMILY. ,59

each other as to which could pay her the most attention
or render her the happiest. Gustave was her pet, and
she could not disguise the fact. Although Ernest was
the eldest, Gustave seemed to be the head of the family ;
and he certainly acted as cicerone when travelling, and
laid down the law for all of them. There was no jealousy
between them, for his brothers were only too happy to
yield him the place of honour, and only too proud of
his fame and talent. They gloried in the fact that he
was their very own brother.
They must have been good-hearted lads with it all, for
examples of brotherly affection are not so numerous now
adays but that we are sometimes tempted to believe that
Cain has never quitted this terrestrial sphere, and that
luckless Abel has but little better chance of holding his
own than he had six thousand years ago.
Madame Dore wrote from Belgarde on the 7th of
August, " During the bad weather Gustave plays for me "
(me fait de la musique) ; so we may be sure that he
had his faithful violin with him. She does not speak of
his brothers ; but presumably they were not far away.
We may infer the harmony existing between them from the
way in which they passed their time when out-door
excursions were impossible even in Switzerland. Madame
was reminded of home and the Rue St. Dominique, where
Gustave used to play his violin during a whole evening
at a stretch, accompanied by his brothers Ernest and
Emile, both accomplished musicians.
That they went from place to place, sight-seeing in
regular tourist fashion, is evident from the following
extract, also dated from Belgarde, as well as that Gustave
did not hesitate to order the party to " fold up their tents
like the Arabs, and silently steal away." Madame Dore
writes : —
" My ferocious Gustave has again made me change my
itinerary. He conducts me once more to Chamounix,
which place I specially wished to avoid. A friend from
Bourg has told him that Interlaken is like an English
garden."

GUSTAVE DORA.

In another letter she says : —
" In Cologne " (after having passed through Brussels)
" Gustave works both with his fingers and his imagina
tion. His album is full of sketches. We have seen
everything ; the churches of Cologne, Byzantine, Gothic,
and so on."
There are three things to take note of in these few
lines from his mother. First, that although he entertained
the same affection for her as ever, he lacked his usual
deference, subordinating her wishes to his own. Secondly,
that however strongly he had taken a dislike to Alsatia,
he still liked all his individual friends well enough to value
their company and opinions. Thirdly, that his album was
full of sketches. This is the very first time we have
heard of his not yielding to his mother in all respects,
and that she had made any mention of his taking
sketches of any sort by the way. It must have been a
new thing for him, or she would scarcely have thought it
worth speaking about ; and as she wrote it to M. Lacroix,
it may be supposed that it not only created interest, but
caused general astonishment amongst the members of the
Dore family. In fact, it was so far from his usual habit
that she might well have been surprised. The same
year M. Daubree joined them on their travels, not far from
Chamounix, to judge by what he says : —
" We spent several days together, and I cannot tell
you how Gustave seemed to enjoy it. The weather was
fine, and we were out of doors all the time. He would
sit for hours gazing at the scenes before him, drinking in
their beauty with a certain sort of intoxication. He was
so quiet that he seemed almost stupefied. To my amaze
ment he never made so much as a single sketch, and I
don't remember ever having seen him take a note-book
from his pocket. I once asked him laughingly if he
did not think enough of those scenes to try and re
produce them, and if he did, why he never made any
sketches ? He looked at me with an expression I shall
never forget, and his response impressed me in spite of
myself, — ¦

A MORNING'S WORK. 161
" ' Think enough of them, my friend ? Wait, and you
shall see ! '
" Of course, after that I never hinted any more at the
idea of his making sketches ; yet I secretly thought, and
said again and again to myself, ' What a pity,' for we
passed through country which was lovely beyond words,
and I felt that he who had always done justice to
mountain scenery might have had here a rare chance to
study nature quietly and calmly. On the fourth day we
went on to some neighbouring village, and were cooped
in the house by inclement weather. Gustave did not
show up during the whole day, and as I dined with some
other friends I did not see him in the evening. The
next morning, before the twelve o'clock breakfast, he
invited me into his room with great gusto. You may
imagine my surprise — I, who knew every inch of that
country by "heart, to see scattered about the room no less
than twenty completed sketches, some in oil and some in
water-colour, absolute faithful reproductions of the
country we had been travelling through during the past
few days. I know that he had not missed any well-
known object, and I noticed that many little places which
had been usually deemed unworthy of the artist's brush
he had brought forth into prominence with incredible
freshness and charm.
"We expressed our amazement, all of us, and I con
gratulated him heartily on his work. I cannot tell you
how beautiful those hasty sketches seemed to me ; and
being in the country at the time I could the better appre
ciate their freshness and fidelity to nature. I do not
exaggerate when I speak of their beauty, for they were
life itself. He had painted them all from memory in a
little room, shut up by himself, and working straight
away throughout more than twenty-four hours. I do
not believe that he had slept at all, and if he ate any
thing, it was a hurried mouthful snatched between whiles
of working. His way of getting hold of an idea, sitting
down to delineate it, and never stopping until his task
was accomplished, was the most extraordinary thing in
M

1 62 G USTA VE DORE.

the world. The way he had worked was quite insensate,
and we scolded him heartily for it.
" He was so delighted to witness our surprise that I
am sure he did not even feel tired. At any rate he
evinced no sense of fatigue, and immediately proposed
some long, tiresome excursion, which I remember we made
directly after breakfast.
I again and again referred to what seemed to me
a marvellous feat of memory and talent. He only
repeated, —
" ' Oh, that is nothing. I don't believe that you
realized half I was able to do, M. Daubree ; but,
happily, I know myself, and find nothing out of the
common in remembering all those scenes. In fact, I
should have been surprised had I forgotten them, which,
as you see, was very unlikely."
"I still say," continued M. Daubree, "that no one
ever painted the Vosges as well as he, because he knew
them up and down, and no one to my mind ever pro
duced Swiss scenery in a manner at all comparable to
his." A characteristic incident marks the trip to the Nether
lands. At one of the frontiers, near midnight, Dore
could not find his passport. In vain he gave his name,
Dore, to the stiff officer, but he would not let him pass.
At last an isolated gleam of intelligence penetrated his
dutiful and official obtuseness. At the full name, Gustave
Dore, he smiled triumphantly, as much as to say, " I
have you now." His real words were : —
" If you are Gustave Dore, it will be easy enough to
prove it. Make me a sketch of — of anything you see at
hand." Continental travellers who grumble at having even to
show their keys, will be lost in sympathy for the poor
artist, obliged at such an unhallowed moment to evoke
the muse ; but he did it. Drawing a note-book from his
pocket, he did not sketch the people about him, but, going
to a window, looked out upon the street; and some
persons standing at that moment in conversation uncon-

A WISE REVENUE OFFICER. 163

sciously served for models. In a few seconds he handed
a perfect sketch of them to the officer, whose hat was
in his hand whilst he allowed the artist and his party to
proceed. A proper passport was made out for the Dore
family, but the official kept the little sketch as a personal
recollection of the famous artist. I take pleasure in re
peating this incident as it is probably the only authentic
case on record of the intelligence of a continental douanier.
History will henceforth divide Solomon's laurels as that
wise man would have divided the subject of one rare
judgment.

M 2

164

GUSTAVE DORE.

CHAPTER XVI.

DORES RETURN TO PARIS.
I HAVE, perhaps, led rather too abruptly up to Gus
tave's experiments in painting, but I had no alternative,
as it was necessary to speak of his various trips to
Switzerland, and to exemplify the fact that he rarely
made sketches. I confess that M. Daubree's incident
seems to smack of the impossible ; but, bearing in mind
Dore's phenomenal memory and headstrong way of never
leaving any piece of work until he had finished it, one
is compelled to admit that he might, by exercising a
strain upon his powers, have executed the series of
sketches in question within so marvellously brief a space
of time. There can be no doubt that slowness of execu
tion nips many fine ideas in the bud, and explains why
so often a coup de tete results in a brilliant success.
Talent is one thing, and industry another. Gustave
Dore was an indefatigable worker ; and by never allowing
his ideas to cool he was able to present them to the
public with that spontaneity of effect which was one of
his undeniable charms. So he really owed a great deal
to his own laborious efforts and extraordinary power of
concentration. The last is, as we all know, an acquired
faculty, and there is no royal road to it, only the
harassing and troublesome one of constant practice and
incessant drudgery.

DORA'S APPEARANCE AT ONE AND- TWENTY. 165

On his return to Paris Gustave resumed his illustrating
work ; but I think it must have been during the previous
year that he began to paint. M. Lacroix told me of a
series of pictures which were painted by Gustave "when
he was still a child ; " but I shall not attempt to deal
with these in this place. It is possible, but not likely,
that after the Dieppe experiment he began in secret
to paint. The circumstance that M. Lacroix spoke
of him as " a mere child," it must be always borne in
mind, was due to his personal appearance, which was very
boyish. I have seen a capital photograph taken of him in 1853,
and no one could have then judged him to be over sixteen
or seventeen. He is represented sitting, leaning slightly
forward, one hand leaning on the arm of his chair and
the other slightly raised, holding a half-smoked cigar
between his fingers. The face is very striking. His
forehead was so high that, from actual measurement,
the length was considerably greater from the tip of his
nose to the upper part of his brow than from his nose
downwards to the point of his chin. This struck me as an
extraordinary peculiarity. His hair was long, brushed
back from the temples, but grew with astonishing thick
ness. His eyes were deep, with hollows underneath
them. There was an expression of dogged determination
in them which told tales of his dominating character
istics, ambition and self-will. The cheeks were slightly
drawn in, and the lips closed with a faint expression of
assumption, which revealed much more experience of life
than one should have imagined him to possess, judging
by his other features. It said plainly enough, " I know
myself." The face wore a look of proud self-reliance
and independence of character. His body was very thin,
and his garments hung loosely about his person. You
may wonder that I have spoken so much in detail of an
old daguerreotype, but the reason may be given in good
Francoise's forcible if not elegant French. I was con
templating the portrait one day when she came up to me
and laid her finger significantly on the glass. " Vous

1 66 GUSTAVE DOR A.

regardez ? n'est-ce pas ? " she said, " je crois bien. C'est
que c'est une bonne. A cet age-la, c'est lui — lui-meme
crache", il n'y a pas a dire."
About this time Gustave made the acquaintance of
Theophile Gautier, one of the most renowned writers
France has ever produced. I shall speak particularly of
him later on for the same reason that I have spoken in
detail of Messrs. Paul Lacroix, Edmond About, and
Hyppolite Taine, as having been Dore's intimate friends,
because of the influence which daily contact with such
men might have possibly exercised upon the develop
ment of Gustave's natural character.
I must now return to M. Paul Lacroix and his account
of Gustave Dore's " initiative in painting." He had
evidently decided upon adopting oil-painting as a career,
and since " The Grey Fisherman of Dieppe" had care
fully fostered his ideas, and tested them by experiments
in secret. M. Lacroix shall speak for himself : —
" Do not ask me anything about his beginning to
paint. Mon Dieu ! The more he did, the more he
wanted to do, and this novel freak proved an astounding
departure. I noticed when he returned from his last
summer vacation " (1854), "that he had something new
in his head, for he was very sprightly and quite on the
qui-vive of excitement. He also began at that time to
develop a characteristic which I regretted to observe in
one so young, especially in a lad of his remarkable
natural gifts. He conceived an early dislike for all artists,
sculptors, draughtsmen, and people of that class. As to
painters, Meissonier and Gerome positively stuck in his
throat. When he heard of the fabulous prices paid to those
artists he wanted to tear his hair with rage. He never
seemed to realize the fact that age and experience could
make any difference to the achievements of great suc
cesses, and measured public appreciation by what he felt
he had within him, never missing an opportunity to say that
he alone was unappreciated. He nearly had a convulsion
one day on hearing that Meissonier had received two
hundred thousand francs for a single picture.

DORA IS fEALOUS OF OTHER PAINTERS. 167
" ' What ! ' he exclaimed, — ' a thing like that ! Now
look at me. I can paint ; I know I could paint better
than Meissonier, at any rate. Have I ever been paid two
hundred thousand francs for anything ? No, and I never
shall be. The fact is, that no one understands me.
I shall live and die misunderstood, or never comprehended
at all, which is worse.'
" I cannot tell you how it vexed me to hear him go on
in this way. When he had one of these fits, it was useless
to try to argue with or console him, and I used to say to
myself, ' Why can't he be content ? Why will he fill his
head with ideas about painters which can only render him
unhappy ? ' But he would persist in tormenting himself,
and I trembled when I reflected what must be in store for
him should he encourage this chronic discontent in preying
upon him.
" I could not but marvel at the change that had taken
place in him. His real nature was gay, sunshiny, and
tender. He entertained sympathy for every one outside
of his own profession, but never heard of any other artist's
success without brooding over it jealously and unhappily.
In those days his mother had a hard time with him, and I
think only the profound love they bore each other filled
up every other void in their lives. No matter how abrupt
Gustave might be with others, his adoration for her had
reached a point which made him indifferent to everything
and everybody else. She thought with and for him, and
he took her counsel anent all that concerned him. It
was the most extraordinary reciprocity of affection that I
have ever known. Determined as he was in his relations
with others, he yielded in all respects towards her. I
hoped and imagined that he would get over his unplea
sant tendency to rail at artists and painters in general ;
but the next time I saw him after the hue and cry over
the two hundred thousand francs paid to Meissonier, he
began again at once to abuse that artist. Not only had
he not forgotten the incident above alluded to, but I
speedily realized that he had been brooding ever since
over Meissonier's success ; and I was prepared to tell

1 68 GUSTAVE DOR A.

him plainly that I felt ashamed to see a lad of his talent
developing such a disposition, and hoped he would try
and overcome it. Do you think he came to me to com
plain ? Not a bit of it.
" He calmly informed me that he was now about to
paralyze the world.
" ' I am going to paint a series of pictures,' he said,
"representing the abominations of Paris, you know, with
all the old streets, all the wretches and outcasts, and
many other realistic things that I have been meditating
upon for some days past. I don't care a fig for other
artists, nor for what they do. You think I am jealous of
Meissonier and others ? You are mistaken ; I am as far
above such petty sentiments as I am above such petty
people. You shall now see what I can do. Good-bye ;
for the present I am off to work.'
" I thought to myself, ' What on earth has he on hand
now ? ' but before I couid say a word he was really gone ;
and being myself very busy that day I had not time to
reflect upon what he had told me, so I suppose it escaped
.my memory, as did many things which he had threatened
to do. At any rate, I never thought any more about it,
except to remember with pleasure the fact that his
jealousy and discouragement had had the contrary effect
upon him to that which it would have had on most
people. It nerved him to new effort, and his pride came
timely to his aid. You see what a strangely contradictory
nature his was, and how he always managed to turn even
his little unhappinesses to account.
" A short time afterwards I was invited to dine at his
house, and he announced that I was to see his new work,
' Paris as it is.' As usual after dinner we went to the
studio, and I have only to record here my amazement,
which was just as great as it had been on every previous
occasion when he had prepared a surprise for me. There
was always a theatrical effect about everything he did,
and he seemed in his element when he could stupefy
his friends by some unexpected tour de force or super
human effort and its visible result.

SOME REALISTIC PICTURES. 169
" On looking at the new work, ' Paris as it is,' I grew
more and more astounded, for there were twelve colossal
canvases, some of them more than half the height of the
room. They were extraordinarily well executed, and
as before, he had painted them in less time than it
takes most artists to prepare their brushes and canvas.
Here his effects were not derived from colour, but
from the grouping of the personages and the draw
ings, which were beyond all praise. Of the twelve
pictures each one was more horrible than the other
— all were positively sickening in their realism. I could
not bring myself to believe that he had imagined and
painted such vivid scenes in so short a space of time.
I paid him so many sincere compliments that he said
laughingly, —
" 'What do you think of Meissonier now?'
" It was not the same thing ; but I had not the
courage to say that there was still a difference between
them. " That same evening Theophile Gautier came to see
the pictures, and pronounced them masterpieces.
" ' But what shall we do with them,' he cried. ' Where
on earth, in what hall, in what gallery could one place
such loathsome productions ? They are too indecent to
be exhibited, but too real, too great to be left in oblivion.
What is to be done with them ? They reek with the filth
of all that is lowest and vilest in the most abject slums
of Paris. What can he do with them ? '
" You see Gustave was still a boy, and besides what
he had really seen, he had given full rein to his inspira
tion. These works, like everything he did, were efforts
of memory and imagination. Theophile Gautier felt
this as much as I, and we talked a long time about the
probable destination of such a set of horrors. Gustave
next day spoke of them to me thus ¦. —
"'You need not fret,' he said, 'as to what to
do with them. I know two Americans who will buy
them to exhibit in America. I have already shown them
to my Transatlantic buyers, and they will take them

i7o GUSTAVE DORE.

at once at the price of one hundred and ten thousand
francs.' " I was delighted to hear this, and urged him to accept
their offer forthwith. ' Gustave, my boy, you are in luck,'
I said. ' Let me congratulate you ; but lose no time
Tell these men at once that the pictures are theirs.' He
agreed to do so. Then we went and consulted his
mother. Imagine what her answer was !
" Having told you something about Madame Dore's
character, and the influence she exercised upon Gustave,
you may judge of both by the following. He told her,
as he had me, all about the pictures, and about the men
who wished to buy them. She said at once : ' They
have offered you a hundred and ten thousand francs ?
Then you should not accept the offer, for it means that
they will pay more. Ask them a hundred and forty
thousand. It is quite clear that people who can pay a
hundred and ten thousand francs can always pay a
hundred and forty thousand.'
"'But, dear madame,' I protested, "it is not at all
clear, nor does it at all follow. I myself, or you either,
might be able to pay the former sum and not the latter.
These men seem honest enough, and they say positively
that they cannot give more. It is not a bad price. Let
them have the pictures for what they offer. (You see I
wanted to get those paintings out of the country at any
price.) Pray don't think it over, but decide upon selling
them for that sum, and let me hear you say now that you
agree to the bargain.
" ' My friend,' she answered with curious ingenuousness,
' I have given you my opinion. Gustave is always being
done by everybody he has to do with ; only his mother
appreciates him at his great value. He is easy-going,
and would, like a fool, accept the first offer these men
make to him. And you — you counsel him to prove that
he thinks nothing of his own work by selling it to the first
bidder, and at the price the latter proposes to give ! It
is simply ridiculous, and I will not hear of such a thing.
Besides, as I said before, people who can pay a hundred

DOR AS TRANSATLANTIC FAME. 17 1
and ten thousand francs can just as well pay a hundred
and forty thousand. If they refuse to give more they
are only trying to get the better of Gustave. I have
spoken, and that settles it — one hundred and forty thou
sand francs or nothing.'
" I cannot recall all she said, nor all the reasons,
precedents and arguments she put forward ; but she
never yielded an inch, and was as obdurate as one can
possibly imagine any woman to be ; and that is saying a
good deal. She went so far as to almost convince me
that the offer of one hundred and ten thousand francs
was an insult to her son. At last I took my leave, not
at all easy in my mind, however, for something in the
attitude and language of the would-be purchasers con
vinced me that they had spoken the truth. The next
day Gustave saw them again, and demanded the sum his
mother had instructed him to ask. They absolutely
refused to give it, explaining the expenses of packing
and shipping the pictures, besides the duty which would
have to be paid on their arrival in New York, and the
hundred little extras incident to the manipulation of such
enormous canvases. In short, they professed to be ex
tremely sorry, but could not give a farthing more than the
amount of their first offer.
" You see, these pictures were destined for a travelling
panorama or show of some sort ; perhaps to be utilized
in a circus, and announced by ringing of bells and beating
of drums. But the principal thing about the transaction
which charmed Gustave was the idea of the advertisement
they would afford to his name, for he fancied that all
America would rush to see this new work, of which he
had already made an idol, and set up- on an altar of
his own imagining. He had seen himself made famous
in a day ; not as a draughtsman, but as a painter ; and
the height of his ambition seemed to have been reached.
He spoke of how he was going to put to rout the whole
world ; and, as far as he himself was concerned, I know
the idea of money never entered his head. Bear in mind
that he was still only a boy, and remember that when he

172 G USTA VE DORE.

raged about other artists receiving such large sums for
their work, it was never the remuneration he cared about,
but the grievance that he was not properly appreciated ;
a grievance which perpetually haunted his waking, and
sleeping thoughts.
" He listened, however, to every argument these men
could advance, and then calmly refused to accept their
first offer. His mother's words were ringing in his ears,
and he deliberately sent the purchasers away. You see
how much stronger his love for her was than even his
own self-gratification or interest. He listened to her
advice alone, and, as you see, stood in his own light by
so doing.
" He told her naturally of their refusal. She was
delighted to hear of it, and immediately consoled him by
saying,— "' They will come back. They were only trying on
the old game. My poor Gustave, how little you really
know the world ! It was only a trick. I tell you they
will come back ; for I well know any one who can pay
a hundred and ten thousand francs for pictures can
always pay a hundred and forty thousand. They will
come back.'
" But they never did. Gustave waited and waited, but
in vain. There was no sign of the Americans who were
to make him famous in the United States. This was
another disappointment to him which he long brooded over,
but in secret, for he never referred to it afterwards in any
way. Madame Alexandrine felt a little sore about it at first,
but did not hesitate afterwards to lavishly bestow upon
the American dealers the epithets of canailles, wretches,
miscreants, and so on. What became of those pictures no
one ever knew. I think that Gustave, in his disappoint
ment, destroyed them then and there. Theophile Gautier
spoke to me about them later on, and I told him the
whole story. Of course we marvelled much over their
disappearance, and knowing positively that they had not
been sold, there was only one of two conclusions to come
to, viz. that he had made away with them himself, or

DOR AS DISAPPOINTMENT. i73
that the earth had swallowed them up. You will
agree with me that the former was the most likely
event of the two. But they were marvellous studies all
the same, and to my mind he has never since done any
thing in the realistic style which can in any way compare
with them."

174

GUSTAVE DORE.

CHAPTER XVII.
dore's first public appearance as a painter.
In the summer of 1854, some have said 1853, but that
date is too doubtful, Dore made a public appearance as
a painter, and exhibited two pictures in the Salon, called
" L'Enfant Rose et l'Enfant Chetif," and " La Famille
de Saltimbanques." Both works were marked by originality
of invention, and proved that Dore was a profound
observer of human nature in two widely different forms.
The former picture represents two mothers with their
children, the one rich in health and prosperity, the other
poor in everything, and of so miserable an aspect as to
excite pity in the spectator. The glance she casts at
the prosperous mother explains the picture.
The second canvas, " La Famille de Saltimbancfues,"
depicts a family of poor itinerants, stranded, as it were,
by the wayside, in a wretched state of penury. There
are the blear-eyed father in bespangled tights, the
attenuated mother in tarnished tinsel and tawdry finery,
the hungry children wearing the hard, eager look imparted
to childish faces by that heart-rending precocity which
results from poverty, want, and the degrading influence
of chronic vagabondage. And yet nature smiles sweetly
from behind this mask of misfortune ; for a babe reposes
on its mother's breast in that calm and happy slumber
which is infancy's inestimable prerogative. There is a
pitiful lassitude in the child's pose ; his limbs hang
wearily, the little satin trunks are profusely wrinkled ; the

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LA FAMILLE DE SALTIMBANQUES. 175
soiled tights and dirty bespangled shoes show but too
plainly that he has done his share of the daily bread-
earning ; an owl chained to a table looks dismally but
astutely on, the subtle expression of his great eyes seem
ing to protest against the awful life he is made to lead ;
whilst a poor dog, arrayed for the dance in a lace frilled
garment, his curly tail anxiously peeping from beneath
his shirt, has assumed an attitude of entreaty, his front
paws scratching at his mistress's gown, with the head
imploringly bent, as though he would say, — -
" I have done my star tricks faithfully and well ; pray,
mistress, dear, take me up and pet me too ! "
A handful of playing-cards, their face upwards, on the
ground, show that the gipsy-woman has been interrupted
in the midst of her fortune-telling in order to respond to
a more natural demand, that of her tired child begging to
be allowed to rest on its mother's breast.
This picture is indescribably pathetic and masterly in
execution ; yet it brought no recompense to Gustave
Dore, nor was any notice taken of its author by the press.
Paris did not seem to realize that Dore the illustrator
was in earnest in appearing before the world in another
character, especially as at that time the city was flooded
with Bry's journals, which only cost two sous apiece,
delivered at subscribers' houses, and of which Gautier
sarcastically wrote : —
" How is it possible to believe in the merit of these
multiplied works which reach you so regularly in your
own house every morning in the form of a journal or
pamphlet, especially when they are lively, witty, graphic
embodiments of our customs and eccentricities, full of
fire, force, and dash, ; original alike in thought and
execution, owing nothing to the antique ; expressing our
loves, tastes, caprices, and fads ; the garments we wear,
the types of grace and coquetry which please and flatter
us, the circles wherein we pass our lives ? How can we
believe in their merit ? "
It will be seen that Dore the painter had but little
chance against Dore the illustrator. And yet he never

176 G USTA VE DORE.

seriously thought of abandoning the one for the other.
Painting was his dream, his idol, his hope for the future ;
whilst illustrating meant immediate fame and ready
money. At this time it will be remembered Madame Dore
depended to a great extent upon Gustave. The house in
the Rue St. Dominique was an expensive establishment,
costing four hundred a year for rent alone. The only
member of the family who earned much of anything was
Gustave, and his mother's income was a slender one,
even less in amount at that time than it had been imme
diately after M. Dore's death, for she had embarked in
some unfortunate speculations which had straitened the
family exchequer very considerably. Gustave earned a
great deal, and spent his money lavishly. What he had
belonged to his family, and his generosity stood the most
trying of tests. He fretted somewhat at the irksomeness
of his life, being thus obliged to devote himself to one
speciality, when his talent and his inclination alike so
strongly urged him on to realize a loftier ambition.
At this time he showed a great deal of self-denial, for
he worked uncomplainingly at his blocks, and the only
time he ever devoted to painting was stolen from sleep
or the amusements which he permitted himself to indulge
in now and then, not so much for diversion as to obtain
some relaxation from his work, which his mother feared
might impair his health. As for him, he scoffed at the
idea of ever doing too much, and vaunted his constitution
as something infallible. But good Madame Dore knew
better, and a mother's watchful eye is not apt to be
deceived. She divined his every thought, and made
every circumstance of his daily life her exclusive study.
He, for his part, would have been unhappy to think that
his mother lacked any one of the little comforts she had
been accustomed to during his father's lifetime ; so he
only toiled the more, in order that the household should
be amply provided, and in the hope that she would
mechanically get into the habit of not denying herself any
thing. However, there was little danger of extravagance

THE HOUSE IN THE RUE ST. DOMINIQUE. 177
on her part, for she was a thrifty housewife, only lavish in
her idolatry of her son Gustave.
It seems that she and old Francoise were both animated
by intense jealousy as to who should excel the other in
doing the most for him.
" Madame Dore sat up for him of nights," said the old
nurse to me, "and went to his bedside the moment he
awakened in the morning. She would scarcely allow me
to do anything for him. But was he not my child as well
as hers ? She brought him into the world, but I brought
him up in it ; and yet only now and then was I able to
do all that I wanted to do for him. Madame insisted on
inspecting and repairing all his clothes, but / insisted on
darning all his stockings ; and even that pleasure she
sometimes wished to deprive me of."
On the other hand M. Daubree says of Madame
Dore : —
" She was always scolding Francoise for working too
hard. The old woman would do too much, and was on
her feet from morning till night. She was always busy
at something or other, and the only things belonging to
Gustave that she did not dare to touch were his multi
tudinous blocks, which were sacred objects, and never felt
the contact of either duster or feather-brush. ' Francoise,'
Madame would say, ' rest yourself ; you are getting old,
and I can do all that is necessary in looking after this
house. You seem to think it will not be properly kept in
order for Gustave ; as though his own mother were not
competent to see to everything. The idea is monstrous.' '
Francoise smiled triumphantly as M. Daubree told me
this, .and exclaimed, —
" Oh, yes ; Madame thought she could do everything,
and she meant well enough towards me ; but I knew how
Master Gustave liked things to be, and he always found
that everything I did was quite right and necessary,
naturally, even had I not attended to and cared for him
all his life long ; besides, Madame was the mistress of the
house, and it was my place to look after everything. I
only did my duty." N

178 GUSTAVE DORE.

It will be seen that between the two loving women
Gustave had every chance of being spoiled.
I must now return to the two pictures Dore exhibite d
in the Salon with so much pride and hopefulness.
There is no notice of them extant in the possession
of his family or friends. He was bitterly disappointed
at their failure to create a sensation, or at least
to elicit some notice from the press. He seems,
however, to have buried his chagrin in his heart, and to
have gone on steadily with his illustrating. This is one
of the few instances on record of his having displayed
patience and self-denial, for his was an impulsive nature,
and if everything did not turn out exactly as he had
anticipated, he complained to those around him of the
wilful miscomprehension of his compatriots.
The fate of " L'Enfant Rose et l'Enfant Chetif " is not
definitely known, nor is that of " La Famille des Saltim-
banques." Goupil has a replica of the latter, but not
the original painting. When M. Paul Lacroix saw the
" Saltim banques" he exclaimed, —
" That is one of his realistic set of pictures, ' Les
Vilenies de Paris.' I thought I recognized that family
of street performers. He has improved on the execution
of the original, but never could have bettered its design.
He certainly studied those poor creatures from nature.
What misery ! yet what art 1 " *
1 Dord must have reproduced " La Famille de Saltimbanques " very
often.

LA CHASSE AU LION.

179

CHAPTER XVIII.

DORE DEPICTS WOODLAND SCENES.
During the autumn and winter of 1854 Dore was doubly
occupied with painting and with illustrating books,
magazines, journals, and the like. He gave himself no
rest, and had as many as three different important works
on hand at one and the same time, the principal one
being Jules Gerard's " La Chasse au Lion." This was
published in one volume, i2mo, with numerous drawings
and a portrait of Gerard, the author, early in 1855, at the
Librairie Nouvelle, and caused no less sensation than
Dore's previous works. The sketches were executed in
a different style to that associated theretofore with his
name, and served admirably to display his versatility to
the public. The animals and woodland scenes were
absolutely glowing with life and beauty ; in fact the book
was a delight from beginning to end, and people began to
perceive that Dore had in reality but one speciality —
that of doing everything well. He found himself on
the high tide of success, and everything he touched
turned Aladdin-like in his hands to just what he wished
it to be.
It may be interesting to know how he worked, and
N 2

1 80 G USTA VE DORE.

especially how he dealt with his blocks. He never made
a preliminary sketch on paper, but executed his drawings
straight off upon the wood. He was very hard to please
in the matter of blocks, and could never work upon
inferior material. His wood had to be of the finest and
whitest kind of box, and cost him a vast amount of
money. The price of each medium-size block was
eighty francs, and the price of the larger ones may be
appraised by that ratio. He had great difficulty in
always finding just what he wanted, and the enormous
quantity of wood he used represented a small fortune in
itself. He was well paid for his work, but the idea of
economizing by using cheaper material never once entered
his head. On the contrary, there was a sort of rough,
dogged honesty about Gustave Dore which prompted
him, no matter how unimportant in his eyes might be the
job he had in hand, to execute it with the same care and
perfection of design and material that he would have
bestowed on a far more elaborate and remunerative piece
of work. He invariably refused to scamp his drawings in
any way, and if there was loss, it came out of his own
pocket. " He ardently wished," as M. Lacroix has said,
"to elevate the standard of wood-engraving to its highest
attainable point," and in order to do so, he sternly resolved
to impose his ideas, which had become convictions, upon
the world. One of them was that nothing but the best
could command the best ; and in proof of this axiom he
spared himself in no way, not only often losing money by
his commissions, but giving himself up body and soul to
the delectation of the public, and thus enforcing his opinion
with undeniable generosity. He wished the world to see
all that could be achieved in the draughtsman's art, and
to this end he spared no pains, moral, physical, or
financial. His actions conspicuously exemplified the
sincerity of his convictions. He was obstinate, opinion
ated, determined, and indefatigable. Happily for him,
about this time everything seemed to tend towards
vindicating the correctness of his views. Wood-
engraving began to acquire a popularity which finished

THE WAY DORE WORKED.

in a mania. Every author who wrote a book wanted
Dore to illustrate it ; every litterateur who had ever read
a book wanted Dore to revivify it ; every publisher who
had ever published a book wanted to reproduce it with
Dore's collaboration. The young artist hesitated at
nothing, and was himself carried away by this mighty
wave of success, which meant to him, besides fame and
money, sleepless nights, restless days ; in short, such
a continuity of labour that the galley-slave, compared to
Gustave Dore, might be said to live the life of a gentle
man of leisure. One of his family said to me, a propos
of his assiduity during the period in question, —
" I do not think that during a whole year Gustave
slept on an average more than three hours of the twenty-
four. The wonder is that he did not go mad, for really
he went through enough to turn any one's brain. His
life was one continual come and go of publishers, authors,
journalists, and the like, and of excitement that never
abated. We all expected that his health would give
way, for it did not seem possible that any human being
could conceive and accomplish so much within the limit
of time that he allotted to himself. Yet he never com
plained of any physical ailment, not even a headache,
but only worked and worked and worked."
M. Kratz lived in the Rue Jacob, very near the Rue
Monsieur le Prince, where Dore had his principal studio.
Dore passed his house to go to it, and was in the habit of
calling upon M. Kratz in the morning at about eight, on
his way to work. He would say, " Arthur, come and
fetch me to-night for dinner at about seven. I shall be
at work all day in the studio."
He arrived there about that hour daily for months at a
stretch, and worked until about half-past twelve or one,
when he would rush out to some neighbouring pot-house,
swallow a few mouthfuls, usually standing, and then
hurry back to his work. When M. Kratz arrived at
seven Dore was still hard at it, and invariably grumbled
because he must be interrupted in order to dine.
" It would have killed me to keep on like that," said

l82

GUSTAVE DOR A.

M. Kratz. " I don't know how he managed it. And
please observe that this was not an occasional practice,

" THE LANDLORD OP THE THREE BARBELS."
(Original Drawing. By permission ot Chatto and Windus. " Contes Drolatiques.")
but his daily habit for years. I have often thought about
him as I saw him there, and confess that I have never

LIST OF DRA WINGS MADE IN 1855. 183
known any other human being who slaved so persistently
as he. He never seemed out of temper, was never ill,
and rarely ailing. During those first years in Paris he
performed miracles — that is all one can say. After our
dinner, back he would go to work at his blocks by lamp
light, and keep at them sometimes till day dawned.
That is what I call a real downright hard-worker ! "
The only way to strengthen the above evidence is to
give in detail the names of the volumes Dore illustrated
and the number of drawings he made in the course of
the year 1855. First came the " Contes Drolatiques,"
collected and given to the light of day by le Sieur de
Balzac. Fifth edition, illustrated by Gustave Dore, with
Jour hundred and twenty-five drawings. This work was
published by the " Societe Generale de la Libraire," in
the Rue de Richelieu, and in Le Journal pour Tous.
"Le Notaire de Pingense," by Longfellow . 1 drawing (pages 8)
" Le Docteur Trifone," by Adrien Robert . 1
" Le Rossignol," by Anderson . . 1
" Les Arrivages de Bid a Odessa," par X.
Monnier . . . . . .1
" La Reine de Fer et la Reine de Soie,"
A. Neil  1
" La Bosann de la Mort," par W. Carleton 5 ,
" L'Heritiere Ecossaise," par Mackenzie
Daniels ..... 21
" Leny et Lory," par Alex. Neil . . 4
" Les Agnds "  1 ,
" Un Ouragan en Russie pendant l'Hiver " 2
"Noel"  1
"Calendrier, 1856"  1
"Un Mariage a Distance," par Phil-
Andebaut  1 ,
" Le President Brengels," par Sleesk . .2 ,
" Le Carnival "  1 :
" Un Roi dans la Camfine," par Mucklingen 2
" Le Luthier du Tyrol," par Michiels . 1 ,
" Longchamps " . . . • • 1 >
" Les Emotions de Polydore Marasquin,"
par Le'on Gozlan . . . .2 „ ( „ 822)
"Voyage aux Eaux des Pyrenees," par H. Taine, illustrated by
sixty- five vignettes; one vol. in 18. Hachette and Company.
The last-named series concludes the list of drawings

( (

JJ

65)
141)

(

J)

288)

(
(

JJ
JJ

344)
347)

((
(

J) JJ

390) 5l3)
141)

((
(

JJ
JJ

572)598)
624)

( (
( (
(
(

JJ JJ
JJ J)JJ
JJ

652) 669)696) 745)767)
866)

184 GUSTAVE DORA.

absolutely made in that year. You can readily imagine
the magnitude and variety of Dore's labour by carefully
running over the names of these different works, which
themselves sufficiently indicate the amount of brain-work
attendant on the treatment of such widely varied
subjects. I shall not attempt to criticize any of them in detail.
Of course the drawings made for Le Journal pour Tous
cannot be classed with more arduous works requiring
literary research and humorous invention, such, for in
stance, as the "Contes Drolatiques" of Balzac,1 first
published in London by Chatto and Windus.
To essay a description of this work's many shining
merits would be equivalent to what has already been said
in a previous chapter respecting Dore's illustrations of
Rabelais, the effort of genius so boldly and triumphantly
imitated by Honore de Balzac. There was this differ
ence, perhaps, between the conceptions of the two
authors. Having once understood Rabelais, it was com
paratively easy to construct " Les Contes Drolatiques ;"
whilst a writer who should only have read " Les Contes
Drolatiques " would probably find himself very far from
imagining " The Adventures of Gargantua and Panta
gruel." Rabelais is extremely risky reading, but profoundly
instructive despite his licentiousness. " Les Contes
Drolatiques," on the other hand, are coarse and clever,
but little more ; whilst their wit, such as it is, bears so
modern a stamp, that after reading through a great deal
of elaborate indecency, one is not rewarded by having
unearthed a single jewel of wisdom or philosophy.
Gustave Dore had a doubly hard task before him,
that of making a second Rabelaisian book, like, and yet
unlike, his first. It was here that his extraordinary in
ventiveness triumphed over every obstacle, for not a
single drawing of the whole four hundred was lacking in
1 The publication of " Les Contes Drolatiques " has been since many
years suppressed in England. The reasons of this peculiar suppression
are not at all obvious, Rabelais enjoying public licence and recognition.

THE " VOYAGE AUX PYRAnAeS." 185
originality of conception ; in a word, his imagination
again proved itself to be as brilliant as it was fertile and
versatile. Paris was amazed and enchanted. Such
boldness, such vigour, such incessant and indefatigible
productiveness in a lad of twenty-two, passed all com
prehension. These drawings caused a sensation more vehement, if
possible, than the Rabelais furore ; partly by reason of
the recent death of the great novelist, then still fresh in
the minds of the Parisians, and of the resuscitation, so to
speak, of a work which had enjoyed great favour on its
first introduction to public notice many years previously.
However this might be, the rising popularity of the young
Alsatian swept everything before it, and fanned the
flame of his success, as the wind fans the prairie fires of
the great West. Everything Dore undertook he carried
out to perfection. There was but one verdict upon him
and his works. He was the marvel of the day ; and of
the hundreds of thousands who read " Les Contes Drola
tiques," there was not one who, looking at the illustra
tions, did not say, " What a prodigy is Dore, and what
an imagination he possesses ! If he begins thus, where
will he end ? " He was unhesitatingly styled the first
draughtsman of his epoch ; by no means faint praise
considering that it was accorded to him by the most
severely critical public in Europe.
The " Voyage aux Pyrenees " was brought out in Eng
land by Messrs. Sampson Low and Co., the English text
by Henry Blackburn, and enjoyed great popularity. In
short, it is one of the few standard works of the day, and
deservedly so, for in it both author and illustrator are
at their best ; any one who has ever visited that country
on reading Mr. Blackburn's description can imagine
himself once more within sight of " The French Apen
nines " and if he have any doubt, it would be dispelled on
seeing Dore's life-like sketches and cartoons of the old
familiar and lovely places.

1 86

GUSTAVE DORE.

CHAPTER XIX.
DORE APPEARS A SECOND TIME AS A PAINTER.
I HAVE mentioned the works of the year 1854 and 1855
in their chronological order; and shall now speak of
Gustave Dore, the painter, as it was in June, 1855, that
he made his second appearance in that role before the
Parisian public. During the winter of 1854 and spring
of 1855 he had completed four pictures, called, "La
Bataille > de l'Alma," " Le Soir," " La Prairie," and
" Rizzio." _ The first three were accepted at the Uni
versal Exhibition, and became the subjects of general
comment. A friend of Dore's, speaking of his debut as a painter,
said, " This new departure burst upon Paris like a bomb
shell. Few were able to realize that it was the illustrator
Dore, a young man of three-and-twenty, who thus aspired
to the twin laurels of painter and designer. The works
in question were no less objects of curiosity than of
interest, for people in general were unwilling to believe
that any one man could have found time to accomplish
so much."
The first-mentioned picture, " The Battle of the Alma,"
was the most important painting of the three, and pro
voked a vast amount of criticism. It would seem that
previous to the opening of the exhibition there had been

thAophile GAUTIER ON "DOR A A PAINTER." 187
some talk of Dore's appearance in this new character,
and that public mention had been made of his pictures ;
Edmond About, for instance, had written about " Rizzio,"
the one which was refused by the jury of reception :
" ' Rizzio' should prove a grand success. I have not
the slightest doubt of this, nor has my friend Theophile
Gautier." In those days Dore counted his partisans by thousands ;
but when the question arose of upholding his talent as a
painter, he found that their number had dwindled so
considerably that he could count them upon the fingers
of one hand. Rarely, however, does any rising young
artist possess warm friends in such influential critics as
Messrs. E. About, T. Gautier, and Paul Dalloz, of the
Moniteur Universel.
The second-named wrote as follows of the great pic
ture, " La Bataille de l'Alma :"— " M. Gustave Dore, in
his ' Bataille de l'Alma,' has taken himself out of the
usual groove ; he has made a battle of soldiers. His
Zouaves climb the steep mountain sides with tumultuous
impetuosity, scattering the ambushed Russians to the
right and left. The ascending movement of this valiant
cohort is very well rendered, reminding one of a torrent
reversed and leaping back to its source. Individualities
disappear in this whirlwind, and the eye fastens upon no
single detail. The execution is much too rapid ; it sur
passes in quickness the most feverish and hurried of his
sketches, and one may readily believe, while observing
certain muddy obscurities, that the artist did not even take
time to clean his brushes. However, this ' Battle of the
Alma' is not a mediocre affair; in it are expressed life,
force, and will. M. Gustave Dore possesses one of the most
marvellously artistic organizations we have encountered.
His illustration of Rabelais, ' Les Contes Drolatiques,' and
' Les Legendes Populaires,' are masterpieces, in which the
most powerful realism unites itself to a still rarer fanciful-
ness of imagination. His studio is choked with immense
canvases, sketched with a fury which surpasses that of
Goya ; here and there shadowy, here and there gorgeous

i88 GUSTAVE DORE.

with a chaos of colour, sparkling works of the very first
order; a head, a torso, a corslet, dashed off as they
might have been sketched by Rubens, Tintoretto, or
Velasquez. From this time forth, breaking through the
clouds, shines a ray of genius. Yes, genius, a word we
are none too prodigal of. Let it be well understood that
we speak alone of the future of the painter ; for the
draughtsman has already won his proper rank."
Edmond About spoke of " Rizzio " again and regretted
its absence from the exhibition ; but in reference to the
other pictures he wrote the following : —
" The little we have received from you proves that you
know how to paint battles and landscapes, Zouaves and
prairie flowers. Your plantation of poplars is beautiful
in sentiment and grand in aspect ; but it is perched
so high that we would have to splice two ladders together,
end to end, in order to be able to see anything of it. You
have been carried to the clouds by your first bound, and
your merit as a landscape painter is only visible with the
aid of a telescope. Your ' Bataille de l'Alma ' is an
original work. All historical painters instal the general
with his staff in the place of honour, whilst the soldiers,
smoke, and dust are muddled up pell-mell together in
the background.1 As to you, you have conceived the
generous and original idea of depicting a battle of soldiers.
In the same spirit M. Michelet has written a history of
France, relegating princes to the background, and giving
the place of honour to the veritable heroes — the people.
Your chasseurs a. pied, riflemen, and Zouaves, fight with
an admirable and splendid fury. You were born to
depict desperate melee, hand-to-hand conflicts, and all
the recklessness of courage. You yourself are the
Zouave of painting  Your colour is frank, lively,
startling, and, what is still less to be despised, entirely
your own. You imitate neither Venetians, Flemings, nor
Spaniards ; but ere long the world will begin to imitate
you." These are the fairest examples of the criticisms which
1 See Rend Delorme, e"tude G. Dore, 1880.

LITTLE PEGGY.

189

were passed on the young painter at his debut. M. About's
remark about seeing his merit with a telescope may have
had, as did so many remarks by this brilliant wit, a decided
double meaning. One positive deduction may be made

LITTLE PEGGY.

(Hood's Foems. Unpublished Drawing, by kindness of Dr. Michel. Original in
Dore Gallery.)
from it, however, to wit, that Dore's pictures were very
badly hung.
We have every reason to believe that " La Bataille de
l'Alma " alone was tolerably well placed, and that " Le

1 90 G USTA VE DOR A.

Soir" and " La Prairie " were, as About said, very near
the clouds. There is not the slightest doubt that many
artists are at a great disadvantage in large exhibitions,
simply because it is impossible to suit every one.
The best position in every gallery is always accorded as
a right to the exhibitors of established renown. The
next best are apportioned to those of proximate celebrity,
each in his turn, and it is a wonder that young artists
ever get any chance at all of being hung " upon the
line." It is a well-known fact that talent must yield
the step to red-tape, and that youthful ambition must be
sacrificed to the etiquette which protects precedence.
There was really nothing surprising in the remark made
by the Americans who, on looking round at a recent
exhibition at " the Salon," observed that " most of the
pictures there were painted by Mr. ' Hors Concours.' "
However, if we are to believe at all in justice, every
talent will eventually make itself felt in the world ; and
had Dore's pictures been put on the roof, there would
still have been one ladder long enough to have reached
them, and one climber resolute enough to have pointed
them out to public attention.
The general public, however, saw only the three can
vases displayed in the exhibition, whilst Dore's friends,
Gautier and About, had in their minds all of those
extraordinary paintings which encumbered the studio of
the young artist, and revealed by a thousand touches the
hand and genius of a master. That these were present
to their memories is clearly indicated by the articles
above quoted. The public, out of deference to two such
authorities, affected credulity ; but, as a public often will,
resented the obligation to do so, and its resentment fell,
not upon the critic, but upon the criticized.
Dore was_ early made to feel the lash of friendship's
scourge, which to great men is sometimes as stinging as
it is salutary. _ Theophile Gautier was the godfather
who baptized him with the name of " Genius," but the
Parisians did not feel bound to stand sponsors to him for
that reason. Like a Prince born to a sterile crown, Dore

DOR A 'S FIRST DISILL USIONS. 1 9 1
came into an empty title, unaccompanied by distinctions
and emoluments.
The jury of the exhibition awarded him no medal, and
the public no additional renown. His pictures were
casually commented upon along with a thousand others.
No one spoke of him as a painter, although the name of
the illustrator of Rabelais and " Les Contes Drolatiques "
was upon every one's lips. When the exhibition came
to an end the pictures went back to his studio, for
no purchaser had as yet come forward, and dust ac
cumulated upon the frames of " La Bataille de l'Alma,"
" Le Soir," and " La Prairie," long before any one appeared
to realize that Dore painted pictures to sell. As to
" Rizzio," it was almost as ill-fated as its namesake, and
few in Paris ever knew what became of it, but it actually
is in the Dore Gallery, Bond Street. In spite of Gautier's
remark " that the artist seemed hardly to have taken time
to wipe his brushes," Dore had bestowed an infinite
amount of thought, time, and labour on the execution of
these works. Still more, he had built up for himself
hopes which were not only destined never to be realized,
but which in their very inception received the crudest of
blows. His self-love was wounded often enough during
that Exhibition of 1855 to have suffered mortal injury.
In his earnest enthusiasm Dore thought, because he was
a great draughtsman, that he was also a great painter,
and imagined that the success he had achieved in one
line would not only follow him in the other, but would be
absolutely hurled at his head. He had said, " Aut Dore,
aut nullus," so long to the Parisian public, that he fancied
the latter would adopt that device without even a show of
remonstrance. To say that he was mistaken is to say
very little. He was bitterly disappointed, and sore to his
heart's core over the tame reception his work had met
with. He complained to many of his friends, and the
words "injustice," " misunderstood," "ill-treated," found
frequent iteration from his lips.
You will say that he was wrong; but it must be
remembered that youthful success is a dangerous aliment

192 G USTA VE DORE.

whereon to feed an impressionable and highly gifted
nature. The youthful mind is little calculated to receive
rebuffs, and the youthful temperament is in a less fitting
state to accept them. Gustave Dore was a spoiled child,
and acted as spoiled children do. He attributed every
motive but the right one to this public lack of apprecia
tion, and judging himself by his own ambition and creative
talent, he fancied he was already a painter, and wilfully
ate his heart out because the public refused to bow
down before him, and acknowledge him to be what
he was not then, no matter what he might become.
Paris said that he showed in those first works the want
that no amount of manual practice can give, namely, the
lack of technique. This word, which applies itself to all
arts, to all professions, I had almost said to all careers,
typifies that brutal school wherein all painters must learn
the alphabet of their future greatness. An artist without
technique is a house without a foundation, a name written
in sand. M. Lacroix was not so very old a man when he
begged Gustave to study from models, in short, to learn
his art as others had learned theirs : but even then he
fully appreciated that no profession can be a legitimate
success which has not been learned through legitimate
means. If the contrary is to be the case, farewell for
ever to apprenticeship of every kind, and to those long,
exhausting hours of preparatory toil which harass youth
and engender grey hairs at the age of twenty. If all the
world may paint without ever having studied painting as
an art, then not only were Raphael and Da Vinci fools,
but so is every one else who believes as they did, and puts
that belief to such severe and endless tests. It is true
that this is an age of progress; but no one has ever
known or heard of a human being claiming to be a great
artist, who has not toiled step by step up every one of
those rugged steeps which lead to the final goal of art.
As there are exceptions to every rule, so there are
natures exceptionally gifted ; and when one possesses, as
did Gustave Dore, a prodigal wealth of talents, all the
greater reason exists for cultivating such a nature in

DORA'S IDEAS ABOUT PAINTING. 193

the proper manner. No natural talent will carry forward
a man of genius " by leaps and bounds " over the gulf
that gapes between the first step of to will to that last
of to be able. To attempt such feats is inexcusable
in natures containing any element of greatness, and offers
the same insult to honest art that a lottery or any
game of hazard proffers to honest labour.
That Dore was one of a million he had clearly
shown; but had he taken M. Lacroix's advice he would
have been one of twenty millions. Considering how little
he had studied, he had already done too much ; the
marvel is that all of his first pictures were accepted at
once. But natural gifts are so distinct from false art,
that he deceived no one except himself. On looking at
his paintings, connoisseurs said at once, " He has it all in
him, but he lacks school."
As this is not a treatise on art, I do not pretend to
define that word " school." Every one fancies that he
knows what it means, and what it meant years ago, when
Dore exhibited those first paintings in the great universal
Exhibition of '55.
Had he then realized the grave import of the charge
made against his performances as a painter, he would
undoubtedly have set to work in the right and only way
to refute it. But not only was Dore sincere and honest
in what he did, but his convictions were so deeply rooted,
that he found it impossible to eradicate and cast them
out with that facility which less gifted but less opinionated
persons possess.
He had his own ideas about painting, and clung to them
in the teeth of all opposition ; moreover, at that time he
had no wish to change his method, because he fully in
tended to bring the world over to his own way of thinking ;
and in order to do that he clung more firmly than ever to
his settled convictions. He did not believe in the appren
ticeship of art ; he pooh-poohed the idea of models ; he
had obtained the most brilliant results from his own way
of working ; and he thought that the same system would
apply to painting. O

i94 GUSTAVE DORE.

His way was already so far removed from ordinary
ways that he may be forgiven for not being able to well
define the difference between natural and acquired talent.
It was not to avoid painstaking or hard work, because he
toiled from morning till night, and from night till morn
ing, sparing himself in no wise. It was merely the result
of his ideas about art, of his intense confidence in him
self, and of the conviction which was the natural outcome
of his extraordinary successes and rapid popularity ; of a
misdirected ambition to do away with all rules of prece
dent, to found an art of his own for painting, as he had
for illustrating — an art which should have no school, but
simply be called " Dore."
No one can blame him for being ambitious ; but every
one denounced his mistaken ideas in regard to the art of
painting. In one sense Dore was right in thinking that
many people were leagued against him, for he certainly
could not expect to carry everything before him in this
career, as he had done in that of illustrating. He had
many jealousies to contend with, and these, instead of being
a living proof to him of his superior ability, preyed upon
his spirits and made his life a misery to him. Dore was
too inexperienced, too tired, and too overwrought to be
above the pettinesses of his career. Had he willingly
acknowledged any authority other than his own on art,
he would have saved himself a lifetime of torment.
Had he but taken a reasonable view of his own situation,
he would have easily persuaded himself that painters, like
the world itself, were not made in a day.
But Dore had strained and proved to the quick a natu
rally impetuous nature by terrible overwork ; he had drained
his imagination, had begun to draw upon his physical
strength ; he was living from day to day upon the capital
of his youth and nervous vitality. It cannot be expected
that any diet consumed upon such principles would prove
either morally or materially beneficial. He speedily felt
its result. As soon as the first excitement of the Exhibi
tion was over he suffered from that reaction which occurs
after excessive effort; and, after having burned the

EXTRACTS FROM MADAME DORA'S LETTERS. 195
candle at both ends for a whole year, he decided upon
taking his usual summer vacation, and went with Madame
Dore, his brothers and two friends, to Switzerland.
His mother has described some of his humours and
fancies in letters written to M. Paul Lacroix, from which I
extract a few lines here and there, to give some idea of the
state of Gustave Dore's mind during his 1855 vacation.
She wrote from Switzerland as follows : — ¦
" I cannot tell you how very indelicately Monsieur
B. has behaved with respect to his picture bargains with
Gustave. It absolutely passes belief. Poor Gustave !
He is mortally sad. It is enough to make him commit
suicide that he, an artist beginning his career, should see
himself so continually duped and played upon."
It may be inferred from this passage that Dore had at
that time other works in hand, which he considered suffi
ciently complete to bring to public notice, and that,
instead of undergoing any preparatory study, he enter
tained the fixed resolve to proceed exactly as he had
begun. He seems, however, to have benefited both
morally and physically by change of air and scene and
enforced repose. His naturally buoyant nature could
not long remain depressed by even the most poignant
vexations. He travelled, as usual, in a desultory
manner. Madame Dore wrote three weeks later from
Ems : —
" My poor Gustave does not like to be alone ; so I con
form with pleasure to all his whims, exigencies, and
tastes. Really, I can but admire his exaltation ....
but I am only the mother of an artist in embryo ....
Seeing, as I do, countless castles in the air being con
structed by his youthful imagination, I often ask myself
if so many projects are possibly realizable by any
man, whatever be his capacity for work and his force
of will."
This message may be received as a proof that Dore
had recovered his normal spirits, and had once more
plunged himself into the boundless sea of hope. What
his visions and projects were, he himself defines later
O 2

196 GUSTAVE DORE.

on in his notes, which I shall not give here, but in their
chronological order ; for many events took place during
that summer which certainly deserve to be mentioned,
as they throw into strong relief the richness and spon
taneity of Dore's versatile nature.

M. PAUL DALLOZ. 197

CHAPTER XX.
A TRIP TO THE PYRENEES.
HAVING ventured with his family to Paris, Dore con
ceived the idea of a trip to the Pyrenees, in order to
illustrate a book entitled "Un Voyage aux Pyrenees."
For once in a way he combined business with pleasure
during this memorable excursion.
Dore always had the good fortune to be accompanied
in his wanderings either by relatives or friends ; and on this
occasion he had two companions who certainly could not
have been excelled in wit, culture, and devotion to him. The
first was Theophile Gautier, who has already been several
times mentioned ; the second, although new to us, was
still an old friend of Dore, M. Paul Dalloz, a brilliant
man of letters, and the editor of the Moniteur Universel.
M. Dalloz had formed a deep and affectionate friend
ship for Dore; one of those strong, keen attachments
which grow with our growth and increase with our years.
Dalloz, in a word, loved Dore as a brother, and by some
strange freak of nature they so much resembled one an
other in personal appearance as to have been often taken
one for the other. In Dore, Dalloz recognized a greater
genius than that of any other man living, and thought

198 GUSTAVE DORA.

nothing on earth too good for his beloved friend. Dalloz
seems to have been imbued with one of those beautiful
and perfect amities which are the offspring of intense
sympathy and perfect disinterestedness ; one of those
pure affections which take no account of time or place,
sacrifice, accident, or absence ; in short, of anything but
the well-being of the cherished person so strangely and
sweetly harboured in the innermost sanctuary of the
heart ; that vineyard where ripens the fruit of the only
perfect human sentiment — true friendship.
Of this nature was M. Dalloz's regard for Gustave
Dore. One day I paid a visit to the office of Le Moniteur
Universel on purpose to talk with him about the great
artist. As in the case of the late M. Lacroix (Bibliophile
Jacob), I shall let M. Dalloz speak for himself, and in his
own words, translated or paraphrased to the best of my
ability, but necessarily losing somewhat of their original
force and piquancy in the process of translation into our
own language.
Mr. Dalloz prefaced his remarks by an outburst of
eloquent praise of Dore. Both as man and artist he
evidently had but one opinion of him ; and, although
he spoke with remarkable frankness, the sincere affection
inspiring his statements was unmistakable, for his voice
rang with genuine feeling, whilst his eyes betrayed
the liveliest interest and emotion.
" Gustave Dore — ah ! my dear Gustave ! " he exclaimed.
"He was indeed a genius! I have known him ever
since he first came to Paris in 1847, so vou may judge
whether or no I had time and opportunity enough to
study, understand, and appreciate him. Our friendship
was only once interrupted, and that for a single year.
We quarrelled over one of his paintings, which was not
worthy of him, nor of his talent. I did not like it, and I
told him so ; besides, I presumed on our old friendship,
and criticized him very severely. He took my remarks to
heart in a way I never could have believed possible. In
short, we parted in angry silence, and by some chance did
not meet again for a long time. I cannot tell you how

Fold out

THE RECONCILLATLON. 199
grieved I was. I said to myself, ' Is it possible that a
man of his intelligence and experience can so utterly mis
construe the advice of a friend ? as though in criticizing
him, I could have had any other object in view but his
own interest ! ' In those days I was young and hot-
blooded, and, knowing the honesty of my love for him, I
felt doubly hurt at the way in which he had received my
comments. But I was too proud to make the first over
tures towards reconciliation.
" A year elapsed when, as I was walking up the Champs
Elysees one day, a fiacre passed me so close that I could
have touched it. In it sat Gustave Dore. Our eyes
met ; he gave me one regretful look, signalled his driver
to stop, jumped out of the cab, and rushed up to me
with tears in his eyes, exclaiming, — ¦
" ' Embrace me quickly. I forgive you your harsh
criticism. We are both idiots. Should a friendship like
ours, of years' standing, be broken up by half-an-hour's
bad humour and half as much plain truth-telling ? '
" I need not say how overjoyed I was, nor how promptly
I made it up with him. His eyes were wet as he spoke
to me. Dear old Gustave ! From that time forth we
never had a word, and I cannot tell you all we were to
each other.
" I remember so many incidents of his life that it is
difficult to know where to begin their narration. It was
an existence so full of work and excitement that it is a
wonder he ever lived through it. Happily for him, his was a
nature teeming with gaiety ; when he was not harassed
and worried, he could see fun in anything and everything.
We almost always spent our summer holidays together.
At this moment I recall to mind our journey to the
Pyrenees, to Biarritz, and through Spain. You may
remember that the whole imperial court was then at
Biarritz, including Napoleon III., with his beautiful young
Empress, who gave a series of fetes and splendid enter
tainments. I think it was in 1855 — at any rate it was
about that time, and I remember this particular excursion
for many reasons. First of all we had such fun. Theo-

GUSTAVE DORE.

phile Gautier, Gustave, and myself were together, as full
of spirits and mischief as school-boys out on a holiday.
Gustave, who, as you know, was possessed by a mania
¦" for all sorts of circus tricks, kept us in a continual ferment
over his wondrous contortions and evolutions. I fully
expected to carry him maimed back to Paris. Happily,
no such catastrophe occurred to mar the pleasure of our
trip. " It was gay at Biarritz, and besides the social fetes,
there were to be two bull-fights. Dore was crazy to see
one, nor was I less anxious to do so than he. He did
nothing but talk about them from the time when he first
heard of them until they came off. The first took place
in the presence of the court, and was a very shabby affair,
so badly managed that our sympathies, to a man, were
with the bulls, whilst the espada seemed to us a wretch
of the deepest dye. That evening I dined with Theophile
Gautier and Gustave, and during dinner Dore began his
lamentations. The vaunted bull-fight was a delusion and
a snare ; it was inhuman ! The torreadors were brutes ;
the show was not worth seeing ; in fact, it never had
amounted to anything, and so on. One would have
thought from his indignation that the whole spectacle had
been got up expressly on his account, and that his per
sonal honour had been pledged to its success. Theophile
Gautier was in very high spirits, and begged Gustave to
stop talking nonsense. You may imagine how noisily he
had given vent to his feelings, when I tell you that we
had scarcely begun our dinner when Gautier yelled out, —
" ' Keep quiet, you young calf ! stop your bleating, or
I will dress your hair with this soup-tureen. You know
nothing about it. Wait until to-morrow ! "
"All through the dinner Gautier entertained us with
one flash of wit after another ; but, would you believe it ?
that idiot Gustave could not get over his disappointment !
He was so impressionable that he still felt the failure of
the bull-fight as if it had reflected discredit upon himself.
He even went so far as to say,- —
" ' I had made up my mind all day long to be so much

SPAIN.

amused that I can't get over it. You yourself (to Gau
tier) told me it was such fun.'
" ' Good heavens ! ' replied Gautier, ' will you let us
dine in peace or not ? Are you a baby or are you a man ?
So it is fun. Waif until to-morrow, I tell you ! '
" It was impossible to withstand Gautier's delightful

: ¦%&$£& "fit A^^Af'Jk -¦

SPAIN.
(Published by Sampson Low and Co., London.)
humour for any length of time. He was so good-hearted
with all his brilliancy and wit that before dessert was
finished Master Gustave condescended to come to him
self and to drop the subject of bull-fights. Perhaps he
realized how much Gautier thought of him ; and indeed,
the double effort that the poet made to be agreeable was
a proof that he really wished to allay Gustave's disap-

GUSTAVE DORE.

pointment, of which certainly he had to some extent been
the cause. He had filled our heads with visions of bull
fights for days and days before, and when Gautier tried to
describe anything, you may imagine what his description
would be like. However, to finish about our bull-fight.
" The next day we went again to the Correo, and the
coup-d'ceil was really a grand one. The empress, then in
superb beauty, was there with the court as before, and
the whole amphitheatre displayed one mass of upturned
faces. The performance, too, was in every respect bril
liant. The last bull on the list was blind of one eye, and
struck out sideways with his horns, which greatly embar
rassed his adversary, the matador. I shall never forget
that man. His name was Domingues. As he was about
to strike the bull, that purblind brute swerved aside,
and dug his horns into Domingues' thigh. The whole
audience rose yelling to its feet, and the wounded espada
ran out of the arena. As we were standing just at the
entrance, we saw him tie up his thigh, with two strong
silk handkerchiefs ; then, with a reckless look in his eyes,
out he came again and walked up to the bull. The
excitement was intense, and Gustave's face was colour
less with emotion. A banderillero waved his flag, and
Domingues, as the bull charged him, planted his sword to
the very hilt in the neck, between its shoulders. The fierce
beast dropped dead as though smitten by lightning. I
cannot describe the excitement we were in as Domingues
stepped forward to salute their Majesties, and then rushed
blindly towards the entrance of the arena. Gautier, Gus
tave, and myself followed at his heels. He was a sight to
see ; staggering from side to side, his gorgeous costume
all be-splashed and bespattered with blood. He did not
get very far, however. After a few steps forward, he
threw up his arms and fell swooning back in the track of
his own gore. Of course, you have heard of bull-fights,
and how these emotional scenes repeat themselves
thereat ; but even Gautier gave the palm to this one over
all the others he had hitherto witnessed. They were
carrying Domingues out of the arena, when Gautier
tapped Gustave on the shoulder, saying, —

SPALN.

203

(Original Sketch. Published by Sampson Low and Co., 1859.)

204 • GUSTAVE DORE.

" ' What do you think of a real bull-fight now, my boy ? '
"'Good God!' replied Gustave; "what a scene!
what courage ! what a man and what a beast ! I could
not forget it were I to live for a thousand years ! '
" And I don't think that any one of us ever forgot what
we had seen that day. I, however, remember it particu
larly for another reason, as it was then that we held a
discussion on art with Gautier, lasting two hours. Gautier
insisted that there was only one perfect thing in the
world — a beautiful woman ; that all statues, paintings,
and so-called works of art, even the most admirable con
ceptions of ideal beauty, were mere dross when compared
with a real masterpiece of Nature's own fashioning. Gus
tave and I, in order to draw Gautier out, upheld a contrary
view. Gustave cited many world-famous classical per
sonages, and said, ' Nonsense ! There is nothing in the
real world so beautiful as in the imaginary. I have never
seen a woman so lovely as the perfect forms born in the
painter's brain, or carved by the sculptor's chisel.'
" The more he talked, the more vigorously Gautier main
tained his theory. I really agreed with him, and I believe
that Gustave did so in his heart ; but he pretended not to,
and was as obstinate in sticking to his opinion as Gautier
was in clinging to his. I have heard the great poet and
stylist speak many a time and oft, but never so eloquently
as on the occasion referred to. We always recalled that
day afterwards by referring to it as ' the day on which
Gautier had his great discussion on art with Gustave.'
" We went from Biarritz into Spain. I remember a little
place, Urrugne, where we had great fun. It was in this
town that Gautier composed a charming and curious
poem.1 He told us that he ' improvised it then and
i The poem in question is. in the collection of Gautier's complete
works, vol. ii. p. 97, and is called "L'Horloge." It could not have
been improvised in 1855, as it is part of the collection of 1838,
published in 1841. The poem begins thus : —
"Vulnerat omnes, ultima necat."
La voiture fit halte a l'eglise d'Urrugne,
Nom rauque, dont le son a la rime repugne
Mais qui n'en est pas moins un village charmant,
Sur un sol montagneux perche bizarrement, &c, &c.

A PRACTICAL JOKE. 205
there ;' and as we came in sight of the old church he
stopped and recited it. You know the lines, perhaps,
beginning ' La voiture fit halte.' I forget them now,
having so many things to think of. It was in that very
town that we had the greatest fun of all. We went to
an ancient livery stable, bargained for and dragged out
one of the royal coaches, harnessed the best horses we
could find to it, then started off and drove through the
town. Dore and myself sat like two grooms on the
dickey, while Gautier drove the coach. He was very
stout, you know, and I think I can hear him now, puffing
and blowing away on the box. It was such hot weather ;
the sunlight poured down upon us as it does in the dog-
days, and we were none of us too comfortable. But we
had begun our spree, and fully intended to see it through.
We had shut up the coach ; and as we gave ourselves
tremendous airs of importance in a few moments we were
followed by an enormous crowd, yelling out, ' Who is in
the royal carriage ? Make way for the distinguished
visitors to Urrugne ! ' I wish you could have seen
Gautier on that box seat ! His pompousness would have
convulsed a dying man with laughter, and he drove along
at a rattling pace. As to Gustave and myself, we had to
hold our sides in the endeavour to suppress our merri
ment. You see we had to maintain our gravity and
display a decorous demeanour towards the public.
Gautier enjoyed the affair as much as either of us. We
went all over the town, and finally drew up with great
pomp at the principal hotel of the place. The crowd of
bystanders was so great that we could scarcely pull up
without running over some one ; and .1 shall not readily
forget the different expressions of the eager faces up
turned to ours, as Gautier stopped his horses. Gustave
jumped down and I followed him. He made some
acrobatic kind of salutation to the crowd, then opened
the coach door, and hurried into the hotel, bowing to the
right and left as he did so. Gautier was not so quick,
as he had to consign his horses to an hostler. We went
into the hotel, and the crowd waited patiently for the
distinguished guests to alight. Need I say they waited

206 GUSTAVE DORA.

in vain ? At last some of the more curious, summoning
up their courage, ventured to peer into the coach. A
howl of rage broke from them on finding it empty. The
bulk of the crowd, however, took our practical joke
very good-humouredly, laughing loudly with effusive
gestures and ejaculations of delight. As for ourselves,
I thought we should have died of laughing. Dore could
not command his voice, and Theophile Gautier's chair
shook under him until we feared it would break down.
As you know, Gautier was not exactly a feather weight.
" Gustave was enchanted with the success of his joke,
for you will already have divined that he was the originator
of the whole escapade. Gautier had fallen in with it and
enjoyed it as heartily as I myself. Gustave spent the time
until dinner in his favourite pastime of walking about on
his hands, jumping over chairs and tables, and turning
summersaults until we were dizzy. As we sat down he
rubbed his palms together with infinite contentment.
You see, he was as simple as a child. The slightest suc
cess in any of his undertakings would make him radiant
with gratification for twenty-four hours at a stretch. As
to Gautier, I never remember to have seen him in such a
fascinating vein of humour. The very least I can say is
that we all three behaved like children, and enjoyed our
selves with boyish fashion and light-heartedness.
" It was on our return from the trip to Spain that one
evening at Gautier's house, a lady said to Gustave in the
course of conversation about Andalusia and the sights we
had seen,—
" ' Now, M. Dore, I suppose you are going to give us
some Velasquezes ? '
" ' I regret to say, madame, that I am not,' replied
Gustave, bowing with stately ceremony. ' On the
contrary, I am going to give you some more Dores.' "

THE WANDERING JEW.

207

CHAPTER XXI.

DORE ILLUSTRATES NEW WORKS.
DORE went on steadily with his illustrations as soon as
his vacations had terminated, and began the year 1856
with his first work of the season, " Fierabras d'Alexandrie,
Legende Nationale traduite par Mary Lafon," published
at the Librairie Nouvelle, in one vol. 8vo, 1 23 drawings.
He quickly followed it with " Memoires d'un Jeune Cadet,
par Victor Percival," illustrated with forty-eight drawings.
The third work of 1856 was " La Legende du Juif Errant,"
drawings by Dore, poem with prologue and epilogue by
Pierre Dupont, preface and bibliographic notice by Paul
Lacroix, with a ballad by Beranger, set to music by
G. Dore. This was published by Michel Levy in one
volume grand in fa
To speak of each of these works in detail would be
but to repeat the old story of Dore's successes as an
illustrator. He was nobly revenged for the lukewarm
reception given to his paintings during the previous year by
the unexampled popularity achieved by the " Wandering
Jew." Delorme speaks of it as a special departure in a
new style of drawing.
" The Wandering Jew," he says, " was an event in the
life of the artist who produced it. Here he has inaugu
rated a more ample manner, a style of drawing wherein
tonalities betray a painter's hand. These designs were

208 GUSTAVE DORE.

his first large compositions in black and white, and in
them we see some astonishing interpretations of Nature —
mountains, valleys, oceans ; a whole world encompassed
in one eagle-like glance. The Wandering Jew floats
onward like a feather impelled by the breath of an irre
sistible hurricane from city to desert, from desert to city.
His fabled footsteps dip lightly into the limpid dew of
the prairies, as well as into the bloody slime of fearful
battle-fields. Gustave Dore has raised himself to the
apex of the highest possible poetical conceptions. He
takes possession of the domain of legends, and there
reigns an absolute master."
It would be difficult to accord higher praise ; and yet
Dore attained even loftier altitudes.
To return to his notes, which I left at the close of the
description contained in them of his last trip to Switzer
land, and Madame Dore's letter, referring to his many
new projects. He writes : — -
"I conceived at this epoch (1855) the plan of those
large folio editions, of which Dante ("Vision of Hell")
was the first volume published.
" My idea was then, and always has been since, to
produce in a uniform style an edition of all the master
pieces in literature of the best authors, epic, comic,
and tragic. But the publishers to whom I submitted this
project did not consider my plan a practical one. They
tried to prove to me that it was not at a time when
the business of booksellers and publishers had extreme
cheapness for its basis, that they could venture to offer to
the public, works which must cost at least one hundred
francs per volume. They insisted that I had not the
slightest chance of success in creating this counter cur
rent ; whilst I, for my part, reasoned from an entirely
opposite point of view, basing my arguments and hopes
upon the fact that, in every age when art or industry has
exhibited a tendency to languish, there have always
remained a few hundred individuals who have protested
against so pernicious a state of affairs, and have been
ready and willing to pay a handsome price for any

DOR A CONTEMPLATES FUTURE LLLUSTRA TIONS. 209

careful and well-published work which should be brought
out. " My arguments, alas ! were unavailing ; and to prove
my words, I was obliged to publish at my own expense the
first of these books, which happened to be the ' Inferno '
of Dante.
" The success, and more especially the sale, of this work
fully justified my forecast ; and thenceforth my publishers
recognized the possibility of producing a grand collection
of illustrated books in folio. Of this projected series
seven volumes have appeared up to the present time "
(Dore wrote these notes in 1865) : "and should my plans
be carefully followed out, this collection should comprise
about thirty volumes, the names of which I give you in
the following list. I venture to think that it may not be
wholly uninteresting to know by anticipation the work I
have mapped out for the next ten years."
Dore here subjoins the list in question, which begins
with the Dante, then completed. It is not surprising
that his mother wondered if so many projects could be
realizable by any man, no matter what his brain-power or
strength of will might be.

^Dante (L'Inferno) .

Done.

"11 Purgatorio

To do.

11 Paradiso ....

jj

/"Les Contes de Perrault

Done.

iDon Quixote

?j

LTmitation de Jesus-Christ .

To be done.

La Vie des Saints

1

Homer — The Iliad and Odyssey

To do.

Virgil — The Georgics and iEneid

jj

Ovid's Metamorphoses

u

yEschylus' Tragedies

jj

Horace's Works . . . .

jj

Anacreon . . . . ,

Lucan's Pharsalia

,j

-Ariosto's Orlando Furioso

,j

Tasso's Gerusalemme Liberata

jj

Ossian . . . . .

This line probably indicates that Dore had these works on hand

at the time of writing.

GUSTAVE DORE.

Pages de l'Edda .... To do.
The Nibelungen-Lied
The Romancero
The Arabian Nights
Moliere .... Done.
iLa Fontaine .... To do.
RacineCorneille
ATilton Byron .... Done.
Spenser .... To do.
Shakespeare
Goldsmith (The Vicar of Wakefield)
Faust (Goethe)
Schiller's Plays
Hoffman's Tales
Lamartine (Premieres Meditations)
Plutarch's Lives
BoccaccioMontaigne
" Here I stop, because I am no longer writing biogra
phical notes, but drawing largely on the future. However,
should you need any other special information, I shall be
happy to send it by return of post.
" Yours, Gustave Dore.
"Par A. Dore.
" P.S. — I am neither a husband nor a father, a national
guard nor a Freemason. — G. D."
It will be borne in mind that Dore prepared these
notes for some one who was about to write a sketch of
his life in the year 1865. I have before me the original
draft, given to me by the distinguished young doctor,
Joseph Michel, who married Dore's niece, a daughter of
his elder brother Ernest.2 The draft is in Madame Dore's
handwriting, for Gustave, who hated penmanship, dictated
it to his mother, who transmitted it word for word • so its
authenticity is indisputable. I have given the notes in
full, and will deal with them more particularly later on.
The vastness of Dore's plans may be better imao-ined
than described. He was only three-and-twenty when he
conceived this grand project, and the names of the works
' Lately deceased.

DORA A UNIVERSAL ARTLST.

he intended to illustrate sufficiently indicate the elevated
tone of his ambition. It will be observed that he confined
his plans to no individual style, and to the authors of no
country in particular, which shows that he had only the
interests of art at heart. One thing may be noticed in
the brief account which he has given of his life. He
never once made use of the word " painting," and scru
pulously avoided any mention of his preference for that
branch of pictorial art. This omission shows but too
plainly that he felt sore on the subject, and did not
even deign to speak openly of an ambition which his
compatriots refused to sanction.
Let us now turn our attention to his illustrations of
Dante's " Inferno," generally acknowledged to be his
greatest work.

P 2

GUSTAVE DORE.

CHAPTER XXII.
DANTE'S inferno.
DURING the autumn of 1855 Dore began his study of
Dante ; for, contrary to his custom, he did not attempt
this great enterprise without careful and elaborate pre
paration. He was a fairly good Latin scholar, but could
neither read nor speak Italian ; so he was obliged to read
Dante in translation. The rendering he illustrated is
probably the one he studied. It was by Pier Angelo Fio-
rentino, accompanied by the original text in Italian. This
translation is not even written in blank verse, but in plain-
sailing prose, which circumstance probably constitutes
its greatest merit. It is an explanation of Dante, and,
although an admirable work, is as inadequate to repro
duce the original beauty of this great classic as the
average rhymster of to-day is incomparable to the author
of the " Divina Commedia."
My object here, however, is neither to criticize nor to
eulogize the work of Pier Fiorentino, but merely to
point out the opportunities it afforded to Dore of
thoroughly comprehending Dante's immortal epic. Had
not Dore had some knowledge of Latin, I do not think
Fiorentino's version would have sufficed for his purpose.
Any translation of the " Inferno " appears so tame when
contrasted with the original, that it seems almost imprac-

A TRANSLATOR'S DIFFICULTIES. 213

ticable to render in another tongue the exact meaning
of that sublime poem. As to reproducing anything like
the beauty of Dante's language, that may be pronounced
an utter impossibility. The same disability applies to
Shakespeare, Milton, Byron, Shelley, and other poets
whose richness of word-painting rivals even their philo
sophic thought and poetic conception.
Dore had to work doubly hard in order to make him
self master of Dante's actual meaning. No matter by
what process, or through what means, the fact remains
that he did succeed, and that most completely.
Longfellow has said that the art of translating is an
" intuitive one." Fluency, and command of language and
pencil are unavailing if the translator do not possess that
innate although indescribable sympathy with the author,
which the French words en rapport so perfectly describe.
Without this he can never by any artificial or mechanical
phraseology, diction, or trick of style succeed in portraying
the exact sentiments of the author whose works he is
translating. There are mechanical excellences which are
the outcome of habit, not of intuition, and that is one
reason why translations, even by the most profound
scholars, apt writers, and noble painters are doomed to
remain but worthy efforts in the noble direction of intro
ducing foreign masterpieces in literature and art to
native intellects.
Dore possessed in an eminent degree the intuitive gifts
of comprehending and immediately putting himself in
sympathy with his authors. This is the only possible expla
nation of his complete success in so many and such varied
efforts ; for between Rabelais and Dante yawns an appa
rently unbridgeable chasm. Dore, however, being neither
a man of letters nor a great scholar, has of all living
or dead artists, alone been able to translate the ideas
of Dante. In saying that Dore's work is the most per
fect translation of Dante I have spoken advisedly. Of
other translators or illustrators of the " Divina Commedia,"
Botticelli is well known, and between his idea and work,
and the idea and work of Gustave Dore stretches a wide

214 GUSTAVE DORA.

gulf. The question of merit or preference is a deep one.
1 could only enter into the latter consideration, and say
that I prefer Dore's " Inferno." The supposed greatest
illustrations of Dante, Michel Angelo's,were destined never
to be given to the world. It will be remembered that Michel
Angelo absolutely did illustrate a great portion of Dante.
The edition used was the celebrated Landino, Florence,
1492, a large folio with Landino's Commentary. It is a
known fact that upon the wide margin of the leaves of
this book Michel Angelo with pen and ink designed a
great number of elaborate sketches. Alas ! for the world
in general, this book was lost ! The copy in question
belonged to Antonio Montanti, a Florentine sculptor and
architect. Montanti was appointed an architect at St.
Peter's ; he removed to Rome, shipped all of his effects,
artistic and otherwise, at Leghorn, per Civita Vecchia,
and amongst them was the Landino illustrated by Michel
Angelo. On the voyage the vessel foundered at sea, and
all of Montanti's wealth went to the bottom ; perhaps
the rarest of this treasure was the Dante " translated " by
the world-famous genius Buonarotti.
Under these circumstances one can scarcely compare
Dore's work with that of the great sculptor ; but certainly
we may speak of Botticelli's illustrations of Dante, which
all the world may see and judge. The greatest authorities
in France and Italy have advisedly awarded the highest
place to Gustave Dore's Dante. This is no small triumph.
For a young man to cause the world to forget Botticelli,
and only to think of Michel Angelo and what might
have been, was to say that the star which reigned in
Alsatia at Dore s birth was the one which has ever shone
over all lands and climes when inspiration comes from
heaven, and genius freights the air with the nascent
breath of immortality.
On taking up his " Inferno," and turning page after page
of this series of illustrations, one is struck, not so much
by Dante's invention as by Dore's. It is not permissible,
perhaps, to speak of the two in any manner of compari'
son, yet one cannot help being impressed by the strange

MICHEL ANGELO ILLUSTRATES DANTE. 215
coincidence that two such phenomenal imaginations should
have been brought, so to speak, into direct contact,
What Dore has missed in art he has made up in
comprehension ; for he has gone far beyond the limited
rules of science into the boundless region of inspiration
and genius. His Dante is allowed, not alone by France
and Italy, but by the world at large, to be a masterpiece
of intelligent thought and ingenious execution.
Dumas/& said of him, —
" Dore ajoute a. ses connaissances litteraires la connais-
sance approjondie de tous les auteurs qu'il illustrait ;
exev.ples, le Dante, la Bible, les Croisades, &c, &c."
Alexandre Dumas was not in the habit of speaking
so positively unless he fully believed what he said.
No greater praise can be bestowed upon Gustave
Dore. Dore began " L' Inferno " at three-and-twenty ; and,
although it was not published until some years later, the
fault was none of his, as his work was completed in little
more than a year.
One reason of the delay he has himself given. No
publisher would accept his " Inferno." After waiting until
patience ceased to be a virtue, he brought it out at his
own expense, as he states in his notes. The cost of the
blocks alone was no small item in his outlay, for they
stood him in over three guineas apiece, and there were
seventy-three illustrations, not including a head of Dante
facing the frontispiece. This sum, added to the en
graver's fees, and expense of paper, printing, binding, &c,
made up a somewhat formidable total for any young
artist to risk upon the production of an initiative work,
the result of which was morally as well as financially most
uncertain. In Dore's catalogue " L'Inferno" figures, amongst the
works of 1857, and I shall therefore still speak of it as
belonging to that year's collection, although it was not
brought out until i860.
Its success has already been alluded to, and although
the result was in every way more brilliant than even Dore's

2 1 6 G USTA VE DORA.

sanguine hopes had led him to expect, he felt that some
thing was still lacking in the way of public appreciation;
What that something was I shall leave M. Dalloz to
explain a little later on.
Dore's family and immediate friends did not hesitate
to place his illustrations of the " Inferno " at the head
of all the works he had hitherto executed or attempted.
One morning in the Rue St. Dominique, I was looking
at some of Dore's works, and particularly noticed a grand
canvas alive with flame and lurid lights, dealing with
the same subject as drawing No. 30 of the " Inferno "
series, illustrating these words : —
" Guardbmmi un poco ; e poi, quasi sdegnoso,
Mi dimandb : Chi fu gli maggior tui."
Inferno, Canto X., 41 — 42.
The person represented is Farinata degli Uberti, in the
act of rising from his fiery sepulchre to question Dante
and Virgil.
Lieut. -Colonel Emile Dore, the artist's younger brother,
once saw me looking at the proof. He pointed to it
saying —
" Dante is the greatest thing he ever did. He was not
five-and-twenty when he finished it. It was his favourite
work ; indeed he was so fond of it that he reproduced some
of the drawings over and over again in oil and in water-
colour." In the drawing above alluded to (No. 30) which
represents Farinata rising from his tomb, Dore exhibited
a power of dealing with chiaro-oscuro akin to that of
Rembrandt. To those who have seen the marvellous
" Lesson in Anatomy " in the great Rembrandt Gallery
in Holland, I may say that the foreshortening of the figure
in the Farinata drawing can only be compared to that of
the " Lesson in Anatomy."
Farinata himself and the lurid flames which partially
envelop Dante and Virgil are painted with such vigour
that they seem to light up the very walls with a brilliant
flame, and their glow is reflected on the faces of the two

DORA'S ILL USTRA TIONS OF DANTE'S INFERNO. 217
poets with extraordinary realism. I find amongst my
notes some extracts from two criticisms by Theophile
Gautier, written for the Moniteur Universel, which as
literary works alone deserve reproduction here ; with the
explanation, perhaps superfluous, that the critic is speak
ing, not the friend.
These articles appeared in the Paris Moniteur Uni
versel on the 30th of July and ist of August, 1861. They
have a double value as art criticisms and as literary essays
of no mean merit. M. Gautier says, — ¦
'' No artist could be better qualified than M. Gustave
Dore to illustrate Dante. Besides his talent for compo
sition and drawing, he possesses that visionary eye of
which poets speak, which knows how to detect the secret
and curious aspects of Nature. He sees things by their
quaintest, most fantastic, and mysterious angle. His
vertiginous pencil, as if in sport, creates those imper
ceptible deviations which impart a spectral appearance
to man and a human aspect to a tree, make the latter' s
roots resemble the hideous writhings of snakes, and plants
assume the alarming contortions of the mandrake ; whilst
clouds take ambiguous forms and changing colours,
in which Polonius, bent upon pleasing Hamlet, com
placently discovers a camel, a weasel, or a whale ;
waters glitter with the gloomy sheen of steel, or are
fretted with frothy wrinkles, and mountains display those
face irregularities which imagination sculptures in bold
relief. "That which strikes us on the first glance at the
Dantesque illustrations of Gustave Dore is the locality
of the scenes he depicts, which have nothing in common
with the aspect of our sublunary world. The artist has
invented the climate of hell, subterranean mountains and
landscapes ; a murky atmosphere upon which no sun
has ever shone, lighted up by the reflection of a cen
tral fire ; thick streams resembling torrents of lava, and,
in the cold circle, an infernal Spitzberg more utterly
frozen than congealed quicksilver, the ice of which burns

G USTA VE DORE.

one's fingers like red-hot iron. This supernatural climate
he keeps up with incredibly logical rigour and verisimili
tude of detail.
***** *
" The vignette of Paolo and Francesca, reading together
the story of Lancelot, would make a delicious miniature
for a romance of chivalry. In the following engraving
we see the meeting between Dante and Farinata. We
do not believe that M. Gustave Dore, who, however, has
made many beautiful drawings during his career, has ever
heretofore risen to such a magical height of sublimity.
The ponderous granite slab is flung back. Farmata's
bust is illuminated from below He rests his neck against
the tombstone, upon which his opaque shadow stretches
away in formidable wise. This shadow of a shadow
has something about it so fantastically lugubrious that
it makes your flesh crawl with shudders like those
described by Job. One feels oneself in the other world.
Clutching the edge of his sepulchre with his fingers, the
Accursed One gazes proudly at Dante, and launches at
him the disdainful words, ' And who were thy ancestors ?'
(' Chi fui gli maggior tui ? ')
******
" To find anything analogous to the effect produced by
this really sublime composition, we must go back to
Rembrandt's ' Resurrection of Lazarus.' M. Gustave
Dore's drawing would hold its own side by side with this
masterpiece ; his block is worthy to vie with even that
magical etching.
" At last a ray of real daylight begins to pierce the
shadows. The immense journey is terminated, and the
painter is no wearier than the poet. This herculean
labour has been mere play to M. Dore. Already he is pre
paring "Don Quixote," the " Nibelungen" and " Perrault's
Tales." He has equipped an army of engravers for his
own service, which he drills and instructs, and to which
he can entrust his drawings, sure that they will be repro
duced with style, intelligence, and fidelity.
"Theophile Gautier."

THAO PHILE GAUTIER CRITICIZES DOR A. 219
L'Enfer de Dante Alighieri,
avec les dessins de Gustave Dore.
(Extraits de deux articles de The'ophile Gautier, parus dans le Moniteur
Universel de 30 juillet et 1 aout, 1861.)
" Nul artiste mieux que M. Gustave Dore ne pouvait illustrer le
Dante. Outre son talent de composition et de dessin, il possede cet
ceil visionnaire dont parle le poete, qui sait degager le cote secret et
singulier de la nature. II voit les choses par leur angle bizarre, fan-
tastique et myste'rieux. Son crayon vertigineux cree en se jouant ces
deviations insensibles qui donnent a l'homme l'effroi du spectre, a
l'arbre l'apparence humaine, aux racines le tortillement hideux des
serpents, aux plantes les bifurcations inquie'tantes de la mandragore,
aux nuages les formes ambigues et changeantes oil Polonius decouvre
complaisamment au gr€ d'Hamlet un chameau, une belette, une baleine,
aux eaux de sinistres miroitements d'acier ou des transparences pleines
de replis squamrneux, aux montagnes des anfractuosite's que l'imagina-
tion sculpte en vagues bas-reliefs. Ce qui frappe au premier coup
d'ceil dans les illustrations dantesques de Gustave Dor£, c'est le milieu
ou. se passent les scenes qu'il dessine et qui n'a aucun rapport avec
les aspects de notre monde subiunaire.
" L'artiste a invente- le climat de Tenter, les montagnes souterraines,
les paysages infe"rieurs, l'atmosphere brune ou. jamais soleil n'a lui et
qu'eclairent des reverberations du feu central, les fleuves epais, sem-
blables a des courants de lave, et pour le cercle du froid, un Spitzberg
infernal, plus gele" que celui ou la mercure se fige et dont la glace briile
les mains comme du fer rouge. Ce climat surnaturel, il le maintient
avec une rigueur de logique et une vraisemblance de de'tails incroyable.
* * l * * * *
" La vignette de Francesca et Paolo lisant ensemble Lancelot ferait
une d£licieuse miniature pour un roman de chevalerie.
" Dans la planche suivante on voit la rencontre de Dante et de Fari
nata. Nous ne croyons pas que M. Gustave Dore", qui pourtant a fait
de bien beaux dessins dans sa vie, se soit jamais eleve a cette hauteur
magique  La lourde dalle de granit est rejete"e en arriere.
Farinata, vu a mi-corps, e'claire en dessous, appuie sa nuque contre la
pierre tombale, sur laquelle son ombre opaque se prolonge formidable-
ment. Cette ombre d'une ombre a quelquechose de fantastiquement
lugubre, qui vous fait passer sur la chair ce frisson dont parle Job. On
se sent dans l'autre monde. Crispant les doigts sur le bord de la
fosse, le damne' regarde Dante d'un air superbe, et lui jette ces paroles
dedaigneuses : ' Quels furent tes ancetres ? '
" Pour trouver quelque analogie comme effet a cette composition
vraiment sublime, il faut remonter jusqu'a la Re'surrection de Lazare
par Rembrandt. Le dessin de M. Gustave Dore se soutiendrait k cote de
ce chef-d'ceuvre et son bois pourrait lutter avec la magique eau-forte.
" Enfin une lueur de vrai jour commence a percer les tenebres.
" II est terming l'iramense voyage, et le peintre n'est pas plus fatigue"

220 G USTA VE DORE.
que le poete. Ce labeur herculean n'a €t€ qu'un jeu pour lui ! Deja
il prepare Don Quichotte, les Contes de Perrault ; il defraye k lui seul
une arme'e de graveurs, qu'il forme, qu'il instruit, a qui l'artis.tepeut
confier le dessin, sur de le voir reproduit avec style, esprit et nde"lite."
"Theophile Gautier."
The following reminiscence must have a place here, as
it bears particularly upon the greatest work of Dore's
life, and I can recall to mind no more characteristic
incident in his whole career.
Gustave Dore possessed the power of self- concentra
tion to a supreme degree. One would imagine that he
would never have dared to sit down to such a work as
Dante for the purpose of illustrating it, without having
books of reference at hand.
One morning, however, about nine o'clock, while his
friend, M. Kratz, was still in bed, the latter heard a rap
at his door, and a few seconds later Dore's head peered
into the room. Saying, " May I come in?" he walked
in with a large portfolio under his arm. His friend was
surprised to see him, and thought something unusual
must have happened ; for of late years Dore had worked
at home in the mornings. To M. Kratz's questions Dore
replied, " Nothing particular has occurred. I only thought
I would drop in on you this morning. Do I disturb you ?
May I work here ? " With these words he seated him
self at a desk drawn up before the window, at which M.
Kratz usually wrote, and began humming a few bars of
music. Then opening his portfolio, he took out a large
and perfectly clean block of wood. When he had settled
himself to his satisfaction he commenced drawing very
rapidly, all the time keeping up a continual conversation
with his friend. M. Kratz, who was slightly indisposed,
remained in bed for some time, and watched Gustave at
his work. He did not wish to interrupt the draughts
man, but in spite of himself a remark escaped him every
now and anon, and when he was not talking Dore would
ask some question leading to discussion. Between them,
indeed, a desultory conversation was kept up for an
hour or so, Dore smoking constantly, and only finishing

D OR A 'S IN TELLE CTUA L PO WERS. 2 2 1
one cigar to light and consume another. He gradually
relapsed into silence, whilst his fingers kept flying over
the block, and he seemed completely absorbed by his
work. M. Kratz in the meantime had arisen and dressed,
and had been several times in and out of the room.
Dore seemed utterly oblivious of his presence, and M.
Kratz thought that he had altogether forgotten him,
when suddenly Gustave asked him something about a
mutual friend. M. Kratz answered him, and no further
remarks were made for the moment. An hour later Madame
Pilloud, Kratz's housekeeper, came in and laid the cloth
for breakfast. She had evidently received instructions
to prepare it in the bedroom, so as not to disturb the
artist, who was still busy with his block, the surface of
which displayed a well-nigh finished drawing. When
the table had been laden with a smoking breakfast,
M. Kratz deemed it opportune to speak to his enthralled
guest. " Well, Gustave," he said, " is it not about time that
you stopped for a moment ? Breakfast is ready."
Dore started, laid down his pencil, and stared about
him with an air of puzzled and helpless surprise.
" You ! What — are you there, old boy ? " he stam
mered. " Naturally ; how stupid I am ! Breakfast — ?
Already ? Why, what time is it ? Late ? Why did not
you say so ? Here I have taken possession of your
room and desk all this time. I am sure you have wanted
to come here."
He arose lazily as he spoke, and glanced at the table,
but made no movement as if to sit down thereat. He
had been spiritually far away in another world, and was
still in a semi-stupified state of transition. How could
he leap with one bound from the realms of the ideal, into
the domain of the material — eating and drinking ? Yet he
did so.
" I think I will breakfast with you," he said shortly ;
and they drew up to the table. His friend knew him too
well to question him about his work. If you really wished
to please Dore, it was necessary to carefully abstain from

222 G USTA VE DORE.

asking him what he was doing. He always wanted to be
the first to speak of a thing so as to surprise his friends
agreeably ; throughout the meal, however, he said not a
word about his drawing, but talked, as was his wont, in a
brilliant, quick, erratic fashion, passing from one subject
to another with almost pathetic indifference. One could
see that his brain was easing itself of weighty matters by
a safety valve of continuous but almost meaningless
chatter. He breakfasted hastily, swallowing his food
without the slightest idea of what he was eating, washed
it down with a glass of his favourite champagne, and
without a word of apology, went back to his table, and
was instantly re-engrossed in his drawing.
He sat for some little time busy as before, having ob
viously taken up his train of thought exactly where he had
dropped it. The outer world did not exist for Gustave
Dore whilst he was at his work. His pencil exercised
so magnetic a fascination upon him, that but to take it
up was to immediately submit himself to the spell of his
art. He isolated himself completely from all earthly
sights and sounds, and possessed the rare faculty of
following his imagination into those enchanted regions
where the corporeal sense of being is dissolved into the
ether of an infinite and inspired soul. Palace, hovel,
boulevard, greensward, mountain, and cavern, were all one
and the same to Gustave Dore ; for he was never of
them ; he lived in himself ; his art was his kingdom, his
imagination, his world. You might have been talking
with him on a matter of the gravest importance, and,
without a word of warning or excuse, he would suddenly
walk up to a table or a chimney-piece, if he happened to
catch sight of a pencil or scrap of paper, and, standing,
would sketch off whatever idea had been running in his
head, usually something as widely different from the
subject of your conversation as sunshine from shadow.
He would finish his sketch, and either push it away from
him, or put it in his pocket ; then back he would return
to you, and take up the conversation where he had
broken it off, just as if nothing had happened in the

DORA'S PREOCCUPATION. 223
interim. This surprised and puzzled strangers, who
thought it odd, to say the least of it ; but with a shrug of
the shoulders and a perplexed sort of stare they would
come to the conclusion that he was a genius, and that
geniuses were privileged to be eccentric in their
behaviour. I well remember one evening party at his house, when
there was dancing in the studio, and he, seated in one
corner at his table, was diligently drawing away at one of
his sketches for the " Dante." He would work for a few
moments, utterly unconscious of the music, merriment, and
flying feet around him ; and, the dance ended, he would
jump up with wild enthusiasm, seize his violin, and break
out into so maddening a polka that its strains would set
every heart beating and every foot marking time upon the
floor. When the young folks had danced until they were
exhausted, he would gravely put down his violin and return
to his work, walking towards his table with the preoccupied
air of one already a thousand miles away from the scene.
This he did several times in the course of the evening ;
and no one paid the slightest attention to either him or
his work.
On the particular occasion referred to, when Dore was
at M. Kratz's house, he seemed farther away from the
world than usual. It is not strange that he had been
indifferent to the presence of his friend, to the savoury
odour of good Madame Pilloud's soup, which he was
so fond of, to the champagne or the chit-chat of his
host ; for he was with Dante and Virgil on a great plain
overlooking a starry world, the stillness of which was
unbroken by any sound. He was reading with Francesca
and Paolo, roaming with Beatrice and Dante, or listening
to the voice of Farinata as he spoke from his flame-
swathed open tomb, " Chi fu. gli maggior tui ? "
Before another hour had passed away, he arose with a
deep sigh of relief : —
" Here, what do you think of this, Arthur?" he asked,
showing his friend the newly-drawn sketch, and adding
carelessly, as if he were speaking of the simplest thing in

224 G USTA VE DORE.

the world, " It is one of my Dante drawings, and as it is
finished I shall take it at once to Hachette. Good-bye ;
I am off. Shall we dine together ? I have had such a
charming morning. Thanks, old fellow ; you are sure I
have not disturbed you ? " and so saying he walked away
with his portfolio under his arm.
I shall conclude my remarks on his Dante in the words
of M. Dalloz :—
" Nothing," he says, " can exceed the carefulness and
beauty of Gustave's work. He was Dante mad when he
executed it, and every spare moment was spent at his
' Inferno.' I think you know that he never did anything
greater ; and when the book was finally brought before
the public his triumph was complete. No one, not even
his enemies, could refuse to admit that it was a master
piece in every respect, and all that he had previously done
seemed mere dross in comparison to it. It is quite true
that nothing he had theretofore drawn had ever been so
exquisitely finished, in the artistic sense of the word, and
it was easy to see that he had brought each drawing
to the highest degree of perfection of which he was
capable. There was but one sentiment expressed on all
sides, namely, that Gustave was a genius. The daily
papers absolutely teemed with complimentary notices of
his new work ; even the Rabelais furore, which we had
thought so surpassing, was outdone. Gustave had every
right to expect some definite recognition of his achieve
ments from his country, but none came. Think of all
he had done besides his paintings, of all the authors
he had illustrated, and you will agree with me that
he was not presumptuous in hoping to be decorated,
and I shall never forget how unhappy it made him that
he was not a member of the Legion of Honour. I
have a letter of his amongst my papers which is that of a
man denuded of every hope and pleasure in life, of a
wretch on the very verge of distraction and suicide, all
because he had not the right to wear a little scrap of red
ribbon in his button-hole. One day I went to his house ;
Madame Dore was there with her fierce dark eyes and

HOW DORA RECEIVED HIS FIRST DECORATION. 225
turban, looking, as usual, like an inspired Mauresque pro
phetess. As soon as I came in she seized me by the
shoulders and nearly shook all the breath out of my body.
" 'Are you a friend or are you not ?' she exclaimed.
' Do you not see us mortified, humiliated, crushed,
in despair ? myself on the verge of distraction, the whole
house turned upside down ? Gustave no longer eats,
drinks, nor sleeps. Is he, the greatest artist of his time,
to be so worried and cast down, all for a miserable
decoration that people not fit to tie his shoe-laces
have had for a smile, some of them not even caring for
it ? He is not appreciated by his ungrateful country.
Shame to Paris ! A crying shame to France ! Do you
not see that he suffers, that I suffer, and that the entire
household is in despair ? '
" And so she went on. As soon as I could get my
breath, I began to expostulate with her, and said that I
would see what could be done. She had taken me by
surprise, for how could I imagine any such state of affairs ?
Gustave had often spoken to me about the ingratitude of
his fellow-countrymen, and had frequently said, —
" ' I don't care a rap for the Cross ; but for the principle
of the thing I do care. It mortifies me to think that I
am nobody in my own country. I should be so proud to
be considered somebody in France, which I love so dearly.
Of course it is not the"Cross itself, but the principle of
the thing.'
- " These words flashed through' my mind while Madame
Dore was going on, and I could see plainly what was
the matter. Gustave had been so despondent and broken
down since the Dante success that I had attributed his
depression to over-work. But with this double strain on
his nerves, fancying that he was not appreciated because
he was not decorated, and being, moreover, really ex
hausted by excess of brain-work, I did not wonder at the
state he was in.
" I promised Madame Dore to bestir myself at once.
Accordingly I left her then and there, and went to call
upon the Minister of Public Instruction, M. B  I
Q

226 GUSTAVE DORA.

asked him if Gustave Dore's name was included in the
list of persons selected for decoration. He hemmed and
hawed, finally replying, that they had thought about it,
but that Dore was so young, and there were so many
candidates for distinction, &c, &c. Of course he had a
dozen reasons ready ; but eventually he asked me for
some particulars about Dore, and promised that he would
think the matter over. He seemed so well disposed that
I left him, craving his permission to return in a quarter of
an hour, and tore off to Gustave's house. Entering his
studio, I vociferated, ' Give me a copy of all your
works ? ' and without further explanation carried off
enough to fill my carriage. Again I invaded the Minis
ter's room, a lackey following me staggering under the
weight of two armfuls of books.
"'What are these?' exclaimed M. B  , aghast,
pointing to the pile of volumes.
" ' Some of the works of a young man of eight and
twenty,' I replied, ' and this is not a quarter of all that
Gustave Dore has done.'
" The Minister took up one and scanned it closely, then
another, and another, turning over page after page. Time
passed ; presently he picked up the ' Inferno ' of Dante,
and went through it to the end without speaking a word.
Then he opened it again, laid his hand impressively on
one of the illustrations, and said, —
' Not a word more ! Let this speak for him. His
own talent says more than could a multitude of friends.
For Gustave Dore not to belong to the Legion of Honour
would be an insult to himself and an injustice to the
country that gave him birth.'
" Ah ! that was well said. I returned to Dore with
the copies of his works.
" ' Here, you great baby' I said, embracing him ' take
your books ; laugh, sing, eat, drink, sleep, and lament no
longer. You will have the Cross of the Legion of Honour
not through any influence of mine, but through your own
real talent and labour.' Then I told him all that had
taken place in the Minister's cabinet.

A SENSIBLE MINISTER. 327
" He strained me to his breast ; and Madame Dore was
so happy that she seemed to light the whole place up
with her sparkling eyes. Dear lady, her gaiety proved
contagious ; we had such a merry dinner afterwards, and
passed one of those happy evenings that I shall ever
cherish among my fondest souvenirs of Dore. I never
knew before that the Cross of the Legion of Honour
possessed such wonderful healing qualities."

Q 2

228

GUSTAVE DORE.

CHAPTER XXIII.

HOLIDAY EXCURSIONS.
"W7HILST we are speaking of Dante, continued M.
Dalloz, " I may as well say something about a trip that
we took through the Tyrol during the summer before the
work was finished. We were accompanied by a great
friend of Gustave, as merry a man as ever lived. Gus
tave, too, was in exuberant spirits. He fairly revelled in
the beauties of this wonderful countrv. At that time,
however, everything seemed beautiful to him, for he was
full of his schemes about illustrating great authors, and
was unusually confident in the one he had then on hand.
As in Spain, however, he was up to his tricks, for he
could not long remain serious over anything during holi
day-time. One day, as we were approaching a little
village, he suddenly conceived the idea of changing the
course of a tiny torrent which issued from the mountain
side. We were tramping it, and nothing would do but
we must stop and put his idea into immediate execution.
" We spent the whole of the afternoon lugging about
great stones, and piling them one on the top of the other
in order to divert the mountain-stream from its natural bed.
The more we worked at it the more deeply interested we
became in our childish scheme. Night came on, and

A SUMMER DA Y'S CAPRICE.

229

our task was almost completed, when several peasants,
attracted by the continual noise of rolling stones, and
thinking that we must be mad, came stealthily upon us,
and tried to stop us. Gustave at once doubled his fists

SOUVENIR OF THE TYROL.

and pitched into the nearest man with a vengeance.
You may imagine how strong he was when I tell you that
he polished off those lusty peasants one after another until
they cried out for mercy. Then we all made friends and
became extremely hilarious, as soon as we had succeeded

230 G USTA VE DOR A.

in making them understand that we were only amusing
ourselves. Finally, we were invited to the village to
drink with them, and take part in a merry-making they
happened to have on hand. It was some fete-day, I
forget which, and Gustave, who was the mainspring of
our movements, insisted upon our accepting the invita
tion. " It was great fun. Those unsophisticated villagers
must have been most favourably impressed by our faces,
for we were dressed abominably, and looked like road
side beggars. After dinner we joined the rustic party,
which was held in a sort of public parlour, or ancient
dancing-hall, in the local inn. Dore, seeing some
musical bumpkin playing the violin, snatched the in
strument from him and began to play some wild dance,
whilst I took possession of an old spinet in the corner ;
and then we began our real music. I never played so
much or so energetically before in all my life, whilst
Dore's fiddling was so full of spirit that the people got
quite beside themselves with excitement. Finally, an
old woman came up and told him in great confidence
that she knew of a wonderful violin, as old as the hills,
hidden away in a mountain-cave, and offered to go with
some one to fetch it. That was enough for Gustave.
Nothing would do but he must have it. So the peasant
started off with a friend, and the whole company anxiously
awaited the arrival of the marvellous violin. It was
nearly midnight when she brought it in, and Gustave,
once he had laid hands upon it, never let it go all night
long. Such a dance then ensued as would have amazed
most civilized people, and we kept up our spree until
daybreak. I do not remember ever to have spent such a
night before in my lifetime ; and although I knew Gus
tave of old, and had seen him enjoy a great many im
provised soirees, I don't think he had ever been more
thoroughly happy, or had shown himself off to greater
advantage. " The violin was indeed a marvellous one, and he wanted
to buy it and take it away with him. If I remember

DORA AT VERONA. 231
aright the old woman refused to sell it, or even to bargain
for it ; and it is probably still lying hidden in its cave,
awaiting some passer-by to drag it forth to light. But I
fancy it will never again give any one as much pleasure
as it gave us on that occasion, when Gustave kept the
peasants dancing to its music till daylight.
" From that village we went on to Verona. Gustave
was enchanted with the city, and we spent our time
sight-seeing from dawn until dark. As usual, he was
constantly up to some trick or practical joke. One day,
after visiting many interesting places, we went to see the
tomb of Romeo and Juliet. Instead of being inspired by
a tender melancholy, depressed, or even sentimentally
impressed, he was overcome by the desire to enact the
part of a poverty-stricken street acrobat. He slouched
his hat over his eyes, buttoned his coat up to the chin,
and began to go through some of those evolutions for
which he was as famous as any well-known circus per
former. Soon a great crowd collected round him, and
when he had finished his performance he went round with
the hat, secundum artem. He was so irresistibly droll,
and entertained his public so divertingly, that they
persisted in begging him to go on, and clamoured for
more star tricks.
" But we were getting hungry, however, and I saw that
he could not hold out much longer. In one feat he
persevered, namely, in handing round his hat ; and when
we broke away from the crowd there were still some
children who refused to quit his heels. At last we effected
our escape, and Dore counted his earnings with the delight
of a child. Would you believe it ? there was enough to
pay for a dinner, and a very good one too. He was
considerably out of breath afterwards, I can tell you ; but
I don't think he had ever dined at the Cafe Anglais with
keener relish than he did that afternoon in Verona. After
wards we went all over Italy, and, although seemingly
making his trip one unbroken holiday, he studied con
tinuously — in his way. I shall say nothing more of that,
because the proof that he did study lies in his Dante,

232 GUSTAVE DORA.

which is above all praise and criticism, and shows so
thorough a knowledge of Italy and Italian literature, that
one can easily understand how exhaustively its author
had become acquainted with the classic peninsula.
Indeed, that country was to him one long delight."

DORA SEES VENICE FOR THE FIRST TIME. 233

CHAPTER XXIV.
DORE AND DALLOZ AT VENICE.
FROM Verona they went on to Venice. If Dore had
been charmed with the city of the Scaligers and the
Capulets, what must have been his delight on seeing
the Queen of the Adriatic, " throned on her hundred
isles"! He was so intensely fascinated by Venice that he
seemed to think it enough to be there, without going
through the regular routine of sight-seeing. The weather
was very hot ; but, instead of stopping at home as all
Italians do during the greater part of the day, he was out in
the streets from morning till night, lying about on benches
or curb-stones as the fancy seized him. All he seemed
to care about was to lie quite still, and drink in the
architectural beauties which surrounded him. He would
say to M. Dalloz,—
" Don't speak to me ; go about sight-seeing, do any
thing you like ; only leave me in the streets in peace to
enjoy Venice in my own way. Remember, Venice is here,
all around us, with its palaces, streets, canals, and lagoons;
this is my Venice. I can see museums and pictures any
where ; go, and leave me to myself ! "
_ One day he stopped for hours in a little corner of the
Piazza San Marco, comfortably installed against the side
of a house. Sometimes he would lie stretched out at full

234 GUSTAVE DOR A.

length, his chin resting on his palms ; or, again, he would
sit bolt upright, leaning against the curb-stone, his head
thrown back, his eyes rapturously gazing on and eagerly
absorbing the beauty of the scene. The Venetians do
not usually lie about the streets as Gustave Dore did, and,
with the exception of a few idlers and curious contadini,
the great French artist found himself the most persistent
of loiterers in the most indolent of cities. One day he
had been recumbent as usual in the Piazza San Marco,
and had been greatly disturbed by several restless loungers
like himself, denizens of the curb-stone. M. Dalloz went
backwards and forwards past him for some time, and
finally sat down beside Gustave, whom he found in a very
irritable temper. At that moment a man close by, who
had been keeping him company in " star-gazing," briskly
arose and walked off.
" Look at him," said Dore indignantly. " There he
goes; he has been round and about already a dozen
times. Why can't he keep still ? Why will no one in
this square be quiet ? One fellow looks at an object for
a moment, and then off he goes to gaze at another, and
then at another. I can't understand such rushing about.
These people ! Good heavens ! nothing interests them
for more than a moment at a time ! "
"My dear friend," replied M. Dalloz, "you cannot
expect people who live in a town to lie all day about the
streets as you do, looking up at the churches and palaces
which they have seen every day of their lives since they
came into the world. Of course it is all very wonderful,
but Venice has not the zest of novelty to the Venetians
that it has to you."
" Nonsense ; as though it were a question of novelty !
If I were to pass my whole lifetime here, I should spend
it as I do now. I cannot believe that any one could ever
tire of looking at this city."
"The city; yes," rejoined M. Dalloz; "but you
don't go about much, and you don't look at the paint
ings."

AN AFTERNOON AT THE ART ACADEMY. 235
Dore shrugged his shoulders : —
"Ah, bah! paintings; Italian masters; some of them
are not bad, but I can live without them — without most
of them, at any rate. Besides, I can see paintings any
where ; but I can't see this ; " and he pointed to the
inimitable and fascinating spectacle spread out before
him. M. Dalloz gave up trying to reason with him. One of
his whims had laid hold of him, and the whole world
could not move Dore when he had made up his mind to
anything. M. Dalloz, however, went about with a friend
seeing pictures and interiors, palaces and churches, and
did not pay the slightest attention to Gustave. One day,
however, he begged him to go with him to the Fine Arts
Academy, but to no purpose.
" I shall stop at home," said Dore, " I don't feel equal
to visiting galleries. I am tired of even the sight of an
inch of painted canvas. Go without me ; I shall stop at
home and write letters , I have a headache, too. Pray go
without me."
In vain Dalloz importuned him to accompany him ;
Dore was obdurate. So his friend set off alone, but
happily picked up an old acquaintance in the piazza, and
the two went together sight-seeing.
It was late in the afternoon when they reached the
Academy, and after looking at some of the most celebrated
pictures of Titian, Tintoretto, Veronese, and others, M.
Dalloz and his friend turned into a little side-room, where
they caught sight of a man sitting rapt and absorbed in
front of a beautiful Bordone. The man gazed at the pic
ture intensely, then moved his chair a little farther back,
raised his hand to the side of his head, and gazed again
with his whole soul in his eyes, and an expression of the
profoundest ecstasy on his face. Something in the man's
attitude, in the pose of the hand pressing against his
cheek, in the look riveted on the picture, immediately
attracted M. Dalloz's attention. At a glance he re
cognized Gustave Dore. Instead of going up to him,

•236 :;'T \" gustave dorA. ...
he stopped short, and also prevented his friend from
advancing. " Hush ! " he whispered, raising his finger to his
lips. " Don't let us disturb him. It is Gustave Dore,
who refused to come with me to-day to look at the
Italian masters. You see how entirely wrapped up in
contemplation he is, oblivious of all save the picture
before him. Wait until we get back to the hotel ; I shall
chaff him handsomely about his newly-acquired taste for
Italian masters. It will be a splendid revenge."
Dalloz and his friend passed into another apartment,
which happened to be unusually crowded ; and, looking
round, they espied Dore stealthily elbowing his way out,
and glancing furtively around him to see if any one was
about who might recognize him. He finally assured
himself to the contrary ; and, tossing his head with the
old familiar movement which said, ," I am sure of my
affair," he disappeared. M. Dalloz returned to the hotel
an hour later, where he found Dore looking the picture of
boredom, with his hands in his pockets, staring out of
the window. He turned round as his friend entered the
room, his countenance wearing a curious expression of
mingled lassitude and defiance, but never proffered a
word. Then Dalloz spoke, —
" Well, you see I am back at last. I have indeed had
a day of it. And you, Gustave, what have you done ?
Have you been out ? What a lovely day it has been. It
was a pity to stop indoors."
Thus he rattled on for a few seconds, seating himself,
polishing his eye-glass, and making himself generally
comfortable. Perhaps his cheery voice and cheerier
manner jarred on the artist, who cleared his throat once
or twice, and finally answered, —
" N-n-no. I have had a headache." Then he passed
his hand across his brow, and continued : " I did not
care to go out. I have not felt at my ease on account
of the heat — the, the — weather ; there is so much here to
see, and — and in a word, I have. had a headache."

SCENE IN THE TYROL.
^Drawing in Dore Gallery. By permission of Messrs Fairless and Beefortli.) Page 237.

THE FAMO US BORDONE. 23 7
Dalloz looked at him, and said carelessly, " You don't
even ask where I have been ? "
" Yes, certainly— you — well ! where have you been ? "
" I ? well, I have been with a friend to one of my
favourite haunts, the Academy of Fine Arts."
" Ah ! "
" Yes ; and I must say that I enjoyed it. You should
have been with us. We saw some great works — some
grand works."
"Ah ! Italian masters, of course." Then he began to
hum a snatch of Rossini, and walked straight up to
Dalloz, his eyes interrogatively scanning every movement
of the latter' s features.
"Yes ; naturally, Italian masters," continued M. Dalloz ;
" and you haven't been out ? That is strange ! "
" What is strange ? "
" It is strange, Gustave ; of course I am mistaken,"
M. Dalloz looked at him without a smile as he spoke,.
" but I saw some one in one of the rooms whom I could
have sworn was you — your very self — intent upon a
picture." "Ah! which picture ? " Dore asked, turning carelessly
towards the window and taking up his Rossinian refrain
"where he had left it off.
" If I am not mistaken," replied M. Dalloz, " it was a
Bordone ; the grand and beautiful ' Marriage of the Doge
with the Adriatic' You know, the one in which he throws
the ring — ¦"
Gustave turned sharply round, and shook his finger in
his friend's face, exclaiming, —
"Wretch! You saw me. Never mind; c est rude
ment bien Jait ! Heavens ! what would I have not
given to have been the author of such a picture ? If I
had only painted it ! c'est rudement bienjait. What a
picture ! "
After that Dore was less prone to rave against the
Italian masters. Any one acquainted with his character
can readily understand the sudden despondencies which

238 GUSTAVE dorA.

beset him, even in the moments of his greatest pleasure,
and -how his sweets were always mixed with bitterness,
when he contemplated the works of the great masters.
and said to himself, " I shall never be classed amongst
them." It is not strange that the Bordone appealed particularly
to his sympathy and faculty of appreciation. Of all the
branches of pictorial art, the one Dore best understood
was that of grouping masses of living human beings
together, an instinct he possessed in common with the
great Bordone. There was a genuine touch of nature in
his quick appreciation of the famous master, while the
world in general languished over a Titian or a Tintoretto.
Amidst all that wealth of sublime inspiration, Dore, the
" gamin de genie," by a marvellous intuition, picked out
the master whose speciality he comprehended best, and
of whom he always spoke with marked deference in after
years. I shall now give a succinct summary of the works illus
trated by Gustave Dore, with a few incidental comments.
In each and every succeeding volume he repeated the
triumphs achieved by his Rabelais and Dante, conse
quently his fame became world-wide, and his fortune grew
with his fame. The sums he received for illustrating
books have never been equalled by the earnings of any
other artist in his special branch of the profession. I
have heard of the exorbitant sums paid to various English
draughtsmen, but I think none of them were ever
remunerated for their work so highly as Dore. He
earned so much money at one time that it was said " his
blocks were worth a hundred times their weight in gold."
This was between the years 1850 and 1870. During
those two decades he is believed to have earned nearly
seven millions of francs (280,000/.).
M. Bordelin, a very clever, highly-distinguished col
league of Dore, and one of his most faithful friends,
once said to me, —
" I have seen Gustave earn ten thousand francs (400/.) in

DORA'S REMUNERATIONS FOR ILLUSTRATING. 239

a single morning. He would have from fifteen to twenty
blocks before him, and would pass from one to another
with a rapidity and sureness of touch that were amazing.
He rarely finished any drawing at a single sitting, but
kept up a continual hither and thither, backwards and for
wards, between them. One morning he made no fewer
than twenty-one splendid designs, finishing the last on
the stroke of twelve. He then thrust his pencils from
him with a laugh, threw back his head with that peculiar
gesture which always sent his hair waving with it, and
said to me gaily, ' Not a bad morning's work, my friend.
Here are enough bank-notes to keep a whole family for a
year. Do you think I have earned the right to a good
breakfast ? Upon my word, I am hungry enough at any
rate. Shall we go ? ' "
The largeness of Dore's earnings was not attributable
to high prices charged by him for single illustrations. It
was the colossal number of drawings he executed that so
amazingly swelled his revenues. From Dante to an
almanack ; from a review to a comic journal, there was
no kind of grist that did not come to his mill. Probably
the world has never known a more indefatigable worker,
or a more conscientious one. Nothing of his was ever
slovenly or showed the least signs of haste or careless
ness. As M. Lacroix said, " He worked as well for a
penny paper that paid him ten francs as for a publisher
who paid him a hundred thousand." This was one great
secret of his success. Even his brother-artists unani
mously credited him with the virtue of conscientious
ness. Although he earned fabulous sums for his work, he was
never actuated by greed of gain. His ambition was to
establish a monopoly of talent in his own person ; and he
never got over that craving for fame which prompted him
to work until the pencil fell from his fingers. Sooner
than see another name heralded to public notice he would
have gone without eating, drinking, and sleeping, as
indeed he often did for entire days. He was encouraged

H° GUSTAVE DORA.

in this aspiration by the genuine superiority of his genius
and work. He need have feared no rivals, for no
draughtsman of his epoch could come anywhere near
him, and even had any other artist displayed special
talent, he could never have attained any notice in the
realm over which Dore reigned supreme. His popularity
was so universal that few people admitted the claims to
approbation of any other illustrator ; and yet he himself
was ever on the qui-vive of jealous excitement, and lived
with the constant fear gnawing his vitals that any day
some one might suddenly come to the front and eclipse
him. The suddenness of his own rise was the cause of
this constant preoccupation, which was a sentiment alto
gether beneath him. But he could no more overcome
it than he could live without breathing. We are reminded
of the well-known cantatrice, Madame L  , who had
been singing in the chorus, until one day, the prima donna
being taken ill, she took her part at a moment's notice.
Thenceforth her name was famous ; but she has never
been known to give a similar chance to any one in the
ranks. Well or ill, she never relinquishes her role of
prima donna assoluta.
But if Dore earned money freely he spent it with pro
digal liberality, and his hand was ever outstretched to
help the needy, in or out of his profession. One day a
workman fell from a scaffolding into the street, and sus
tained severe injuries. Next door was Dore's studio, who
was just entering the latter when he witnessed the acci
dent. The man uttered a loud cry, and then gasped out,
" My poor wife] who will give her bread whilst I am in
the hospital?" Dore had just been paid for a piece of
work, and without a word emptied his pocket.
" Here are five hundred francs, my friend," he said " if
no other help comes to you, send to the address on'this
card. Courage, and better luck."
This is only one of many instances of his generosity
and keen sympathy with the unfortunate ; but to return
to his illustrations.

217

''A'AAA,

LA FONTAINE, FABLES.
(By permission of Cassell and Co.)

j.swain etta.

Page 240.

SOME OF DOR AS ILLUSTRATED WORKS. 241
In the autumn of 1857 he illustrated Ed. de La Bedol-
liere's "Nouveau Paris, Histoire de ses 20 Arrondisse-
ments," 1 vol. in 4to, with 150 drawings, published by
Barba. Also, "Aline, Journal d'un Jeune Homme," with
one large page of illustrations, written by Valery Vernier,
and published by Dentu.
The next work was a translation from Mayne
Reid, called " L' Habitation du Desert," 1 vol. in
i6mo, published at Hachette's, by A. Le Francois, 60
drawings.1 " La Fille du Grand Chieftain," by Ann S. Stevens,
1 vol., 15 drawings.
" Fleche d'Or," M. V. Victor, I'vol., 13 drawings.
" L'Ange des Frontieres," by E. S. Ellis, 1 vol., 10
drawings. " Les Vi'erges de la For£t," by N. W. Buxted, 1 vol.,
jo drawings.
The above were published one after the other during
the years i860 to 1862.
"The Tempest" (Shakespeare), published in London
in i860, 1 vol. in 410.
" Les Figures du Temps," with biographical notice
(Paris, i86i)y. 1 vol. in i2mo.
" Les Chansons d'Autrefois," by Plouvier and Vincent
(Paris: Coulon and Pineau, 1861), in 121110.
" Le Roi des Montagnes," by Ed. About, fifth edition,
1 vol. in 8vo (Hachette and Co., Paris; 1861), 157
drawings, with eleven not in the text.
" Les Mythologies du Rhin," by Saintine (Paris :
Hachette, 1862), 1 vol. in 8vo, illustrated with 165
drawings ; six more than required by the text.
" L'Espagne, Mceurs et Paysages," by Godard, Paris,
2 vols, in 8vo (Paris, 1862).
" Les Etats Unis et la Mexique," by Malted (Brun,
Paris, 1862), 1 vol. in 410.
1 The above are American works (names of translators not given) and
are at present in the Bibliotheque Nationale in Paris. R

242 GUSTAVE DORA.

" Histoire aussi interessante qu'invraisemblable de
l'intrepide Capitaine Castagnette, neveu de I'Homme a. la
Tete de Bois," i vol. in 4to, illustrated by 43 woodcuts
(Hachette, 1862).
" Aventures de Baron Munchausen," traduction nouvelle
par Theophile Gautier fils, 1 vol. (London, 1866).
In 1863 Gustave began his season by M. Epine's
" Legende de Croquemitaine," 1 vol. in 4to, published by
Hachette, illustrated by 177 woodcuts. This book was
of such importance that an edition for private circulation
was printed on vellum paper. It was also brought out
in London in 1866.
His next work was " La Chasse au Lion et a la Pan-
there," by Gastineau, 1 vol. in 8vo, completely illus
trated (Hachette and Co., 1863).
" Don Quixote de la Mancha," translation by Louis
Viardot, 2 vols, in folio, was the great work of 1863
(Hachette and Co.), 370 drawings. London : Cassell
and Co.
" Les Contes de Perrault," was begun in 1862, but not
published until 1863, at Hetzels. This is the celebrated
work which had a preface by S. P. State, and over 100
drawings. (Id., " Los Cuentos de Perrault," in Spanish,
published by Ledouse, 1863.)
"De Paris en Afrique," by Gastineau (Paris, 1865),
1 vol. in i2mo, — drawings.
"LHistoire d'une Minute," by A. Masse, 1 vol., 121110
(Paris, 1865).
Victor Hugo's " Travailleurs de la Mer," also in 1866,
brought out by Sampson Low and Co., in Loncfe!. )$> i-JL
" Cressy and Poictiers,"_by E. Edgar (London, 1865),
1 vol. in 8vo, over 50 drawings.
" L'Epicurien," by Thomas Moore (French transla
tion: Paris, 1865), in 8vo, freely illustrated.
" Falmy Realm" (London, 1865), in folio.
"Le Chevalier Beautemps," by Quatrelles ; Preface,
Alex. Dumas fils (Paris, 1865), grand in 8vo.
"Atala," by Chateaubriand (Hachette Edition, 1865),
2 vols., grand folio, 80 drawings.

SOME OF DORA'S LLLUSTRATED WORKS. 243
1866 begins with Theophile Gautier's "Capitaine
Fracasse," published by Charpentier, and illustrated with
60 large drawings, 1 vol. grand in 8vo.
" Histoire de la Guerre en Mexique," by G. La Bedol-
liere (Paris, 1866), in 4to, — drawings.
Dante's " II Purgatorio ed il Paradiso," Hachette and
Co., 1867.
" Le Chemin des Ecoliers," by Saintine (Hachette and
Co.), 1 vol. in 8vo, — drawings (1866).
" La Sainte Bible," according to the Vulgate, new
translation, 2 vols, grand in folio (1866), over 200
illustrations. Mame, publisher, Tours ; Cassell and Co.,
England. " Paradise Lost," by John Milton, edited by Cassell and
Co. (London, 1866).
" La France et la Russie," by La Bedolliere (Paris,
1867). " Les Fables de Lafontaine," 2 vols, in folio (Hachette
and Co.), 8 large and 250 small plates, 1867.
"Les Pays-bas et la Belgique " (Paris, 1867), in 8vo,
fully illustrated.
Thomas Hood's Poems (London, 1870: Ward and
Lock), 2 vols, in folio.
" The Song of the Ancient Mariner," Coleridge, grand
in 4to (1870), 40 large and 3 small drawings.
New edition of Rabelais, 2 vols, in folio (Paris, 1873:
Gamier). London: Chatto and Windus, 1873.
" London," by Louis Ernaut, 1 74 wood engravings,
(Hachette and Co., 1876), 1 vol. in 4to.
" L'Espagne," by Baron Ch. Davilliers, illustrated
with 309 engravings on wood (Hachette and Co., 1874),
in 410. London : Sampson Low and Co.
Michaud's "Histoire des Croisades," 1875 (Paris:
Hachette and Co.).
" The Idyls of the King," Tennyson, 36 drawings,
Hachette and Co. (London: Ward and Lock).
"Orlando Furioso " (Ariosto), in 1877, was the last
great classic ever illustrated by the prolific artist. His
mother was only partly right in thinking that her son's
R 2

244 GUSTAVE DORA.

plans were but castles in the air. He realized most of
his grand projects, and had only one of them been carried
out exactly as he. wished, he would have achieved a
•triumph as lasting as the name of any author he illus
trated.

DOR A AND GEORGE CRUIKSHANK. 24 5

t^T^Z.^- . V - ~i-T~- -'T~'  ^

,jf^AfJ-f^

CHAPTER XXV.
BLANCHARD JERROLD TO DORE.
ABOUT this time Gustave Dore was engaged to make
original sketches for the Illustrated London News. I was
about to make some mention of this fact, but have come
across a book written by the late Blanchard Jerrold,
being the life of George Cruikshank, dedicated to Gus
tave Dore. This dedication I give in full, as it is not
only a pleasant remembrance of Dore by a friend, but
is in some respects a faithful chronicle of a characteristic
incident in Dore's life. It s.eems almost unnecessary to
state that Gustave Dore was a warm and fervent admirer
of Cruikshank's great talent, his fairy-like creativeness,
delicate fancies, and inimitable pencil. The dedication
is as follows : — " DEDICATION.
" To Gustave Dore.
" My dear Dore,— When some five and twenty years
ago we were waiting together at Boulogne for the arrival
of the Queen, who was on her way to Paris, we spent an
evening at the hotel with the late Herbert Ingram, for
whom we had undertaken — you to illustrate, and I to de
scribe — the pageant for the Illustrated London News. It
was a pleasant evening, closed by a long moonlight ramble
on the sands. While we talked you filled a vast sheet of
paper with a medley of fancies, squibs, caricatures, and

246 GUSTAVE DORE.

satires, in which public events were jumbled with private
jokes ; while the great folk, of whose doings we were
the chroniclers, were marshalled in procession with our
humble selves. I remember the astonishment expressed
on Ingram's face when, as we were leaving for our walk
and cigar, he glanced over your shoulder at the hosts
with which you had peopled the broad page before you.
It was a prodigious tour de force, so curious and com
plete an emanation of the humorous and satirical part of
your genius, that I pardon Ingram for having decamped
with it on the morrow morning before we were up.
" It is the remembrance of all that sheet contained which
has led me to dedicate this record of our friend George
Cruikshank's life and work to you. Poring over his
etchings and wood-drawings, my mind has constantly
reverted to your work of the Rabelais, ' Wandering
Jew,' and ' Contes Drolatiques ' period ; and I have
perceived a strong affinity between one aspect of your
genius and that of the ' inimitable George.'
" It is to the illustrious illustrator of Rabelais and of
Dante that I dedicate these disjecta membra of a life
of the illustrator of Grimm, of ' Oliver Twist,' and of
Shakespeare's Falstaff.
" Accept it, my dear Dore, as a tribute to your genius,
but also as a public acknowledgment of your sterling
qualities as a friend, and of your rare gifts as an
intellectual companion. Blanchard Jerrold.
"New Year's Day, 1882." J
Dore varied his holidays as much as possible, and
during the summer of 1862 we find him at Baden-Baden,
accompanied by his dear friends, M. Joanne, Paul Joanne,
and Arthur Kratz.
" Dore had but just arrived," said M. Paul Joanne to
me recently, "when he had the good luck to win ten
thousand francs at roulette. He did not know what to do
with the money. After discussing a dozen wild projects,
1 " Life of George Cruikshank," by Blanchard Jerrold ; Chatto and
Windus, 1882. In this admirable work will be found a most clever
drawing by Dor<§, called "The Gin Fiend."

" This wise man would lay at full length in a ditch or against a church wall, and
think over public affairs."
(Original drawing. By permission of Chatto and Windus. " Contes Drolatiques."
Page 246.

PAULLNE VLARDOT AND " ORPHEUS." '247
.  _  rrH,i
he decided upon founding a hospital with it. My
father informed him that before putting that scheme into
execution he would do well to stand us all a first-class
breakfast, to take place on the morrow at the old
chateau. " He was only too charmed to take the hint ; so we
breakfasted with the Viardots on the terrace, and greatly
enjoyed our al fresco meal. After dessert Dore walked
on his hands on the parapet surmounting the ruins ;
a terrifying feat, but one which he accomplished to per
fection." The following incident was narrated to me by M. Arthur
Kratz, and certainly was not Dore's least happy souvenir
of that charming watering-place.
It will be remembered that Baden-Baden boasts of
ruins and caves which would have delighted Orpheus
himself. When the breakfast was finished, Dore and his
friends started on an exploring expedition about the old
chateau. When they came to the famous fissure or
cavern, Gustave Dore exclaimed, " Orpheus ! this is the
real spot ;" whereupon he sat down and begged his
friends to join him in the grand chorus sung to Orpheus
just before his descent into the mouth of Tartarus.
Madame Viardot at once saw that never before had she
had any such scenery or accessories as these grand rocks
and cliffs provided by the Master-hand. Forthwith she
began to slowly descend the rocks, singing her part in
"Orphee" the while. She wore a scarlet shawl, which
gleamed like a bright flame in the dark entrance to the
cavern. Stretching one arm out majestically, she raised
her noble voice, which filled the air with melody, and
reverberated from the depths of the cave with supernatural
hollowness. Some strangers who were passing by heard
the great artist, and rapturously exclaimed, " Only one
woman in this world can sing and act like that, and she
is Pauline Viardot."
Those who witnessed this impromptu impersonation of
Orpheus say that never in her grandest days had Viardot
looked so impressive or sung with such exalted inspira-

248

GUSTAVE DOR A.

tion. „Who would not wish to have been present on such
an interesting occasion ? It is a pity that Dore never
sketched the scene in his own brilliant fashion.
jBy " the Viardots " is meant the family of the dis
tinguished man of letters, M. Louis Viardot ; that
is to say, himself, Madame Pauline Viardot- Garcia

DON QUIXOTE AND SANCHO PANZA.
(Original Drawing. By permission of Cassell and Co.)
(Malibran's sister), one of the most gifted women and
sublime artists the world has ever known, with their
children, then very young as you may imagine. Paul,
the violinist, must have been a mere baby, and I do not
fancy that he assisted at the breakfast, except, perhaps,
in swaddling clothes. Dore often spoke in after-life of
that sojourn at Baden as one of the most charming

SOMETHING -ABOUT M. LOUIS VIARDOT. 249
episodes of his life. In order to have some idea of how
agreeable it was, I shall speak a little in detail of his
companions. Besides being a great savant, M. Viardot was a man
who made his knowledge agreeable to every one he knew.
He was lively and courteous, and always had some happy
remark ready ; possessing, moreover, the rare gift of
putting people at their ease, and never thrusting his
learning upon any one's attention. His affability and
readiness to enter into all plans proposed for the general
amusement were quite remarkable, and he never fell into
the error of vaunting that particular patent of wisdom
which is usually stamped on the breast of the man of
letters. He was very old when I was presented to him,
and if I noticed those qualities then, how much greater
must have been their charm when he was in the heyday
of health, happiness, and renown !
Of Madame Viardot it is difficult to speak without
overstepping the limits of moderation. She is to my
mind the most marvellous woman I have ever known.
She speaks several modern languages as perfectly as her
native Spanish and French ; she plays the piano divinely,
and sings even now as only she or Malibran could ever
sing ; she paints and writes, the former so well that
the best portraits ever taken of Malibran and Madame
Garcia were executed by her hand ; the latter so admir
ably that Georges Sand, her dear friend, once said, " I
am glad that Pauline has not taken it into her head to
appear before the public as a writer ; for if she had, I
should have to retire on my old laurels."
Madame Viardot is so universally acknowledged to be
a great woman that I feel at liberty to speak freely of
her. If she have a fault, it is this ; she does not choose
her victims, but tries to fascinate every one, old and
young, man, woman, and child, who enters her circle
or comes into her presence. To say that she tries, is
also to say that she succeeds, for she never was known
to fail in anything she undertook. Add to this the
manners of a great lady and the simplicity that charac-

25° GUSTAVE DOR A.

terizes the elect of Dame Nature's gifted children.
Imagine a woman whose every movement is graceful and
whose every expression of feature is charming, and you
have before you a perfect portrait of Pauline Viardot.
It may be readily understood that a man of Dore's
poetical and imaginative temperament could pass de
lightful hours with such a family as this.
He spent as usual, however, a great deal of his holiday
in study. Indeed from morning till night he was poring
over " Don Quixote " with M. Viardot, whose translation
of that master-work he was going to illustrate-
Baden-Baden is one of those lovely, almost ideal spots
which appeal strongly to the poetical element in one's
nature. When Dore was there, at the time referred to
above, its artificial attractions were also in full swing.
Roulette was then in all its glory, and the gambling-tables
presented a spectacle which happily to-day is only a
souvenir of the past ; for play at Monte Carlo cannot be
compared with play as it was at Baden-Baden in its
palmy days, when Dore immortalized it in one of the
best pictures he ever painted, called " Le Tapis Vert," the
original of which is at present in the Bond Street Dore
Gallery. Most of the faces gathered round the table
are likenesses, and the lady to the right, with the fine
expressive face and questioning dark eyes, is Madame
Pauline Viardot. The others have little to do with
this history, so it would be superfluous to disturb their
incognito. It is not strange that here Gustave Dore should have
dreamed out some of the most beautiful and realistic of
his creations. _ His " Don Quixote " is a proof that he did
so ; for from its first to its last page it is a marvel of
imagination, poetry, sentiment, and sarcasm. The work
made noise enough to have disturbed Cervantes in his
long silent tomb. People still speak of it only as " Dore's
' Don Quixote.' "
It was stopped once, while the artist was staying at
Baden-Baden, by a painful interruption. For the first
time in his life Dore fell seriously ill.

DORA REVISITS THE SCENES OF HIS YOUTH. 251
" He had an attack of bronchitis," M. Joanne told me,
"which laid him up and made us all extremely anxious.
For some time he was a very sick man indeed ; but
eventually he pulled through all right. I particularly
remember the occasion, for as a rule Dore was never ill,
and his indisposition consequently made a deep impres
sion upon all of us. He kept his bed for some days, but
was at his work again as soon as he could get about ; a
little pale, but as gay and cheery as ever."
Dore returned to Baden-Baden on the ist of September,
1864, in company with his mother and his friend Kratz.
On the 10th of the same month he went to visit his
favourite summer haunts of St. Odile, Barr, and Hohen-
wald. This time he was joined by another old and dear
friend, M. Pisan, the engraver, whose name appears
opposite his own on so many magnificent cartoons. I
am unable to say much about M. Pisan, never having had
the good fortune to meet him. I know him, however, to
have been a lifelong and devoted comrade of Dore's, and
fancy that he must have been one of those " clever young
artists " spoken of by M. Lacroix in his account of Dore's
early days in Paris. At any rate he was one of his best
and most faithful collaborators in later days, and deserves
special mention here for his beautiful work and artistic
feeling. In December, 1864, Dore had the honour of spending
ten days at Compiegne as a special guest of the Em
peror Napoleon III. He was in goodly artistic company
as well, the great Alexander Dumas being present, with
Offenbach, Duprez and his daughter, and many other
eminent personages belonging to the aristocracies of birth
and art.
Speaking of Dore's visit to the Emperor, I once
came across a curious and touching souvenir.1 It is the
photograph of a large party who acted in charades and
tableaux vivants at Compiegne, and this was made during
the visit of the artist to the Court. Dore arranged the
1 At the Chateau de Folembray, the country seat of Madame la
Baronne de Poilly.

zs 2 G USTA VE D ORE.

tableaux vivants. with signal success, and M. Viollet-
le-Duc, the great architect, organized the comedies.
I shall speak of the former only. One of the most
beautiful was " The Queen of Sheba paying a visit to
Solomon." The Queen was represented by the loveliest
of all the Empress's ladies of honour; apart from her
beauty, one of the most distinguished and spirituelle
women of France, the Baroness de Poilly, nee du Hallay
Coetquin. The role of King Solomon was entrusted
to Count de Niewerkerke, who was indeed a superb
monarch. There are many to-day who remember that
entertainment, and they say that the Queen of Sheba
herself never could have outvied that other in fairness
of form and splendour of apparel. Madame de Poilly' s
costume of oriental stuff, broidered with jewels that the
Empress herself might have worn, reminded one of those
vestures that clothed princesses of the Arabian Nights
tales. This set off her beauty, as did Solomon's kingly
robes Count Niewerkerke's distinction. Surely M. Dore
had a brilliant personnel to work with !
The photograph I have mentioned above has a centre
figure, whose features were well known, none other than
those of the poor little Prince Imperial, who was then
indeed a little prince. The Empress is there in all her
loveliness, and to the left the Emperor, with a serious
but not unsmiling countenance. Again, to the right, is
Madame de Poilly, and here and there the other ladies
and gentlemen of this royal party playing at theatre. I
write of old days long gone by. The Emperor's cheery
voice is no longer heard as then at breakfast saying,
" And, ladies, what shall we do to amuse ourselves to
day?" There are no more games to amuse the Imperial
heir; no more five o'clock teas in the Empress's pretty
boudoir. One smiled his last when France's doors closed
upon him for ever, the other left his heart's blood and a
nation's pride under a firmament where no portentous
star out-glittered the fatal assegaie, the other hides her
tears and her dread memories in an alien land. And the
artist who grouped these royal players, he too is gone.

THE TOILERS OF THE SEA.

(Original Drawing made for London Edition, Sampson Low and Co.)
Page 253,

THE ROYAL PARTY AT COMPlAGNE. 253
When I looked at this old faded picture I thought how
strange it would have been could they have looked upon
their future, as the world now looks back on their past.
How strange and yet how happy a fatality that life's
vicissitudes have no foreshadowing mirror !
On the 4th of December of the same year Dore
gave a great reception and ball in Paris, and finished the
season in the midst of a crush of work, one continual
round of excitement.
He was a frequent visitor at Compiegne, and in Paris
was often one of the welcome select few in Madame
de Poilly's salons. This lady, as patroness of arts and
artists, still keeps up the old traditions of the Faubourg
St. Germain, when the grand reunions of nobility, of talent,
and of blood made France's name ring so famous in the
days of the First Empire. She is one of the few who re
mind us that those days are not so far back after all,
for when has genius confined its birth to any century
since the world began ?
Speaking of. Compiegne, I have given the above data
only from a little diary kept by M. Arthur Kratz, in which
I find the following memoranda for the year 1865 : —
"February 10. With Dore at Rossini's. Dore sang
some delightful jodels. Alboni and Patti in a grand duet,
accompanied by Rossini.
" May 7. At Dore's; amongst those present were
About, Lambart, Najac, and Thiboust.
" Saturday, June 27. Dinner again at Rossini's with
Dore. "Friday, September 8. At Baden-Baden. Dinner
with Madame Dore at the Zaehringer Hotel.
" Sunday, November 12. Dinner at Dore's; music by
Saint Saens.
"Thursday, December 14. Dinner with Gustave and
soiree at Theophile Gautier's.
"March 29, 1866. Dinner and soirie at Dore's.
Music in the evening. Gounod present, Garvert, Alboni,
and Faure.
" Sunday, April 15 — "

254 GUSTAVE DORA.

But I will stop here ; for you shall learn more about
this particular entry in another chapter, and I will finish
this one with a few details of Dore's autumn work, none
other than Victor Hugo's thrilling and well-known tale,
" The Toilers of the Sea."
In the early winter of 1866 Dore brought out "Les
Travailleurs de la Mer," in Paris, illustrated with three
hundred sketches, and we may judge of its success by
the following letter sent to Dore from the great poet,
Victor Hugo : — " Hautville House,
"T8Xbre< 1866.
"Jeune ET puissant Maitre, —
" Je vous remercie. Ce matin, a travers une tempete
digne d'elle, votre magnifique traduction des 'Travailleurs
de la Mer,' m'est arrivee.
"Vous avez tout mis dans ce tableau, le naufrage, le
navire, l'ecueil, l'hydre, et l'homme. Votre pieuvre est
epouvantable, et votre Gilliatt est grand. C'est la une
belle page ajoutee a. votre in-folio d'ceuvres charmantes
et terribles,
" Ce specimen splendide de mon livre exige le reste.
Dieu, vous et l'editeur le voulant, il est certain que cela
sera. Je serai pour vous l'occasion d'un monument de
plus. " Je vous envoie mes applaudissements eten remercie-
ments mes effusions les plus cordiales. "Victor Hugo."
" Young and powerful Master, — ¦
" This morning, in the midst of a tempest worthy of it,
your magnificent translation of the ' Toilers of the Sea '
came to my house.
"You have put everything in this picture, the wreck,
the ship, the rock, the hydra, the mano. Your octopus
is frightful, and your Gilliatt is grand. In this you have
added a rare page to your charming and terrible in-folio
volumes.

TOILERS OF THE SEA.
(Sampson Low and Co.)

Page 255.

VICTOR HUGO TO DORA. 255
" This splendid specimen of my book exacts the
rest. God, yourself, and the publisher willing, it is
certain that we may accomplish that result. To you I
shall furnish the opportunity to create another monument.
I send you my laudations and thanks in the most cordial
of effusions. Victor Hugo."
Dore was pleased to receive such a letter from Victor
Hugo, for whom he had always cherished a warm and
profound admiration. It will be remarked that the
poet uses the word " translation " instead of illustration,
which former may be taken in a sense of the highest
possible compliment, coming, too, as it did from the
author himself.
In 1867 the " Toilers of the Sea " was brought out in
London by Sampson Low and Co. The work had here
additional success, M. Dore having made the two draw
ings above referred to by V. Hugo specially for the
English text, which was by W. Moy Thomas.
In spite of the poet's offer and wishes, Dore never again
illustrated any work by Victor Hugo.
The success of the " Toilers of the Sea " is too well
known to chronicle again here, and the English public
fully endorsed the poet's opinion of Gustave Dore, who
was paving a sure road to fame in England. It was in
this year that Dore conceived and executed his greatest
painting, " The Neophyte," the enlarged one of the same
subject which is now on view in the Bond Street Gallery.
Dore in black and white had few rivals, and this splendid
work has all the grandeur of effect drawn from the
skilful manipulation of sombre and white colouring. The
sadness of the picture lends one more poetical touch to
M. Dore's artistic charm, but I will speak again of this
work in its order as it comes when I describe the pictures
in the Bond Street Gallery.
About this time it will be remembered Dore's Bible
was brought out by the great house of Mame and Co., in
Tours, and the English publishing-house of Cassell and
Co. made arrangements to produce the same in London.
Mr. Galpin, of the above-named firm, went tp Paris to

256 GUSTAVE DOR A.

confer with Dore on the subject, and an acquaintance
was made through the means of M. Best, one of the artist's
old friends. The result was in every way an agreeable
one, the acquaintanceship begun through business re
lations proving mutually felicitous to all concerned.
The following year the Bible was magnificently brought
out by Cassell, and was one of the sensations of the day.
Dore's name was so well known now in England through
his various works that his name formed the theme for
sonnets, pen portraits, personal sketches, &c. I would
have spoken in detail of the Bible, but through the kind
ness of Dore's dear friend, Mr. Galpin, I have been put in
possession of a copy of the Quiver, which has an elaborate
ahd exceedingly just historical notice of the great artist
and his works, notably a mention of his Bible, its technical
merits, and its reception at the hands of the British public.
I extract the following : —
. From the Quiver for Saturday, April 7th, 1866 (with portrait).
"GUSTAVE DORE.
"Who is -Gustave Dore-, of whom all the world is talking? His
name catches the eye from afar, boldly placarded on colossal posters;
his fame is trumpeted in all the leading journals of the day ; his works
are seen in almost every house, and figure conspicuously in every
newsvendor's window — for Gustave Dore is an artist whose honour and
whose pleasure it is to labour for that most generous and least
capricious of patrons — the public. Gustave Dord is a great man, and
a hard worker. The amount of labour which he has accomplished
has something startling about it. He must have exhausted wood
enough to have built a temple— a shrine for his own genius; besides
covering acres of canvas with pictures full of vivacity, and', glowino-
with colour. The illustrations to his last great work — a work now in
course of publication in monthly parts— form an attractive exhibition
in themselves. Dord has illustrated the Holy Bible, and the drawings
are some of the most wonderful that have ever been executed by any
artist, in any age. He has been inspired by his theme. ' The
grandeur, the tenderness, the awe of the holy volume are unprofaned
by clever conceits, by brilliant trickery, or by sombre nightmare
fancies.' ' Dora's Bible,1 says another critic, ' will be a monument 
the culminating and vastest work of his life, as a work of illustra
tion.' To this may be added another criticism to the same effect :
' In fertility of imagination, in local truth, in grandeur of treatment'
¦and often in a subtle appreciation of the sacred text, that is evinced
in a perfectly new handling of subjects that have been the study

LONDON CRITICISMS ON DORA. 257
of the greatest Christian artists, Gustave Dord must rank as facile
princeps." " Illustrated literature is peculiar to our age. For some years past
there has been a growing demand for books and periodicals, embellished
with more or less attractive woodcuts or steel etchings. The en
gravings that were not only tolerated, but regarded as triumphs of
art thirty years ago, would find no ready patronage now. Art education
has done much with its schools of design ; but cheap literature, well
illustrated, has done more to introduce a just appreciation of correct
drawing, effective grouping, and careful execution. Gustave Dord has
contributed very largely to realize this consummation. As a colourist
it is said he has no peer, as a wood-draughtsman there is no room for
cavil. He stands alone. And to him this fact affords unspeakable
satisfaction. He has worked for the people, he has sought the
popularity which comes from being well known to all, and not to a
small circle, however honourable or select ; he has called up the smile
and the tear by the humour and the pathos of his pencil, and he has
lifted the hearts and souls of those who have gazed on his Bible
pictures above themselves, and above the world, and made them to
stand in the presence of apostles, prophets, and archangels."
# * # * #
"Gustave Dore is still a young man, having only just entered his
thirty-fourth year. There is no parallel instance of one so young
having achieved so much, or won so universal a reputation. How
many artists, who have aftervvards plucked honours, have been still in
their pupilage at thirty-four, imitating the models set before them by
authority, and dissipating their native genius in the vain effort at
rivalling another's style ! Dord is thoroughly original ; his thoughts are
as free as the air. His childhood was passed amid the rugged scenery
of the Vosges; and the Arcadian landscapes so early familiarized to his
eye, have never been forgotten. He can sketch from memory alone a
landscape which he has once seen, and complete it with extraordinary
fidelity." •iF "JF * tF SJF
" When a man shows himself skilful in any way, there are always
those about him who would induce him to stick by his success, repeat
himself, establish a speciality and guard it jealously. But this policy
was repugnant to the ever-active and adventurous mind of Gustave
Dord. He showed that he could illustrate medieval romance as no
other man could do, or ever had done, and he was satisfied. Nothing
could induce him to condense himself, to reiterate illustrations of the
same sort of subjects. The Crimean war was attracting a large share
of public attention ; Dord resolved on being the artist of the campaign.
In conjunction with his old friend Philippon, he projected a journal of
engravings, giving every month pictorial representations of the chief
events of the war. It appeared under the title of Mttsee Franco-
Anglaise, and was published simultaneously in England and France.
To many who may read these lines, perhaps Dore's reputation dates
S

258 GUSTAVE DORA.

from the issue of this apparently ephemeral work. Other works
followed in rapid succession. Gustave's pencil was never idle.
The ardent desire of having the whole world for his judge, gave him
the courage to abandon painting for months, and even years ; for, as a
painter, he was constantly restrained within a narrow circle of admirers.
What ! should he paint pictures to decorate ordinary rooms, or to be
shut up in some deserted gallery, only occasionally opened to the in
spection of a visitor ? For fame such as this Dore had no relish ; he
yearned to speak with his pencil to the great mass of mankind. What
signified to him the dimensions of the frame, or the colours with which
his canvas was covered ? None were found who dared dispute the
talent of the colourist, who, with a little white and black pigment, pro
duced marvels of light and transparency, and who upon a few inches of
wood, described an immense horizon, and pictured multitudes of people !
In the whole 230 tableaux with which Dore illustrates the Holy Scrip
tures, there is nothing to offend the most sensitive of Biblical critics.
This is no small meed of praise. The old masters, with scarcely an
exception — French, Italian, Spanish, Flemish, Dutch — misrepresent
the sacred story. There is some glaring inconsistency, some palpable
blunder, in the scene itself or in its accessories. Even with our ex
tended knowledge of Oriental archaeology and antiquities, it is only at
rare intervals that we get anything like what we may suppose to be a
faithful picture of the recorded event. The traditions of art have too
often been made superior to the canon of Scripture. Not so with
Gustave Dord. He is evidently well acquainted with the text he illus
trates. He grasps its meaning ; he is moved by the circumstances by
which his characters were surrounded ; he sees them ' in his mind's
eye' as they were, and not as they are misrepresented on miles of
canvas, or caricatured by Academy models. They are men and women,
moved by the same passions, subject to the same infirmities, impressed
by the same grandeur, cast down by the same sorrows, and elated by
the same joys as ourselves. There is an intense vitality in his pictures,
that gives to them a realism unapproached in the works of any other
artist. His Eastern pictures are a-glow with Oriental splendour. His
priests and soldiers are robed and harnessed in the costume of their
age ; the buildings are such as those common to the East in ancient
times ; and the trees and plants, the camel, oxen, sheep, all the lower
animals, are such as we may find in Syria at this day. Without adopt
ing a dry or harsh mannerism, without overloading his pictures with
critical information, Dord becomes a valuable and suggestive commen
tator on the text. He has done much ; he is still working hard ; he
aspires — and may success crown his aspiration— to do still more. His
pictures to the Divine Comedy of Dante have already thousands of
admirers. But — whatever else he has done, whatever more he may
achieve — we can hope for nothing better in the way of intelligent and
brilliant illustration than we find in his Scripture pictures ; and it is our
conviction that the verdict of posterity, as well as of contemporary
critics, will give the highest place to Dord's Bible.

DORA WRITES ABOUT SHAKESPEARE. 259
This was one of many admirable notices of Gustave
Dore which the English press consecrated to him. The
cuts I have made in the above were relative to the artist's
boyhood, with which I have already acquainted you ; and
I may say here, the paragraphs omitted were faithful data
of his early life and artistic career.
By kind permission of the Messrs. Cassell, I publish
the following letter translated from Dore's French corre
spondence to the above house. It is one of the few
documents on record, wherein Dore speaks of his Shake
spearian design, the complete illustration of the master-
bard's works. I give the letter in full. It speaks for
itself, and cannot but add to the testimony which be
speaks the qualities of head, heart, conscience, and
knowledge of men so eminently possessed by the clever
French artist. To the Shakespeare, having occasion to
refer to it later on, I forbear other reference here than
M. Dore's characteristic letter. He wrote : —
" Paris, March 23rd, 1866.
"GENTLEMEN, — The rumours that you may have heard
respecting the conclusion of any contract into which I
have entered with some publisher to illustrate the works
of Shakespeare are inexact. I suppose that this false
news results from the numberless indiscretions of the
Paris Press, and the imperfect acquaintance of journalists
and others with the project about which I have conversed
with them.
" I should have done nothing, and I shall do nothing,
gentlemen, believe me, without first consulting you on
the matter. I consider that you have a priority of
claim upon me, and I am too pleased with the rela
tion in which we stand to each other, not to keep you
advised of all that passes and shall occur respecting the
works of Shakespeare, of which I shall do all in my power
to make you the publishers. As I must already have
mentioned to you, gentlemen, the works of Shakespeare
form so great an undertaking, that I have as yet been
unable to definitely determine how long a time it would
S 2

260 GUSTAVE DORA.

occupy me. The matter besides involves many important
questions. I should aim to study very deeply the his
torical pieces, of which I would wish to make pictures
full of archaeological truth, and the plays are so fraught
with character, and are such complete delineations of the
English nation, that to render justice to my subject it
would be indispensable that I should for some time reside
among you.
" My intention is that the Shakespeare — which I
mean to make my masterpiece — should contain a large
number of plates ; that to the large plates separate from
the text should be added many small illustrations em
bodied in the text, for example at the beginning and end
of each act, in the sonnets, and even in the life of Shake
speare which will preface the text. In fine, my idea would
be to announce the work with iooo drawings — not too
many for so vast a theme— moreover, the number iooo
is round and sonorous, would produce a fine effect as seen
in advertisements and posters, and help the success of
the work, which I anticipate will be without precedent.
I feel convinced and have sincere faith that I shall in
these illustrations out-distance by far all my previous
efforts. ^ The wealth and variety of my subject inspire me
with this certainty, " Believe me to be, yours, &c,
" (Signed) Gustave DORE."
Amongst other matter relating to Dore, I have come
upon a little sonnet which it strikes me should find a place
here. In speaking of the renown which Dore had ac
quired in England previous to his going to London, it
will be seen that during two years his name was almost
constantly before the British public. Two months pre
vious to an entry re Dore in M. Kratz's note-book, the
following was published in the London Quiver . —
" To Gustave Dore.
" Thou hast the subtle hand of older men 
Bold, noble, graphic, rapid in design,
With immortality in every line.
Thy power is wedded to the poet's pen,

S,^'$jK%

LA FONTAINE, FABLES.
(By permission of Cassell and Co.)

Page 260.

A SONNET TO GUSTAVE DORA. 261
And on thy works we ponder in amaze.
It seems as though some artist from the dead,
Who long the vanguard of his brethren led,
Hath ris'n again, in these our latter days,
To vivify pur art : Cervantes' wit,
And Dante's myriad forms of spirit-life,
With now sweet peace, then sanguinary strife,
And now sublimest scenes of Holy Writ :
These are thy monument, and these shall be
Fix'd as the earth's immutability !

From the Quiver, June 16th, 1866.

'G. S."

GUSTAVE DOR A.

CHAPTER XXVI.

DORE BUILDS A NEW STUDIO.
I HAVE already spoken more than once of Dore's home,
but feel that I may return to that subject without weary
ing any one, as it forms one of the most distinct
features in the life of this brilliant man. His mother had
been installed but a short time in the Rue St. Dominique
when nothing would do for Gustave but he must build
a studio there.
"The house was turned upside down until the studio
was finished," old Francoise told me ; " it cost a lot of
money, and even more worry. But when it was really
completed Gustave was as happy over it as if it had been
the first and only one he had ever possessed ; and it
was the joy of the whole family ever after."
This studio wore the familiar aspect of a drawing-
room. It contained a pianoforte and other instruments,
piles of music, books, comfortable sofa and arm-chairs^
card-tables and coffee-tables, musical boxes, statues^
statuettes, plaster casts, and bronze medallions, water-
colours, enormous paintings, photographs of' Dore's
works, chiefly of those which had been sold into foreign
countries, and any number of curious objects. The
works of art were all by Dore : everything of that class
was from his own hand.

ELIJAH NOURISHED BV AN ANGEL.
(The Bible. By permission of Cassell and Co.)

Page 263.

THE HOUSE IN RUE ST. DOMINIQUE. 263
In the real drawing-room were gathered together vast
numbers of things presented to the artist at one time or
another. On the wall in one little corner, just over his own
portrait, of which I have already spoken, hung a capital
photograph of Rossini. That great composer looks as
jolly as a sandboy, and the inscription at the foot seems
to be twinkling in his eyes. Even his neck speaks of
oood-humour." He has tied a black stock around it in a
foose fashion, and a pin sticks in it barely fast enough to
hold on. His coat covers his body in one huge wrinkle,
and from his position one might think that he was sitting
in a balloon. The dedication of the photograph runs as
follows : —
" Souvenir of tender friendship offered to Gustave
Dore, who joins to his genius as a painter and draughts
man 'the talents of a distinguished violinist and a
charming tenorino, if you please. G. ROSSINI.
"Paris, 29 Aug., 1863."
Close by hangs the portrait which Gustave painted ot
his father. To the opposite wall is appended a some
what faded photograph, that of an English clergyman,
one of Gustave's oldest friends, Canon Harford, who
had presented his likeness to Madame Dore with a
dedication containing the following words, besides many
expressions of friendship : —
" Offered in all humility to the lady who had the honour
of bringing into the world the greatest genius of the
nineteenth century."
This dedication particularly struck me as a sincere
and grateful tribute of admiration to a deserving object of
hero-worship. No one could more authoritatively than this
gentleman attest to the real nature of the great French
artist, whom he had known in many and varied circum
stances of life, ever finding him more than equal to every
task and every turn in the wheel of fortune.
On the mantelpiece in this room was the wonderful
bronze clock designed by Dore, called" Le Ore," besides
innumerable beautiful ornaments. One side of the ad
joining room was partitioned off into stalls, which were

264 GUSTAVE DORA.

crammed full of Dore's original works, proofs, sketches,
paintings and so on, by hundreds, or more likely thou
sands, all ranged and classified with great precision.
The only thing unsympathetic in the room to me was a
too lifelike steel engraving of Abraham Lincoln, which
hung to the wall. It had been sent to Dore from New
York by a friend. I notice this fact because it exem
plifies what M. Daubree once said of him : —
" Gustave never neglected the slightest thing given to
him by a friend. Every present he had ever received in
his life was sure to be found somewhere about his house,
carefully stored away and as carefully cherished. His
memory was so remarkable that the most insignificant
trifle never escaped it. Once a friend from Strasburg
sent him a little present. Donor and recipient did not
meet for years afterwards ; but the instant Dore saw him
he thanked him for his kind souvenir. The friend in
question had forgotten all about it ; not so Dore."
The house from basement to roof-tree realized the ideal
of the residence of a wealthy gentleman with bohemian
but artistic tastes. And yet it was palatial ; the odour of
its former ducal days still lingered about its apartments,
blended with an atmosphere of such modern comfort,
gaiety and unrestraint, that but to cross the threshold
was at once to feel at home, and think of the number of
great people, since the Regent's days, who had crossed
that threshold. Their name was legion. I remember a
few, and set them down here at random : — Rossini, Patti,
Alboni, Nilsson, Theophile Gautier (father and son) ;
Daubree (Member of the French Institute); Alexandre
Dumas, senior, and Alexandre Dumas, junior ; Lambert,
Thibault, Edmond About, Taine, Rev. Frederick Harford ;
the painters Marchal, Frenat, Harpigny, Carolus Duran,
Carrier, Belleuse (sculptor), Bourdin, Pisan, Bourdelin,
Leleux, Paul Joanne and Paul Dalloz ; Kratz, Pagans, the
delightful Spanish teacher and singer; Nadaud, whom
Dore always asked to sing the same song, " Lorsque
j'aimais;" Liszt — the great Liszt, Pauline Viardot,
Garcia, "the Sculpteur musicale ;" Lacroix, the savant,

A SCENE IN DORA'S STUDIO.

265

and Nadar, the "marvel," who has done everything and
can do anything ; Dr. Michel ; Gounod, who sings as does
nobody else in the world ; Emile Courtois, Campbell
Clarke, and — how many more besides ?

SOUVENIR OF ITALY, 1863.

Imagine that studio when it was filled with this de
lightful society ; Madame Dore in a chair of state, re
ceiving her guests, and her boys, Gustave and Ernest,
dispensing their cordial hospitality with unrivalled grace
and cordiality. Madame Dore constantly wore her turban,

266 GUSTAVE DORE.

and dressed in a sort of semi-Mauresque, semi-Andalusian
fashion. M. Lacroix said of her that she always looked
like an accomplished gipsy, and was as much the life of
any social gathering as Gustave himself. Indeed no one
enjoyed those receptions more than did Madame Alexan
drine, who invariably received as much attention from one
and all of her guests as if she had still been a young and
lovely woman, which was a great compliment to her
intelligence and charm of manner.
The salon of Gustave Dore enjoyed a great and de
served renown. Madame Dore's receptions were held on
Sunday evenings, and were always preceded by dinner
parties which are reckoned now-a-days among the histori
cal events of Paris. I repeat, only imagine that studio
when it was filled with this delightful society ! I can
see Madame Dore now, in a chair of state, receiving her
guests with all the manner and stateliness of a French
grande dame. Sometimes of late years she was aided
by her young and lovely grand-daughter, Madeline, now
the wife of Dr. Joseph Michel. The child of Ernest
Dore, Madame Michel combines all the graces and
talents of the Dore family; witty, spirituelle, beautiful,
and accomplished, she seemed the unique inheritor of
all Madame Pluchart's virtues and charms, and made a
pretty picture in the old studio, where she was spoiled
by grandmamma and her uncles Gustave and Emile.
Those famous entertainments, unrivalled in sumptuous-
ness and splendour of accessory, were moreover piquantly
flavoured by a bohemianism as appetizing as it was
refined. On such occasions Gustave Dore became a boy
again, as veritable an enfant terrible as ever existed. He
threw care to the winds, and turned the house inside out
in order to carry out any fancy which struck him as likely
tq amuse his guests. It must not be assumed that these
dinners resembled one another, except with regard to rich
viands, fine wines, unlimited fun and abundance of ce
lebrities, all of which were never lacking ; for it was his
special study to devise some new entertainment or
diversion for each dinner-party ; and the resources of his

DORE'S CHARACTERISTIC INVITATIONS. 267
fertile brain were no less inexhaustible than astonishing.
One remembers those dinners well ; let other guests, how
ever, rather than myself, bear witness to their manifold
attractions, some of which, moreover, are indicated in
documentary evidence emanating from Gustave Dore
himself, as for instance, the following notes of invitation
addressed by him to his dear friend Paul Joanne : —
"Amiable Paul,— The day after to-morrow, Sunday
evening, solemn representation of academical tableaux,
plastic poses, representing subjects religious, historical,
heroical, allegorical, frenetical, taken from the best authors.
The troupe of artists, already composed of the best
Parisian and Foreign talent, counts nevertheless on your
intelligent aid. So I hope to see you without fail. Come
early, so that there may be ample time to drape you in a
manner worthy of your plastic genius. Will you tell your
dear parents that if they will deign to honour me by be
stowing one little look upon our modest artistical efforts,
I shall be only too delighted to count them amongst our
guests, and to introduce them to this new style of pro
duction of their servant and friend, " Gustave Dore."
" My DEAR Paul, — I have the honour to inform you
that you are booked for the dinner of the 19th of Decem
ber, and for a very good place. Any refusal on your part
shall be considered a proof of extreme ill-will, and will
bring about a painful coldness in our relations.
" Yours ever,
" Gustave."
According to M. Joanne, the tableaux on the above
occasions were shown between two screens lighted by
magnesium, the great gas chandelier which lit up the
studio being lowered for the time being. First were
exhibited the poet drinking at a well of inspiration,
Jacob's ladder without Jacob, and many well-known
subjects, each one presented in the Dore style, and in
such an original manner as to send the company off into
shrieks of laughter. The incidental music was supplied

268 GUSTAVE DOR A.
by the musical guests, and when occasion required
Gustave played the violin, accompanied by his brother
Ernest at the piano ; the latter was a delightful man,
accomplished musician and agreeable composer. " At
the dinner," Paul Joanne loquitur, " the red wine was
decanted in carafes which were really Swiss musical-
boxes. Dore was continually begging his guests to
drink, and then as soon as the flask was lifted and
the music began to play, he would scream with delight
to see the astonished look on people's faces. His sly
way of handling those decanters was indeed amusing.
The longer the mystery was kept up the better he was
pleased. He was like a child with a new toy ; but
this particular fancy lasted longer than any one expected,
for he never seemed to tire of it."
Another dear friend of Gustave, M. Bourdelin, gave
me the following account of these receptions : —
" There were few illustrious persons in Europe who
had not paid homage to the talents of Gustave Dore by
visiting his studio. His dinners, recurring every Sunday,
enjoyed a great reputation.
" On certain grand occasions Chevet brought in an
army of cooks and assistants to his aid, and the guests
were treated to new dishes invented and prepared in
honour of Gustave's latest illustrations. Some of the
names bestowed upon these dainties were certainly
fantastic enough. For instance, ' Le gigot a titouffee^
and a fine soup ' Souvenir de V Alsace.' Amongst old
dishes familiar to memory was ' Le gateau de Savoie,'
which found a frequent place at dessert, amongst the
ices and ' les petits Jours a la mode.'
" Gustave presided at these dinners vis-a-vis to his
mother, and amused himself like a child. One dinner I
shall never forget. A friend from Alsace was the
guest of the evening; wherefore, firmly established in
the centre of the table was a gigantic pate" de Joie
gras from Strasburg. Gustave pronounced a pompous
eulogy of this noble product of his native country. He
explained how it was made ; how it was the delight of

A NEW KIND OF TATA DE FOIE GRAS. 269
gourmands all over the world ; how rare it was to find
one done to a turn ; how the luckless geese must be
fattened to such and such a degree ; how of all the
Strasburg pies he had ever seen, this one, sent to them
by a dear friend, was the most perfect and sublime, &c,
&c. Thus he went on until his description of the truffles —
the rare black ones from Perigord — proved so realistic
that it made every one's mouth water, and we could
scarcely bear to wait any longer the moment for devouring
the pate. When he had said all he possibly could say on
the subject, he passed the huge pasty to his nearest
neighbour, who took up his knife, fairly trembling with
excitement ; for to him was vouchsafed the honour of
cutting it. M. X  lifted up the crust, but imagine the
horror of all present when a tiny bird flew out, followed
by a guinea-pig no less frisky than its predecessor, nor
less pleased to be at length set at liberty."
Dore delighted in these practical jokes, and happily
his friends always knew how to take them. The dinners
were always very gay, only two subjects of conversation
being positively prohibited, viz., politics or the fine arts,
especially painting. However, every one, of course,
scrupulously avoided starting these topics, for in spite of
old and tried friendship, these Scylla and Charybdis of
small talk were regarded, and justly so, as rather
dangerous to good-fellowship.
In spite of Dore's claret decanters, which played
enchanting waltzes and polkas throughout the dinner,
this schoolboy artist never was tempted to try any of the
red wine so alluringly proffered at his festal board. He
drank nothing but champagne — champagne of the finest,
driest, and most expensive quality. Madame Alexandrine
was both economical and orderly ; to see a person com
mence his dinner with champagne was from her point
of view presumptive evidence of a most damnable
conclusion; and that her own son should set this example
in her house cut her to the heart. In vain did she
attempt to convert him to the use of Rhine wine, white
or red Bordeaux, or anything but champagne, wherewith

2 7© G USTA VE DOR A.
to begin his repast. Her attempts all failed, or at the
most they never got beyond the soup, when Gustave
would call out in a clear, seductive voice, "And the
champagne, mother dear; is it not time lhat we had
it ? Pray let it come on at once. We are all dying
to drink your health." As he said this he reminded
one of the artless children who wait until the drawing-
room is full to ask mamma or papa for a penny.
Then of course there was no help for it. With one
mournful look at her terrible child and a profound sigh,
Madame Alexandrine would give the order ; and so, for
the fiftieth time, her moral and economical schemes fell
through. On one occasion the Parisian Postmaster-General was
to be the guest of the evening. Dore worked the whole
day long in order to prepare the table in this dignitary's
honour, and the dining-room assumed the aspect of a
scene in the interior of a post-office. Imagine the
minister's surprise to have his napkin folded like an
envelope, his pates served in the form of a billet-doux,
his tarts enveloped in telegraph-forms, his ices in official
pigeon-holes, and the whole room decorated in keeping
with the position he so brilliantly filled.
On another occasion Gustave covered the table with
great glass globes, surrounded by flower-gardens, and
from each globe drew one of the Joanne guide-books.
This, I need not say, was in honour of his dear friend,
Paul Joanne, son of the inventor of these celebrated
works. Dore read several descriptions aloud, and always
parodied them so cleverly that some of his guests were
under the impression that he was reading verbatim from
the book.
" Once he caught even me," said Paul Joanne. " He
read, ' This cathedral is beautiful, although Gothic ;' and
another time, ' We particularly recommend this hotel for
the inodorousness of its servants.' I snatched at the
book in alarm, which was quite enough to send him into
fits of laughter, and to prove that his joke had not fallen
flat.

VERIFICATION OF AN OLD SAW. 271
" He finished the dinner with two speeches ; one pur
ported to be delivered in the purest English and the other
in the most correct German. He was so perfect a mimic
and imitated the sounds of the languages so well that for
a long time we thought he was really in earnest, until he
stuck fast at an English guttural and coloured deeply, so
that we found out that he had been chaffing all the time.
But he was always extremely funny, and I think I can
still hear people laughing at his jokes. His merriment
never flagged, and his invention seemed inexhaustible.
How he could possibly conjure up such quaint ideas in
his brain was an universal mystery."
Madame Dore was often reminded of Gustave having
broken the chandelier the first time they all dined in the
new home. This breakage of glass had indeed proved a
good omen ; never had an old saw been more forcibly and
completely verified. Since that day she had seen at her
table the greatest luminaries of France ; her son elbow
ing prime ministers, and offering hospitality to princes
and potentates ; had listened to original wit as it fell from
the mouths of poets and philosophers ; had drunk to her
fill of honours, respect, and pleasure ; until the thought
of their reunions filled her heart with a pardonable pride
and with all a fond mother's vanity ! Was it not all in
honour of her son ? Was he not the greatest painter
and draughtsman in the world ? Was he not the first
sculptor, the most charming host, the wittiest man, the
best brother, and, above all, the dearest son a mother
ever had ? Naturally, Paris itself, and the elect of the
outside world flocked to see him, and his receptions were
a fitting tribute to his genius, goodness, and popularity.
I think it would be easy for any one to picture to
himself those reunions.
How easy to wake the echoes of all those voices
of Dore's slumbering past ! Liszt with his marvellous
fingers bewitching the keys ; Michotte, the Belgian, who
drew tears from all who heard him ; Patti with her golden
throat ; Nilsson with her syren voice, fair hair, and en
chanting northern eyes ; Alboni, the great and good-

272 G USTA VE DORA.

hearted Marietta, whose delicious notes shamed those of
the nightingale that sang to Juliet — dear Marietta, who, al
though sometimes short of breath, always had an abundant
supply at her disposal when it was needed for Dore's
receptions ; Gounod, the most seductive charmer who
ever subdued human hearts by his tuneful song ; Pagans
with his Boleros and Sevillanos, habaneras and serenatas,
setting fans waving and eyes languishing with Andalusian
fervour ; Nadaud ; and, not least melodious amongst the
songster throng, Gustave himself with such a " tenorino
charmant, s'il vous plait;" Gautier's fine sword of wit
eliciting responsive sparks from Dumas' keen intellectual
blade ; Dalloz narrating his wondrous holidays with
Gustave ; About touching on matrimony at home and
abroad ; Paul Lacroix lecturing and Taine philosophizing ;
Dr. Michel chatting with Bourdelin, Pisan, Leleux, and
Kratz; Daubree talking " Dore ;" Carolus Duran, Hebert,
Harpigny, Jundt, and those other kings of the brush here
and there adding social laurels to their other coronals of
evergreen ; a jocund crowd, taken all in all, coming and
going constantly, and proud to honour the young artist,
their friend and fellow-worker, to imprint a' kiss on his
dear old mother's hand, and to lay an ample tribute of
homage at her shapely feet.
Those were the good old days of Dore's reign, and of
the celebrated salon in the Rue St. Dominique. Now
the studio is silent and deserted ; the violin no longer
breathes its soul through its strings, the pictures are
turned to the wall, and dust lies thick on every inanimate
object. " I do my best to keep things clean," says poor old
Francoise ; _ " but it is too much for my aged eyes. Then
too, there is no reason why I should, for they are all
gone ; only I am left ; and some day some one else will
be here in my place. C'est clair ; c'est bien clair ! "

M. THEOPHILE GAUTIER. 273

CHAPTER XXVII.
THE GREAT FRENCH POET.
A SLIGHT description of M. Theophile Gautier may not
be out of place in this memoir, as he was one of the
firmest and truest friends Dore ever possessed, as well
as the oldest, with the exception of Messrs. Kratz,
Lacroix, and Dalloz.
T. Gautier was born at Tarbes in 1 808, and was there
fore old enough to have been Gustave's father. There
were few subjects with which he was not acquainted, and
I believe that history places him at the head of that list
of brilliant authorities which enriched our Paris world
of letters not so very long ago. He was unanimously
pronounced to be the first critic of his time, not only in
literature, but in the fine arts, and his opinions were as
universally quoted as his books were read. His enormous
erudition, vigorous intellect, keen but brilliant sarcasm,
penetrating wit, and marvellous powers of observation, as
well as his delightful literary style, peculiarly fitted him
for the task of judging others, not less gifted, perhaps,
than himself, but less prominently before the world. It
was Theophile Gautier who spoke in such decided terms
of the artist Whistler, that Paris one morning woke up to
the fact that it had been a little harsh, and, perhaps, even
unjust towards that painter. His frankness may be
judged by the following remarks on one of the exhibitions
at the Salon : —
"After leaving the Palais de l'lndustrie I gave myself
T

274 GUSTAVE DOR A.

the pleasure of going to the Exhibition at Le Salon des
Rejetes. My compliments to you, gentlemen. You have
discovered the real place wherein to put true works of
art ; for I find relegated thither the masterpiece which,
to my mind, should have received the first medal at
that other Salon. ' The Woman in White,' by a certain
Whistler, for originality of thought and treatment, I
unhesitatingly pronounce to be the first picture of this
year's exhibition, and congratulate you on the rare
judgment, which buries rather than encourages rising
talent." The witty author of " Mdlle. de Maupin" and " Fortunio "
at least had the courage of his opinions. It was
this same audacity, perhaps, which went so far towards
ingratiating him with the public. He imposed his con
victions so peremptorily on the world that they were
usually accepted without hesitation as indisputable truths.
His frankness of criticism was as relentlessly exercised
upon his friends as upon persons indifferent to him. No
one was so able, but few were more unwilling to pay
compliments. This will be seen in his relations with
Gustave Dore, for whom he had conceived a genuine and
demonstrative affection.
Dore had been in Paris little over three years when he
made the acquaintance of Theophile Gautier, through
his friend M. Arthur Kratz. The exact date is not
known; but, to correspond with M. Lacroix's story
about " The Abominations of Paris," it should have been
somewhere in the latter part of 1851, or in the early days
of 1852. Dore's introduction to the leading French critic
came about through Theophile Gautier having favourably
noticed one of Dore's paintings long before the exhibition
of 1853, when Dore first exhibited in the Paris Salon.
One day M. Arthur Kratz was talking with Dore about
an evening he had spent at Theophile Gautier's house.
"Apropos, Gustave," he said, "you ought to know
Gautier. He is quite delightful, and I think would suit
you to perfection. You would be sure to get on together ;
besides, Gautier is a man whom every one ought to know."

FLOWER GIRL.

(Dore' Gallery. London, 1869. By permission of Messrs. Fairless
and Beeforth.) Page 275.

AN INTRODUCTION TO THAOPHILE GAUTIER. 275
Dore put his finger to his forehead as if he were trying
to recollect something, and replied, —
" Theophile Gautier ! Ah ! I remember ; you are
quite right. He is a man to know ; besides, he always
spoke well oj me. I think he is my Jriend. I have often
thought I should like to know him. Pray ask his per
mission to present me to him as soon as possible. I am
indeed anxious to meet him."
Thus it came about that the following Thursday even
ing, at Gautier's usual reception, Gustave Dore was pre
sented to the great litterateur, and was received by him
with warm and demonstrative cordiality, as well as a few
well-chosen words of compliment, which went straight
to Dore's heart. As M. Kratz had predicted, the artist
and critic suited each other to perfection, and both
instantaneously conceived a strong mutual liking. At
the close of the evening, as Dore went home he said to
M. Kratz,—
" Arthur, I thank you. You have done me a real ser
vice. I feel and know that as long as I live I shall like
Theophile Gautier." And, indeed, from that time until
the great critic's death Gustave Dore's life was inter
twined with that of Gautier in a perfect and enduring
friendship. Even in those early days, when Dore's name was on the
lips of every art connoisseur in Paris, public opinion was
so much divided as to his claims to be called an artist
that he was quick to remember any and every one who
said a word in his favour. He was at that time still so
much of a spoiled child that his art-judgment could not be
taken seriously ; but in choosing his friends he was often
happily guided by an instinct far more trustworthy than
his reasoning powers. But for this Dore would have led
a life of still more pitiful delusion than was actually the
case. He never reflected on the why or wherefore of any
question regarding himself, and believed every unfavour
able criticism to have been inspired by personal enmity
to himself. He could never separate a man from his
profession, and was sometimes singularly blind when his
T o.

276 GUSTAVE DORE.

best interests were concerned. This phase in Dore's
character was a life-long regret to his friends, which,
however, they might have spared themselves. Dore's
supreme gifts would have been a source of unhappiness
to nine hundred and ninety-nine human beings of a
thousand, for their very fineness entailed a supersensitive-
ness in. the disposition of their possessor which ordinary
mortals could neither understand nor appreciate. Happily
the world in general accepts a genius for what he is in
the abstract, and in its ignorance spares him many a blow.
On the other hand, only a person superlatively endowed
can appreciate and elicit the superlative qualities of
another gifted nature. Theophile Gautier was so great
a man that he recognized the boy Dore's talents and
potentialities, the resources of which were imperceptible
to the outer world, but whose existence was suspected
and revealed by certain signs plain to the mind of the
skilled delver, as flecked veins betray the golden quartz
in the ore, or tell-tale sand the diamond in the river's
bed. The ardour, contradiction, honesty, unreasonable
ness, enthusiasm, waywardness, boyishness, flightiness,
affection, constancy, and obstinacy of this many-sided
nature gleamed upon Gautier's acute comprehension with
the clearness of the noonday sun. He gathered informa
tion from its every ray, and learned to love where at first
he had only admired. After acquiring a perfect know
ledge of Dore's character and capabilities, Gautier
advisedly bestowed upon him the most apt designation
the world will ever know him by, " Un gamin de genie."
When in Paris, Dore dined every Thursday evening at
Gautier's house. Whether the party was large or small,
the artist's face was never missing from the circle
gathered round Gautier's table. The latter's death in
1873 set the seal of mortality upon one of the most
beautiful friendships of modern times. Too much has
been said and written of Theophile Gautier for me to
dilate upon him in this place; but I cannot forbear
from pointing out the contrast afforded by his nature to

CONTRAST BETWEEN TWO CHARACTERS. 277
that of Dore, by his Olympian calm to the impetuous
element which reigned supreme in every fibre of the
artist's being. They had two things in common, how
ever, their love of the beautiful and a certain childishness
of disposition which made Theophile Gautier frequently
appear as much of a boy as Gustave Dore. In a descrip
tion later on of their trip to Spain this side of Gautier's
nature will have a new light thrown upon it, one which
certainly reveals another charming phase in his fascinating
character. What a pleasure it is in these days of affecta
tion and falseness to find a great man who is not above
being human ; who without lowering himself one atom
from his own greatness can still descend with naive and
infantine dexterity to the level of ordinary mankind ; who
can remember that he, too, was once a child, and is
happy to fling away the restraints of manhood in order
to become a boy again ! Such men were Theophile
Gautier and Gustave Dore. Their works have surely
not been the less valuable because their natures were so
simple and transparently child-like.
Those Thursday evenings at Gautier's were curious
blendings of seriousness and fun, reckless gaiety and
simple recreations. Some of the favourite after-dinner
amusements were private theatricals, acting charades,
tableaux vivants, &c. Music, singing, and dancing also
had their turn, but the favourite diversion was charades.
It was a treat to see Gautier act and to hear him laugh.
He entered into the spirit of every suggestion with as
much ardour as the youngest person present ; and when
Dore was in one of his gayest humours the scenes that
took place between these two beggared all description.
Gautier said that he had never in his life known any one
of Dore's quickness and power of repartee.
One evening after dinner the company was unusually
numerous and strongly leavened with celebrities. One end
of the salon was partitioned off to form a stage, only
provided with a drop curtain and the usual accessories
of drawing-room theatricals.
They were playing charades, and the soiree was well

278 G USTA VE D ORE.
advanced, when a new comer entered the room and sat
down beside Gautier, who on this occasion was one of
the audience. Gustave Dore was amongst the performers,
and it was his turn to make up the charade. They were
just in the act of dropping the curtain when he caught a
glimpse of the new comer, who was none other than
Hebert, the celebrated painter.
As soon as Dore saw him he turned to his com
panions : — ¦
"Quick," he exclaimed, "I have the subject ! " and
forthwith began to arrange his people, utilizing the
accessories at his disposal with amazing ingenuity and
promptitude. In a few seconds all was ready, and,
striking an attitude himself, he called out " Curtain." As
the drop rose, every one present shouted aloud, " La
Malaria ! " " La Malaria ! " This is the title of one of
Hebert's greatest paintings, at present in the Gallery of
the Luxembourg. Such was Dore's way of compli
menting the artist, and nothing could have been more
spontaneous or graceful. The audience exclaimed," Bravo,
Dore ! " and for the moment he was, if possible, even a
greater hero than Hebert himself. This is only one of
many instances of Dore's presence of mind and quick
ness. Gautier said that he had never seen a handsomer
compliment paid by one artist to another, and that,
moreover, he had never known a man of such amazing
readiness as Gustave Dore ; not alone quick to con
ceive, but prompt to execute. Hebert received many
honours in his lifetime, but none greater than was paid
to him on that evening. Neither he nor his friends will
ever forget Gustave Dore's delicacy of feeling and
marvellous quickness of imagination. It may readily be
understood that the charade in question was the chief
success of the soiree ; for after so happy a hit any other
piece must have appeared tame by comparison.
Gustave Dore counted the hours spent in Gautier's
house as some of the happiest of his life. Indeed, all
the time he passed in the society of the poet was alike
beneficial and pleasurable to both the friends. Theophile

GA UTTERS FRIENDSHIP FOR D ORE. 2 7 9
Gautier was without doubt one of the greatest poets and
finest gentlemen of France. Gustave Dore was certainly
one of her greatest artistic geniuses ; and, although a
mere boy compared with Gautier, perfect harmony and
sympathy prevailed between them. Not only was
Gautier Dore's " guide, philosopher, and friend," but his
attitude towards the younger man was always marked
by the quintessence of delicacy, tact, and affection; In
fact Gustave Dore never had such a friend as was Theo
phile Gautier. I say this advisedly, having in my mind
many noble hearts which still beat with a quicker throb
whenever the artist's name is mentioned. With two
characters as widely divergent as the poles, these gifted
men never had a quarrel, though they very rarely agreed,
and used to discuss serious questions for hours together.
Dore never modified his opinions ; Gautier never changed
his ; and yet the subtle essence of a perfect understand
ing bound these two together by indissoluble ties of de
voted and tender reciprocity.
Gautier was in a position rendering his friendship in
valuable to Dore. The latter had many partisans ; but
they waxed colder when the artist most needed their
protection and support. Theophile Gautier never changed
towards him. From the very first he upheld Dore, pro
claimed his phenomenal gifts to be an honour to his
country, and vaunted his honesty and faithfulness towards
the public whom he had so indefatigably served. In
praising Dore's illustrations Gautier exhausted his rich
vocabulary of laudatory epithet.
His criticisms on the "Dante " and " Don Quixote" were
such enthusiastic eulogia that Paris began to think the
poet was suffering from Doremania ; and when the artist
exchanged his pencil for a brush Theophile Gautier was
ready and waiting to herald this new talent, and to set
the seal upon all he had previously uttered by designating
Dore as a genius — " A word," he said, " we are none qf
us too lavish of." It is difficult to draw the line in this
case between the friend and the critic ; but it would be
an insult to the memory of two great men not to attempt

280 G USTA VE DOR A.

to draw it, and I unhesitatingly say that this partisanship
on Gautier's part was fealty in a purely artistic sense of
the word. Admitted to be a man of the finest powers of
observation and most correct judgment of his epoch, he
really saw all that he said he saw in the artist's rich, al
though ill-balanced nature. But to his friendship for the
artist we may attribute that steadfastness and constant
courage of opinion which placed him at the head of Dore's
protectors, and made him through life the dearest and
most cherished of all Dore's champions.
How different from Edmond About, who after years of
" devoted friendship " (sic), having written countless
eulogies on Dore during two decades, was prompted by
a personal quarrel to head a newspaper article with the
words, " M. Gustave Dore, whose name we are ashamed
to see at the head of a list of French artists," &c, &c.
I must again reiterate that I have laid stress upon
Gautier's protection of Gustave Dore with no intention
of reflecting upon those other true souls who were also
never found wanting towards him. But there are degrees
of comparison, and none will deny the poet's right to the
superlative place in speaking of Dore's unflagging, un
wearying and disinterested friends.
Gautier's amity was often put to the test, and never
lapsed lukewarm. He spoke much and constantly in
Dore's favour, and upheld him on every possible occasion.
The more battles he had to fight for Dore the harder he
fought them. He was as absolutely immovable as the
rock of Gibraltar — a very tower of strength and protec
tion to the artist. He disclaimed any. partisanship on the
ground of friendship, however, and was heard to say on
many an occasion, —
" If my worst enemy had Dore's talent, in the cause of
art and for the honour of my country I should be bound
to uphold him. Dore is a genius, gifted with a glorious,
rich, and spontaneous nature. I like the boy. I like his
honesty, his naturalness, and his rare sympathetic dispo
sition. But were he not a real gamin de genie I would
forget his art and only speak of him as my friend Dore."

ANECDOTE OF THAOPHILE GAUTIER.

Gautier's extraordinary coolness and self-possession are
aptly instanced in the following incident related to me by
M. Dalloz. A great admirer of the poet one day was
fortunate enough to obtain an introduction to Gautier,

LONDON SLUMS.
(Original Drawing, Dore, 1871. Unpublished.)
whom he sought at the latter's house in Paris. On the
way he prepared the address with which he would greet
the poet. He composed several fine speeches, and had
finally settled upon one, when he arrived at Gautier's
house, and was informed that the great writer was in the

282 G USTA VE D OR A.

country at an address whither the enthusiast started off
to find him. He at last reached the house and rang the
door-bell violently. After an interval of some moments,
the door opened and disclosed Gautier himself standing on
its threshold — Gautier, with his enormous, stately figure,
his impassive, strongly-marked face lit up by majestic
eyes, the whole head crowned by a profusion of long
curling locks. The visitor looked at him, and experienced
so much gratification at the realization of his hopes, that
he was struck speechless with pleasure. Both men
stared at each other for some moments, until the situa
tion became unendurable, even to the poet, who, with the
same imperturbable calm that had characterized his
silence, looking compassionately at his dumb caller,
finally said, " Articulez seulement quelques sons."
Dore's enemies had but little chance of making any
impression on a wall of granite such as this ; and Dore
himself, with his fiery nature, was often cowed by the
poet's grave imperturbability. When Gautier died, leaving
behind him a sorrowful nation, a weeping family, and dis
consolate friends, amongst these latter there was no
heart which so copiously overflowed with grief as Dore's.
When the last funeral rite had been performed he burst
into violent fits of weeping, and could only reiterate,
" I have lost one of my dearest and truest comrades.
What can ever console me? "

DORA'S SOCIAL SUCCESS. 283

CHAPTER XXVIII.
DORE'S PERSONAL CHARACTER.
I HAVE hitherto dealt in detail with Gustave Dore's
talents and artistic achievements, but have said little of
his personal character and real nature. It will be borne
in mind that Dore, so to speak, had no youth. When
other lads were thinking of football or cricket, the young
Alsatian was delving in hard but classic soil, driving
his mental ploughshare through Olympian fields. His
juvenile shoulders were laden with responsibilities which
stunted his boyishness and prematurely developed his
manly character. It was said of him, " Dore is always a
child ;" but it would have been more correct to say, " he
became too soon a man." The obstinacy referred to by
M. Lacroix may have seemed to very many a disagree
able trait in his disposition, but it was none other than the
precocious determination of a proud and supremely gifted
lad to stick to his principles because he believed them to
be the right ones. His ambition, self-reliance, volition,
and perseverance would have appeared less pronounced in
the man than they did in the boy. All these charac
teristics seemed exaggerated in Gustave Dore because
they made themselves manifest too soon. The rest of his
nature had not had time to develop to the proper balance,
at least in the eyes of the world. His best qualities were
never appreciated by an undiscriminating public. He

2 84 G USTA VE D OR A.
was always conspicuous, because of his talent ; and, as is
usual in the career of great people, his private life was to
a considerable extent misunderstood by the world at large.
But there was pure, unalloyed and precious metal in
the man's nature. What are ambition, self-reliance,
volition and perseverance when offset by the greater
qualities of honesty, kindness, generosity, and fidelity ?
Gustave Dore possessed these latter in a marked degree.
Could you but have seen him in the bosom of his family,
in his intimate relations with friends, in his dealings with
mankind in general, you would have been irresistibly
drawn towards him. Uprightness and sensibility were
so strongly stamped on his every action that you would
have said, as did all who knew him, " Gustave Dore is a
noble fellow."
To his family he was all devotion ; the most filial of
sons, the most affectionate of brothers. To friends, or
even mere acquaintances, his actions were characterized
by the rarest delicacy. No one ever heard of Dore
having done an ungentlemanly thing. Perhaps the richest
veins in this complex nature were tenderness and genuine
amiability. While his first thoughts naturally turned to
his art, he had quick human sympathies, and no one
ever appealed to him in vain.
If a friend were in trouble, he sought him with spon
taneous kindliness, and his sympathy was never confined
to idle words. If his friend were ill, he left every haunt
of fashion and pleasure to sit by his bedside, cheer him
up, and bring the sunshine of his lively humour into the
sick-room. He was brimful of anecdote and repartee,
and no one was ever better company than Gustave Dore!
The hours he stole from his work to thus devote to those
in trouble were not few ; but he never broke faith with
the public. _ He would sit longer at his blocks, and
abridge his time for sleep, would deny himself personal
comfort and pleasures ; hut he would be honest to his
art and true to his employers.
If you appealed to Dore's heart, you struck a chord
which vibrated harmoniously and sonorously throughout

AN EXAMPLE OF DORA'S GOODNESS. 285

the entire compass of kindly human feeling. It was this
quality which made his friends adore him, those whom
he had befriended worship him, and his family bow
down before him.
A particular instance of his goodness crosses my mind.
For many years he spent his New Year's Day at the
foundling hospital, whither he carried presents of toys,
money, and clothing to the poor little waifs whom fate
had cast adrift on the fair but barren shore of Parisian
life. He used to get up before break of day and take
carriage load after carriage load of presents to all the
children's asylums in his neighbourhood. He would
distribute the toys himself, sit by the infants' tiny cots,
and amuse them until from those accustomed haunts
of suffering shouts of baby laughter arose. He told
them Bible stories, and fairy legends, tales of angels and
nymphs, of giants and pigmies ; he helped them to eat
their bonbons, set their skip-jacks in motion, wound up
their locomotives and spun their tops for them. He
entered into their joys and sorrows ; in short he was one
of them, and there was not a thought or feeling within
the range of babyhood's fancy which did not awaken a
responsive echo in his own breast.
When he was obliged at last to tear himself away he
left behind him, besides a noble donation in money,
memories of goodness and tenderness, which were more
than all his gold — such hardly-earned gold, too, could
the children but have known it, earned by those multiple
talents which brought him more enemies than friends,
more unhappiness than joy.
Few people understood this man's rare, loyal, and
delicate nature. He would be seriously annoyed if he
ever heard of any friend buying one of his works. You
had but to look at a picture or sketch, and he would
immediately say, " Do you like it ? Pray take it, and
keep it as a memento of our acquaintance."
Hence it is that so few of Dore's original drawings can
be found. He was generous to an incredible degree,
and gaye away his happiest inspirations right and left.

286 GUSTAVE DORA.

On the other hand, he never presented any of his works
to fancy fairs or bazaars, to be disposed of for charitable
purposes. " Head your subscription with my name," he
would say. " Set down whatever sum you please ; but
I cannot buy renown under false pretences." This rule
he never deviated from, though by adhering to it he in
curred the reproach of eccentricity, obstinacy, and dis
obligingness. If Gustave Dore seemed proud, self-willed, and in
different, remember that his art was the one absorbing
sentiment of his nature, and every silent demand made
upon it exercised a secret strain which might elevate or
warp his character, but which the world at large could
not appreciate. To his art Dore made every sacrifice.
" Not that I loved Caesar less, but that I loved Rome
more," has been the key-note to many a man's life ; and
we need not have been born on the banks of the Tiber to
feel the force of this sentiment.
This artist has proven to the world that Nature has
not forgotten just when, where, and how to send her
sovereign emissaries upon earth. How many are worthy to
sit at the feet of Minerva or Apollo ? Gustave Dore was,
although he found few in the world who really appreciated
that fact.
Speaking of Dore's personal character, it occurs to me
that I have discoursed of well-nigh everything concerning
him but his love affairs. He was a great social lion,
and very much sought after about town. No soiree was
considered complete if he were not present, and the
great ladies of the Faubourg St. Germain seemed to
vie with each other as to which should pay him the most
honour and attention. With all this flattery his head
was not turned. The more repeatedly circumstances
compelled him to frequent society, the more eagerly did
he cling to his own home and to his little circle of dear
friends. Some time before the appearance of Dante's " Inferno "
Dore built a studio in his house in the Rue St. Dominique,
and gave up the one in Rue Monsieur le Prince. This

SOME WLNTER EVENINGS.

287

delighted his mother, for it kept him so much at home.
The long winter evenings were very pleasant, with Gustave
at the violin, his brother Ernest at the piano or the
trombone (which he played very well), and some old

i^n

PORTRAIT OF A LADY.
(G. Dore. Paris, 1867.)
friends who used to drop in without ceremony to pass
a quiet hour with the young artist and his family.
It was a matter of surprise to many that he never
married. The late M. Paul Lacroix once said to me on
this subject : —

GUSTAVE DOR A.

" When Gustave was about nineteen he fell desperately
in love with the daughter of a gentleman in the Govern
ment service, and raved about her beauty from morning till
night. I never knew any man so profoundly infatuated
with a woman as he was with Mademoiselle X  .
Nothing would do but he must marry her. He proposed
for her to her father, and was immediately rejected.
Monsieur's reply was not unamiable, but extremely
matter-of-fact. He told Gustave that he wished his
daughter to marry a rich man. His words were these,
as nearly as I can recollect : —
"'You are a young man of whom every one speaks
well, one who possibly has some prospects before him as
a draughtsman. I do not doubt your talent, but your
future is uncertain. That of my daughter must be
secure ; and I wish to give her to one who has a settled
position.' " He little dreamt then of the name and fortune ' the
draughtsman' would so soon make for himself ! Gustave
was utterly stunned by the refusal, and vowed that he
could never love another woman, that he would kill him
self, and I don't know what besides. For my part I think
he was lucky to have met with such a father and
daughter ; for the girl of eighteen who preferred a secure
position to a charming young lover with a fine future
before him, could have been no fit wife for a man like
Dore. I therefore congratulated him on his escape.
After a few days he regained his spirits, and as he had
evidently given up all idea of marrying, I ventured, a
httle later on, to speak to him on the subject. He alluded
to it with apparent indifference, observing, ' Ma foi, that
hope did not last long.' "
Towards the last days of the Third Empire Dore
conceived a violent passion for a lady well known in
certain Parisian circles. She was beautiful, clever,
artistic, and fascinating, and Dore spent some of the'
happiest hours of his life in her society. There was a
great deal of talk about their liaison at the time, and
many people said that he wished to marry her ; but this

a

THE SIMPLICITY OF DORA'S NATURE. 289
was not so. Neither the lady in question nor Dore
himself ever had the remotest idea of such a thing.
From all I can learn, their friendship was uninterrupted
for a long time ; and to her charms and graces Dore
paid many a tribute of admiration and esteem.
Dore's love for his mother was so absorbing that none
other could ever thoroughly supplant it in his heart. That
at nineteen he experienced a caprice for Mademoiselle
X  is not surprising, for his devotion to his mother had
not then gathered strength, and become to him the all
in all which it was at a later period. Notwithstanding
what M. Lacroix told me, he took his rejection very much
to heart, and his pride was severely hurt to think that he
was not considered an eligible candidate for matrimony.
Years passed by without his again thinking of entering
the marriage state.
Dore was in some things a very temperate man. He
was never noted for those caprices which so often dis
tinguish fashionable, rising, and rich young artists. He
was simple in his tastes, modest in his desires, and found
every joy and comfort in his own home. His relatives,
commencing with his mother, steadfastly spoilt him ;
his every word was law to them ; he lived in luxury, and
was surrounded by a circle of ardently-adoring friends,
who thought everything he did perfection, everything he
said delightful.
By public report he had been successively betrothed
and married to a great many female celebrities ever
since his " Rabelais " set Paris talking about its young
illustrator. At one time it was alleged that he was
madly in love with Adelina Patti, and had threatened to
kill himself in her boudoir ; at another that his assiduities
at the feet of Christine Nilsson had compelled the fair
Swede to forbid him her house ; again, that he had adored
Hortense Schneider, and I don't know whom besides.
But the fact is beyond question that he gave Paris
no real occasion to talk of his love affairs, with one
exception, in the case of a celebrated and extraordinary
woman, whose eccentricities even to-day keep her name
U

2 90 G USTA VE D ORE.
before the public much more prominently than her talent.
This caprice lasted nearly two years, and cost the artist
many a noble inspiration ; but after all it was only a
caprice. He was never really in love with her ; but she
was the fashion, and for once he followed the example
of his contemporaries.
Dore's was a strange nature ; at once too simple and
too honest to find any real happiness outside his home
circle. With all his capriciousness there was never any
thing low about him, and he hated excess of any kind.
For him women might be said to scarcely exist, as
women ; they certainly played no part whatever in his
daily life. Wrapped up in his art, he amused himself
now and then; but no passion ever held him long enough
to gain much ascendency over him, and he would have
left any woman in the world at a word from his mother,
or to pass half an hour in the bosom of his family in the
Rue St. Dominique.
The only adventure which ever frightened his family
in the least was the affair with the actress before alluded
to, which threatened to exceed reasonable limits, whilst
giving him neither happiness nor amusement. On the
contrary, whilst it lasted he was moody, discontented, and
very much disturbed by assiduities which, after a very
short period, began to irritate his temper and seriously
interfere with his daily habits. As Gustave detested
vulgarity in woman, and kept up a certain poetic idea
with regard tq the sex, an entanglement with the above-
named celebrity could not fail to prove the reverse of
gratifying to his taste and disposition. As soon as he
could do so he broke it off, and from that time forth
no one ever heard of any more "caprices" of Gustave
Dore. Before this episode he had once again thought of
marrying, and this time things went rather far. His
betrothed was all that could be desired as regarded birth
and position, and the match was thought in every way a
good thing for Gustave. It was proposed to him by
friends; and he, thinking himself ready to settle in life,

DORA ENGAGED TO BE MARRIED. 291
accepted the idea, and seemed very happy at the thought
of getting married. Doubtless he was strongly actuated
by his honest love of home and by that idea of family
life which is so deeply implanted in the German and
Anglo-Saxon races. Dore was a true Alsatian in that
respect, and looked upon marriage in one sense as a duty.
He was rich ; he could surround his wife with every com
fort and luxury ; and, as to social station, any woman
might have been proud to call such a man her husband.
Dore was very fond of children; " fond " is perhaps not the
word, for he adored them ; and we may be sure that the hope
of having his own fireside some day illuminated by bright
baby eyes, and of hearing the ringing sound of clear
young voices calling "papa" in the old house of the Rue
St. Dominique, was a temptation too great to be resisted.
All manner of preparations were made for his marriage,
and the wedding-day was even fixed.
I do not think any one knows exactly how it came
about, but at the last moment the alliance was broken
off. Madame Dore seems to have had some hand in
frustrating it. At any rate, as the day approached she
grew more and more excited and unhappy. Dore could
not help observing that the thought of his marriage
seemed to prey upon his mother's spirits. Her life had
been devoted to him, and it is not strange that after
years of the closest companionship and most unwearying
care she could not see him given up to another woman's
love without feeling that her mission in this world was
ended. The thought that any other human being could do for
him the things she had done — could take the first or
indeed any place in his heart — racked her breast with
jealousy. Yet she considered hers an unselfish affection !
The only excuse for mentioning this episode in Dore's
life is that I believe when an attempt is made to write
even the slightest memoir of any eminent man frank
ness in the biographer is as desirable as any merely lite
rary quality. Dore's engagement was known to a great
many persons, and had I not alluded to it, my silence
U 2

292 GUSTAVE D OR A.

would have implied that I had some reasons for ob
serving reticence upon the subject.
Some of those who knew Dore well judged him very
harshly for the part he played in the matter, and made
but little allowance for extenuating circumstances.
There were two very good and weighty reasons for
the course of action he adopted. Firstly, his love for
his mother amounted to idolatry, and at the last mo
ment he found he could not bring himself to give her
pain. The second reason was less poetic than the first,
but certainly not less potent. Dore was used to his own
home, fireside, and way of living ; and what assurance
had he that in giving up all these things he would satis
factorily replace them ? He was no longer a youth ; and
habit, to one of his unconstrained, not to say Bohemian,
mode of living, was much stronger than passion, love,
caprice, or interest. The fear that taking a wife would
entail a_ change in his entire mode of life had not a little
tq do with his decision ; and any man who has passed
his "salad days " will readily understand Gustave Dore's
position. He had not even the excuse of being madly in love, as
he once had been when he made a confidant of M.
Lacroix, and threatened to kill himself if he could not
marry the lady of his choice. Undoubtedly that was
the only real passion of Dore's life ; and although the
wound was healed, the scar was indelible. Women
were always his friends, and in later years he enjoyed
some very perfect hours of female amity ; but it is also
probable that he found it impossible to forget "love's
young dream."
Amongst his sketches I find a woman's face often
times repeated. It is very beautiful, and one that he
must have been very fond of to have had it so constantly
in his memory. His family do not recognize it as belong
ing to any one they have personally known ; and as it is
amongst his early drawings, I have an idea that it may be
a portrait of his second idol. The picture in question
is given several pages back ; if it be a good likeness, it is

A POSTSCRIPT TO DORA'S DIAR Y. 293
not to be wondered at that he lost both head and heart
to so charming a person.
Although a man of a strongly affectionate disposition,
Dore was evidently not cut out by nature to make
any one woman happy. He was generous to a fault,
and his character was singularly noble and straight
forward ; but some of his notions were fixed, and his
character was a thought too independent and self-willed ;
added to which he was as volatile and fantastic in his
caprices as he was stable in his friendships. It is a curious
thing that Dore rarely saw any charm in acknowledged
beauties, and the women he was usually attracted to were
those whom not all the world admired. He loved a
Bohemian kind of life, unfettered by restraints. He was
spoiled at home and petted in society. What woman
would have had the tact not to undermine her own
happiness had she been united to such a man as he ?
Gustave Dore must have known himself all too well.
So it happened that in 1865 he added that postscript to
his notes : —
" I am neither husband nor father, member of the
National Guard nor a Freemason."

294 GUSTAVE DORA.

CHAPTER XXIX.
A MEMORABLE DATE.
The 15th of April, 1866, was an eventful date in Dore's
life ; for on that day he organized and completed
arrangements in connection with his famous studio in the
Rue Bayard, and for almost the first time the subject of
his coming to England was seriously broached. An
English publisher was dining at Dore's house, in com
pany with several of the usual Sunday guests, and after
dinner concluded terms with the artist for the illustration
of Tennyson's " Idylls of the King." At the same time
a long conversation was held with regard to Dore's
establishing himself for a time in England. At the close
of the evening Dore walked home with M. Kratz, and
talked to him a great deal about England. His mind
was full of it, and of the projected illustrations. One
thing I may note here was Dore's enthusiasm for each
and every new work he undertook. His illusions about
them were something extraordinary. On this occasion
he was delighted with the idea of illustrating Tennyson's
poems ; but the notion of going to England seemed to
disturb his mind in an unaccountable degree.
" It is strange," he said to M. Kratz, " this scheme
of going to London, there to open a gallery for my
paintings, awakens in me an odd presentiment. You
know that I hate leaving my country, my people, and my
home. With the English I am not sure that I should

DORA'S PRESENTIMENTS. 295
get on. Something tells me that ij I go to England, I
shall break up all associations with my native land, and
lose much of the influence and prestige I nozv possess in
France. You know that I love my home, my friends,
my own pot-au-feu, and that I hate to begin knowing
new people, and getting into new habits. Then, too,
how can I live without my beloved Paris ? I have heard
that England is a land of fogs ; that the people are cold,
and that the sun never shines there. They say that the
Channel passage will make me dreadfully sick ; besides,
it is a long way off, and — and I do not believe I shall go."
These were Gustave Dore's words, followed by many
more spoken in the same strain. He entertained the
fixed idea that coming to England was destined in
some way or other to bring about a complete change in
his life ; and the very notion of innovation terrified and
unstrung him. With all his waywardness, petulance, and
childishness, Gustave Dore's was a nature susceptible of
any amount of persuasion when one only knew how to
deal with him. M. Kratz was one of the few who did
know how, and, as usual, when he saw him harbouring
extraordinary superstitions or fancies, tried to reason him
out of them, telling him that he could not always consult
his personal feelings ; that he was an artist, and had his
career to think of ; and that it was quite obvious that he
must go whithersoever his interests might lead him. He
said, " England is not at the other end of the world. A
fine opening is offered to you there. Try it ; if you do
not like it, come back. But don't give way to babyish
notions about your whole life being changed by breaking
into your old habits, and such like nonsense. You are no
longer a child ; do look at the question of your own
interests, and reason like a man."
M. Kratz, after a long and animated discussion, finally
induced him to consider the idea favourably. Dore still,
however, insisted upon one objection, and repeatedly
laid stress upon these words : —
" I know that going to England is bound to seriously
influence my whole future. I have many and deep mis-

296 GUSTAVE DORA.

givings ; but I promise you, as you think it is to^ my
interest, to go over there once, and see how I like it. '
Even after having yielded thus far, he took a long
time to make up his mind. During the interim preceding
his coming to London, he never lost an opportunity to go
over the old grounds of the radical change such a step
was destined to make in his whole life. He was to lose
for a time his enchanting Thursday evenings at Theophile
Gautier's house ; he was to miss his delightful Saturday
reunions at Rossini's ; he would forsake dear friends and
dearer haunts ; but most of all he would have to leave
his darling mother, and the Sunday evenings which were
so wedded to his heart would become things of the
past. "I know what it is," he would reiterate; "I shall
break up all my old associations by going to England ;
for after an absence one cannot easily take up the old
threads again. I shall give the world here a chance to
forget me ; out of sight out of mind ! I know I am ruin
ing my whole life. Paris is so capricious, so athirst for
new names and new faces. My friends will get out of the
habit of seeing my face ; others will come in, and fill my
place. I shall be forgotten, but — I shall go."
In the summer of 1867 an English divine happened to
be in Paris ; and at the close of some important work
connected with the S.P.G., he thought that before he
returned to England he would hunt up Gustave Dore, for
whom he had always entertained warm feelings of admi
ration. He visited the artist at his home ; and a quick and
lively sympathy made itself manifest between these two
men, so little alike, and who yet had much in common.
They talked a good deal about England, and the reverend
gentleman strongly urged Dore to come to London.
Two days later the Rev. Mr. Harford was back in the
great metropolis, and the artist was reflecting on his new
found friend's last words, " My dear Dore, as soor; as you
arrive in London let me know. I am, and shall ever be,
entirely at your disposal." This was the beginning of
another lasting friendship.

DORA'S FIRST VISIT TO ENGLAND. 297
Mr. Harford was surprised one day some months later
by receiving the visit of a M. Arrymar, just arrived from
Paris, who, in the course of conversation, said to him,
" M. Dore has thought a great deal about you and
what you told him about England. He says that you are
bound to influence his destiny, and that he is coming
here — next year."
Gustave Dore was as good as his word. He arrived
in London on or about the 18th of May, 1868, and put
up at the Grosvenor Hotel, Victoria Station. He
immediately called upon his publishers, Messrs. Cassell
and Co., who had previously completed arrangements to
bring out his Bible in England, and left a card on Canon
Harford, which said plainly that he was at last in London.
The reverend gentleman was at his father's country place,
but lost no time in returning to town to see Dore, whom
he found amazed and astounded at the magnitude of
the city. As soon as possible Mr. Harford made Dore
acquainted with Colonel Teesdale, the hero of Kars ; and
this introduction paved the way to others. H.R.H. the
Prince of Wales had long admired the great French artist's
works, and speedily showed him every mark of sympathy
and distinction. As to the prince's aide-de-camp, Colonel
Teesdale, he soon became Dore's attached and devoted
friend. The artist's first amusements, impressions, and em
ployments in the " gathering-place of souls," I leave him
to describe in a letter sent to M. Kratz a fortnight after
his arrival, and headed by a pen-and-ink sketch, repre
senting a cart filled with a dozen individuals, more or less
sick, drawn by a small but plucky, nag.
" London, June 2nd, 1868.
" My dear Arthur, — The beautiful circular fountain
with twelve jets that you see at the head of this letter is
a study which I have just made of ' coming home from
the Daaaarrby ! ' It has struck me that as a sportsman
and ancient tosspot you could not be insensible to the
charm of this Homeric scene. Several independent souls

298 GUSTAVE DOR A.

have advised me to prepare for next year to be exhibited
in London, a painting thirty feet high representing this
episode ; but I cannot tell what secret instinct whispers
to me that it would be poor policy on my part. I
renounce the project — shall I not ? — but confess that it
is a great pity to find oneself thus obliged to muzzle
High Art !
" But what is still more Homeric is the life I have led
here for the last fortnight. Couldst thou but see the
quantities of bullock and various other animals, and the
cloudy wines with which they besprinkle strangers in
London, O ! thou guardian angel of feasts, thou wouldst
perceive that thy place is not in the midst of State
accounts in Paris, but here — here, in this Babylon of
Lunches !
" How amiable you are, my dear Arthur, to have
thought of writing to me ; and how much more amiable
you would be were you only to feel like recommencing !
For in spite of everything, and joking aside, at the
bottom of my heart I am not happy. A crowd of
strangers is never aught but a desert to me ; and in the
midst of attentions— nay, I may say ovations — of the
most amiable kind, I cherish in my breast a barbed dart
of veritable home-sickness.
" As to the details of my agitated, vertiginous life and
constant discovery and sight of novelties, it is impossible
to go into them here. I will explain all that in fifteen
bottles of Roederer on my return to Paris.
"Write to me again, I beseech you, even if you are
obliged to write to me in English ; ' it is the same
think, i _ will become smuttch obliged te you, and i
shall begin very happy to received any good news upon
you, my dear friend, i am with all my hearth,' "G. Dore.
" Grosvenor Hotel, Victoria Station."
Gustave Dore's presentiments were in part realized.
His life was indeed changed. He might be forgotten
in Paris, but he stood little chance of ever beino-

DORA TRIES TO READ ENGLISH.

299

forgotten in London, the world's metropolis, which
opened her arms to welcome the talented French artist.

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(London.)
He was sought out, presented here and there, taken to
balls, theatres, and "at homes;" put up at clubs, dined,
wined, and feted ; carried off to horse-races and boat-

300 GUSTAVE DOR A.

races, to cricket and polo matches, to dinners at
Greenwich and Richmond ; he lounged in the Row and
lunched in the Mall ; kettledrummed at five and dined at
eight, while it was yet daylight. He basked in the smiles
of fair women and great ladies, in princes' favours and
prime minister's civilities. Rich, gifted and engaging,
preceded by his brilliant reputation, he was lionized and
talked about ; in short, to sum it all up, he was " the
fashion," and fairly in the swing of that dizzy social
vortex — a London season.
Gustave Dore's nature was so expansive that it was
impossible for him to receive all this homage and not to
be favourably impressed by it. He often recurred to his
idees noires, however, and with a lurking suspicion that
these honours could not last, accepted his honours with,
for him, considerable reserve. Still, how was it possible
not to open his heart to such extraordinary proofs of
sympathy as were showered upon him by the greatest
in the land ? Before a month had passed over his head
the most genial elements of his nature had warmed into
new life under the rays of this English sunshine of recog
nition. The man who had known many heart-aches in Paris
found London's sympathy a soothing balm to his super
sensitive and over-wrought mind. There was much of
the woman in his temperament — infinite tenderness and
sweetness. Crush these sentiments, and, like a flower
doomed to a long winter, he closed within himself. But
the first breath of the spring breezes sufficed to unfold
and expand this redundant nature. Of late years Dore
had suffered from misplaced affection and confidence.
He had been attacked professionally and privately,
humiliated in his pride and disappointed in his one
ambition — to be thought a painter ; he had shaken the
dust of France from his feet, and had come to England
in order to get away from his old self, his old disappoint
ments, cares, and miscellaneous pin-sticking which Paris
had of late so immoderately inflicted upon him.
There was no half-heartedness in the welcome England
extended to Gustave Dore. The consciousness, to a

THE MONKEY AND THE DOLPHIN.
(La Fontaine. Original Sketch. By permission of Cassell and Co.)

Page 300.

D OR A 'S FIRST DINNER PAR TY IN L OND ON. 301
noble mind, of being thought excellent, and made to feel
that one is so, imparts a vehement stimulus to the pro
ductive capacity, and Gustave carried everything before
him, personally, socially, and artistically.
The first time he appeared in this new character of a
Lion was at a dinner given in his honour by the charming
and accomplished Viscountess Combermere. This enter
tainment will long be remembered by those who were pre
sent, not alone on account of the hostess, but on that
of Gustave Dore, who shone pre-eminent in fascination,
repartee, and savoir-faire ; as Canon Harford has said of
him, " He had a talent for every hour in the day."
Her ladyship, always the judicious patroness of literary
and artistic talent, showed Dore a special mark of dis
tinction by placing him on her right and the Belgian
Minister on her left at table. This was lost on none
present, and was a double distinction in a land where the
accident of birth and position decides who shall and
shall not sit "below the salt."
Dore's introduction to London society was in every
way a felicitous one. He also went to Twickenham very
frequently as the guest of their Royal Highnesses the
Comte and Comtesse de Paris, who were amongst his
oldest Parisian friends. It may not be generally known
that Dore was a staunch Orleanist, and had often talked
with his mother, Madame Alexandrine, about the Bona-
partes and France's degradation under the Napoleonic
Empire. He was neither toady nor title-hunter. He
liked the late Emperor personally, and had received many
marks of special favour from him while his guest at
Compiegne and the Tuileries ; but he did not believe in
Imperialistic government for France, and never hesitated
to say so. Perhaps had his expressed opinions been
politically more lukewarm, Madame Alexandrine would
not have had to nearly shake M. Dalloz's head off, nor the
latter (as he said in a letter written to the late Blanchard
Jerrold) to struggle for the simplest form of public
recognition of Dore's genius.
"J'ai du lutter autant par admiration que par amitie,

302 GUSTAVE DORE.

a plusieurs reprises, pour que les distinctions qu'il avait
si bien gagnees lui fussent accordees ; et c'est un des
meilleurs souvenirs de ma carriere de m'etre fait I'avocat
de son merite exceptionel. J'avais honte d'avoir a
plaider une cause qui se plaidait elle-m^me si eloquem-
ment." Dore's reception in the very best English society was
in itself a financial " boom ;" for with all due deference
to British appreciation and taste, I opine that were
Rembrandt to come to London without influential letters
of introduction, he might pack his " Ronde de la Nuit "
off to America for one of those chromos that are sent
out to favourite customers " with every pound of tea," * or
let his " Syndic " figure as a banner in the Lord Mayor's
Show by way of achieving popularity.
Gustave Dore was indeed a fortunate man. He re
ceived the most cordial and lavish attentions from the
Cassells, with whom he ever afterwards kept up admirable
relations ; and I need not say that amongst Dore's friends
Messrs. Galpin and Petter, of the above-named firm, were
the earliest and most cherished.
When Dore came to London in 1868 his Bible was
being published by Cassell's, and for several days some
of the principal sketches were on exhibition in the
windows of the great publishing house. The following
is told of a picture of the Deity which Dore" had exhibited
in Paris, and prized as one of his happiest inspirations.
The picture was placed on exhibition, but after two or
three days, to his horror, was withdrawn from the public
gaze. The artist learned that it was considered unusual,
in fact obsolete, to attempt any portraiture of the
Supreme Being. Dore was greatly incensed, and upheld
his thesis by citing several instances of an attempt
having been made to represent the Godhead. These
attempts, be it said, were produced in Latin countries —
one, we believe, in Germany — but Dore's publishers
were obdurate, and the drawing in question had to be
1 New York way of advertising tea-houses.

DOR A DINES AT GREENWICH. 303
suppressed. Dore had so much changed since those
days when M. Lacroix had proffered advice and received
rebuffs, that he now yielded with extreme sweetness to
the inevitable. Some days later a rather frivolous friend,
speaking of this drawing, asked the question, —
" What was the matter, Dore ? wasn't it thought like ?
Not a good portrait, eh ? "
"No," retorted Dore with pleasant irony ; "it resembled
neither of my chief French nor English publishers. The
Godhead was there, but not the Trinity."
On one occasion he partook of a fish dinner at Green
wich, and after one or two courses declared his appetite
momentarily appeased. He was not a little perplexed at
the sight of so much fish, but his amazement became
still greater as he observed the relish and promptitude
with which course after course of finny food was des
patched. He was indeed puzzled ; and at the close of
the dinner said, " But why so much fish ? This is not
Friday." On his return to town his first words were,
" Let us go to the club; I am starving;" and, arriving
there, he called out, " Give me at once two — if you please,
two — large beefsteaks."
Dore was like an American friend of mine, who never
could understand why fish were wanted out of the water,
and who, on an occasion when she had eaten some,
observed an hour later, " Fish must be brain food, for I
notice my stomach never gets any benefit from it. Now
I should like something to eat."
It need scarcely be stated that at this time Dore's
works were enjoying an enormous popularity in London.
There were the " Bible," the " Inferno," the " Don
Quixote," superbly published by Messrs. Cassell and
Co. ; the " Pyrenees," " Spain," and the " Toilers of
the Sea," issued with new drawings made especially
for Sampson Low and Co. ; indeed it would have been
difficult to have entered a house in London where the
word "art" could be correctly spelt and not to have
found one or more of Gustave Dore's grand illustrated
classics. The Rabelaisian furore of 1853, and Dante

3°4 GUSTAVE DORE.

excitement of 1861 were revived and redoubled in
London. Dore was indeed a rara avis ; a Lion, young,
gifted, and charming ; but this time his head was never
once turned by any amount of flattery. He was the
simple, hard-working artist, who had learned that the
sweetest roses grow upon the thorniest stems. Success
meant to him new effort and newer concentration of
thought. These new honours were the velvet lining to
his workaday dress. He never forgot that art was calling
him, and that he could only obey one master.
In other respects, too, Dore's nature had undergone a
change since he had begun to illustrate the "Bible." He
had previously been heard to talk lightly on religion ;
and although he was professedly a Roman Catholic, he
was not a Church communicant. He might be reckoned
amongst the few great men who thought of their gifts
with a complacency wholly removed from petty vanity.
One day in a conversation with M. Beeforth of the Dore
Gallery, he said in answer to that gentleman's remarks
about his many talents, of which he should be so
proud, —
" Not proud, Monsieur Beeforth. I am simply glad of
them. I am not vain, but only grateful. God has been
very good to me, and I thank Him every day of my life
for my gifts. I would not change places with any man
in the world. Understand me, not from vanity, but
because, when I look around me and see how full the
world is of hapless people and hopeless talents, I go
down on my knees to thank Him for having given me so
much to work with, and so much to be grateful for."
Dore had always been a thinker, and it would have
been strange if, coming in contact as he did with the
greatest minds, his own should not have undergone a
gradual but steady transformation. He had broken bread
with kings and queens, but he had also known that
other and " eternal Court, with its society wide as the
world, multitudinous as its days, the chosen and mighty
of every place and time;" and amongst all the famed
works that have graced the world since the rising of a

DORA'S RELIGIOUS PAINTING.

3°5

bright particular star in Bethlehem, Dore placed in the
first rank his Bible.
After his "Neophyte" had been exhibited in Paris,
many persons who were struck with the profound religious
sentiment of the piece, marvelled much that Dore, an

LONDON SLUMS.
(Original Drawing. Unpublished. 1871.)

enfant terrible of talent and irreflective spontaneity,
could ever have composed such a masterpiece of creative
power. Others said, " He makes a show of religion that
he does not feel. However, it is a new departure in art,
and he will probably make it pay." But many, on the
other hand, felt that this step was no leap in the dark.
x

306 GUSTAVE DOR A.

Dore was planting a firm foot on a soil whose generous
and loving fertility appealed to all that was inspired and
truthful in his ever fruitful nature.
I must now speak of the Rev. Frederick Harford, the
well-known minor canon of Westminster, and may sum
up his relations with Dore in a few words. He was the
artist's English guide, philosopher, and friend. During
Dore's stay in London he was in and out of this gentle
man's house daily, and often spent hours there at a stretch.
I need not say to what extent Dore was indebted to this
kind friend, whose name had been an "Open Sesame"
for the young artist to London's best as well as most
charming and cultured society. Canon Harford often
discussed religion with Dore, and one night on their
way to Sydenham to pay a visit to Mr. Grove (now Sir
George Grove), the subject of religious belief came up in
the train.
Dore said to Harford, —
" My friend, I am a Roman Catholic, a professed
Roman Catholic. I was baptized in that Church, and I
stick to it. That is all very well and good ; but if you
wish to know my real religion, I will tell it to you. It is
contained in the thirteenth chapter of St. Paul to the
Corinthians." Then he began quoting, and, to the reverend gentle
man's amazement, recited it through from the beginning
to the end, without hesitation or missing one word.
When he had finished, he turned to Canon Harford and
said, —
"Have I made any mistakes? and — and, believing
in that chapter as I do, might I be considered a
Christian ?"
We might imagine Canon Harford's reply, but happily
are able to give it, —
" Any man living up to that chapter might be called
not only Christian, but Christianissimus."
I have given, this incident a place here as it is of major
importance in two ways. Firstly, it settles the question
of Dore's religious belief; secondly, this conversation led

" CHRIST LEA V1NG THE PRAETORIUM." 307
to the realization of the great picture "Christ leaving
the Praetorium." Whilst the friends were speaking of
the great religious paintings extant, many subjects of
these latter were discussed at length, and their relative
situations were commented upon. Episodes of the
Passion of Christ and His crucifixion had been depicted
by many great artists. The question arose whether one
particular scene had ever been touched upon, viz. the
moment before Christ took up the cross. M. Dore was
determined to attempt a work based upon this incident,
and Canon Harford added, " You can do it, and it has
never really been done."
" Are you sure, are you quite sure ? " responded the
artist eagerly. " Then I will try. We will talk it over
at length, and as soon as I get back to Paris I will
begin it at once."
It will be understood that the conversation begun in
the train on the way to Sydenham, was not completed
then, but was resumed at several odd moments. Forty-
eight hours did not elapse between the first talk on the
subject and the last, which engendered the picture of
" Christ leaving the Praetorium." Dore continued his
religious conversations with his ecclesiastical friend, who,
although he had the art-treasures of the world to draw
upon in literature, painting, sculpture, and music, found a
real happiness in discussing serious questions with Dore,
whom he found not only a genius " with a talent for even-
hour of the day," but a man of puissant intellect, mar
vellous creative power and imagination, with a nature of
rare simplicity, sweetness, and strength ; a man whose
culture was no mean accompaniment to his natural gifts.
Dore only needed this new element of religious impetu
osity to set the seal upon his previous thoughts and
efforts. Dore's stay in London lasted a little over a month, and
during that time he went into Gloucestershire to pay a
visit to Canon Harford's father, where he was initiated
into English country life, which ever after had a peculiar
charm for him. On his return to London he resumed the
X 2

30S GUSTAVE DORA.

old round of gaieties, dinners, suppers, balls, garden
parties, theatres, and the like. He lunched at Marl
borough House and dined with the Heir Apparent at
State banquets, and yet with all these honours there be
gan to creep into his heart a longing which nothing but
the sight of home, friends, and familiar faces, and the
sound of loved voices could allay. It was then that he
wrote the following letter to his friend Arthur Kratz, and
ten days later he was folded in his mother's arms, back
in the Rue St. Dominique, which had seemed desolate
without him. "London, June 16th, 1868.
" My dear Arthur, — What an amiable and good
friend you are to think of and write to me so often ; on
my return only shall I be able to tell you all the pleasure
your dear letters have afforded to me. Be assured that
they are addressed to a man more dazed by real excite
ment than gay at the bottom of his heart. I was not
born to live out of my own climate ; and nothing in
these violent distractions, these Belshazzar-like feasts,
which fill up my life here, can ever banish certain painful
reflections from my mind. II me faut revenir a mes
moutons, and I repeat that it is indeed sad to find oneself
three hundred leagues distant from home, from one's
family, and from all that he holds dear on earth. But
look at the alternative : eternal exile for myself here, in the
interests of my fortune ; or return to that dear Paris,
where the sky is of a deeper blue ; where woman's foot
has a daintier arch ; where good Maman Pillaud pre
pares rare mayonnaises for your friends ; where cham
pagne flows in rivulets, and where  ! and so on, and
so on ; but — but — but ! A truce to such souvenirs ! I
become absolutely a nuisance.
" In my next I must initiate you into and keep you
posted as to English beauty.
" Six o'clock is striking. I close my letter with all my
best wishes, and hopes to see you very soon. News of

MME. DORA " ONE OF THE BO YS." 309
the metropolis, S. V. P. The State accounts — are
they in goo d order ? " Yours, " G. Dore,
"Artiste Militant."
Dore spent the month of September, 1868, at St. Odile
and Barr with his mother and friend Arthur Kratz. We
may imagine his pleasure at living again in the old
familiar country, where every resinous breath of the stately
pines seemed to add a year to his life. He dipped his
fingers in the fountains of St. Odile and thought of his
youth's favourite legend, associated with the remembrance
of happier days. For Dore was no longer the dreaming
boy who had conjured up and communed with the gnomes
and sprites of the Schwarzwald, but a man in all the
plenitude of life's successes and life's disappointments.
Yet a man with a boy's heart, a woman's tenderness, and
a poet's fancy. As for his mother, she was well and
strong, and seemed as young as the day when she put on
Gustave's little jacket and sent him off to Professor
Vergnette's school. During former trips to Switzerland
no excursion had been complete without her ; and now
whilst they were exploring for the hundredth time the
forest and glens of St. Odile, Madame Alexandrine was
their constant companion. Dore was full of his season in
London, of the plan for a Dore Gallery then in projection
of his religious paintings, and of countless schemes, one
and all of which he deemed feasible, — nay, was certain
that they could not fail to turn out well. His mind
teemed with illusions as luxuriantly as on that day, four
teen years before, when his mother had written to M.
Lacroix, " Gustave does nothing but build castles in the
air. When I see how many projects germinate in his
young head, I ask myself if they can be realizable, no
matter how strong the will of their originator." A month
at St. Odile patched up the tired artist's health, and he
returned to Paris feeling uncommonly well and happy.
His felicity was of brief duration.

310 GUSTAVE D ORE.

On the 13th of November his dear friend Rossini
died, and it was Dore's painful task to make a last
sketch of the great composer as he lay on his death-bed.
It may well be imagined that his heart was torn with
grief ; yet the skilful hand never faltered, so much
stronger are habit and mechanical training than senti
ment and passion. Dore drew the white pillows, the
soft cloud-like tissue of the bed-linen, the old head
whose wonderful genius had evolved a thousand tune
ful inspirations which shall ring through the tone-realms
of all time to come. He pictured the deeply-lined face,
the massive aquiline nose, the heavy closed eye-lids,
the mobile scornful mouth then set in death, which had
once let fall the words, anent Dore himself, et un
tenorino charmant, s'il vous plait. That was the last
of it all. No more music, no more sparkling satire, no
more Saturday nights redolent of mirth and happiness ;
a dear friend had gone from him for ever ; and as the
last lines of his sketch traced themselves on the paper
before him, a film covered his eyes, and his hand
faltered for the first time.
" I can do no more," he said ; and sorrowfully wended
his way homeward, to the house that would never echo
again to the sound of Rossini's merry jest and hearty
laughter. Then came the funeral in the Church of the
Trinite, whither all Paris flocked to pay its last court to
the illustrious dead ; where not the least touching episode
of the funeral ceremony was the " Quis est Homo," sung
by Adelina Patti and Christine Nilsson as we probably
never shall hear it sung again so long as we live. And
to think that the Swan of Pesaro slept peacefully through
it all! The day following the great Maestro's demise, Dore
completed his sketch called " Rossini on his Death-bed,"
and later on made it the subject of one of his famous
etchings. This branch of Dore's artistic faculty I shall
not speak of in detail at present. Suffice it to say that
the etching in question is one of the finest ever executed,
and, although one of the first, if not the very first he ever

DORA and widor.

3"

achieved, holds its own in merit with any of his later
works. The same year, in speaking of the " Idylls of the King,"
Dore often alluded to his preference for these works ;
and one evening at a great party at the Marquis
d'Osmond's, Dore had occasion to speak of "Vivien" with
M. Ch. Marie Widor, the great organist of St. Sulpice,
and one of the most splendid musicians and composers
of France. M. Widor mentioned to Dore the great

THE MARSEILLES SAILOR.
(London Sketch.)

success of the " Idylls of the King," and remarked how
charming " Vivien " would be for an operatic libretto.
Dore seized upon the idea at once and said to Widor, —
" Yes, you must compose the music and I will design
all the scenery and costumes."
It was enough to speak of any subject affording scope
to poetical illustration, and Dore's great creative fancy
immediately saw the work come to life through the aid of
his fingers. Certainly the Grand Opera House would
never have had such a great scenic designer as M.

312 GUSTA VE DORA.

Gustave Dore. If he was the despair of his contem
poraries in draughtsmanship, he certainly would have
driven the Parisian scene-painters wild, had he attempted
to enter their ranks. One would think that with a thou
sand ideas coming and going in Dore's head, a casual
conversation held at a Paris evening party might have
slipped his mind, momentarily at least. On the contrary,
he seems to have thought a great deal about the notion,
and the following day wrote to M. Widor recalling their
conversation on the subject.
Dore sent M. Widor a magnificent copy of " Vivien,"
accompanied by one of his charming illustrated billets,
and the letter, besides paying every compliment to M.
Widor's musical gifts, said, amongst other things, how de
lighted he (Dore) would be to collaborate with him, that he
was full of the idea of " Vivien," and he thought it would
make a most delightful opera.
M. Widor well recollects this circumstance, and that,
even in so hasty a conversation as they held upon the
subject, Dore's conception of the scenes was as complete
and finished as if the scheme had for some time been
forming in his mind. This was one of the many pro
jects which were destined never to be realized by the
enthusiastic artist. We may some day have the opera
" Vivien " from the pen of this celebrated composer Widor,
but another than Gustave Dore will design the costumes,
scenery, and stage decorations. Those who recall this
circumstance will think with the poet " of what might
have been."
With all his wishing to go out of his way to undertake
new work, some idea may be had of his multiple occupa
tions of the year 1 869 from the following letter, written
by Dore to his clerical friend in London. As I find no
account of his having returned to England in this year,
presumably if he went at all, he went very late in the
season, and only remained there a short time. The letter
says : — "June 2nd, 1869.
"Very dear, amiable, and good Friend, — I am

DORA'S "HIGH-PRESSURE EXISTENCE." 313
filled with regret that my absence from Paris, since several
days, prevented my thanking you on the spot for your good
and affectionate souvenir. I returned from Fontainebleau
this very morning, and had the pleasure of finding your
letter on my table ; witness of a friendship whose recol
lection always touches my heart ; I hasten to renew my
assurance of its reciprocity, de vive voix. Alas ! many
serious enterprises have continually obliged me to defer
my journey to London, which journey I certainly, however,
ought to undertake for all sorts of reasons. I see with
chagrin days and weeks going by without the possibility
of putting myself en route. What a high-pressure exist
ence mine is, my dear Harford ; but you know all about
it ; and the mass of things which I often presumptuously
undertake, and often without taking the exact time into
account, create for me chains and servitudes whose links
I can scarcely break.
" I see with regret that you speak to me with reserve
of your health, but I hope that the little troubles of
which you have spoken to me, and which frighten me,
may be counterbalanced by your magnificent constitution,
which seems to predestine you to live to be a hundred.
How much I and every member of my family have
regretted, dear friend, not to see you drop down amongst
us in Paris, for you may imagine how often it happens
to associate you with myself in my talks about London,
and how many times I have found in you an obliging
comrade, and with what cordiality you had ever received
me. I hope that you will make it up to us next season
and give the pleasure of making your acquaintance to
so many persons in whom you have already enlisted so
lively a sympathy. Have you heard that I have had the
pleasure of receiving a visit from your charming friend
Major Teesdale, and who has had the infinite gracious-
ness to announce to me the visit of H.R.H. the Prince of
Wales ? Will you, I pray, should you see him, transmit
to him (Major Teesdale) my best compliments, with
renewed expressions of gratitude for the signal honour
which I owe to him? I mean, dear friend, to send you a>

314 GUSTAVE D0R2.

little word announcing my visit to London on or about the
15th of this month, that is to say, if no new hindrances
turn up. Will you have the kindness to give my most
affectionate and sincere compliments to Dean Stanley,
and tell him that the amiable and gracious reception
which he accorded me last year holds a dear place in my
remembrance ? Will you also present my respectful
homage to Lady Stanley ? Hoping then to see you soon,
dear Harford, believe always in the firm and unalterable
friendship of " Yours most devoted, "G. DOR£."

DORE THINKS HIMSELF A PAINTER. 315

CHAPTER XXX.
A NEW CAREER.
No longer satisfied with his success as an illustrator,
Dore began seriously to think of himself as a painter. He
entered the ranks of the great Paris confraternity, carry
ing his head high, sure of himself and of his inspiration.
Relying somewhat on the prestige of his name, which
had already become famous, he looked forward to a short
probation, followed by a speedy and complete triumph.
Since the days when " The Abominations of Paris," and
" The Battle of the Alma " had come to life in the old
studio of the Rue Monsieur le Prince, he had worked with
unflagging zeal and industry. The effects of the criti
cisms passed upon him after the exhibition of 1854
vanished like glow-worms in the night, and all disap
peared before the dawn of hope which broke upon this
new departure. He was ardent, inspired, and certain of
success ; but he counted too soon upon victory.
M. Delorme, the celebrated French writer, says of
Dore : —
" Success is sometimes a terrible thing ; and so it
proved to Dore. The public, dazzled by his illustrations
of Rabelais, ' Don Quixote,' Dante, Atala, and '' The
Wandering Jew,' had consecrated to Dore the title of the
first draughtsman of his day. Millions of persons enter-

3 1 6 G USTA VE DOR A.

tained that opinion of him. When he began to exhibit
his paintings everybody was surprised. People could
not comprehend a very simple thing, namely, that a
draughtsman could wield a paint-brush. Cela choquait
l'idee que Ton s'etait faite et a laquelle on tenait d'autant
plus qu'elle etait fausse.
" To critics, to calumnies, to the daily pin-thrusts
directed against him, Dore responded by a majestic
series of exhibitions."
These pictures are all more or less well known and are
most of them at present in the Dore Gallery, London.
Chief amongst them were : " The Martyrs," " The
Neophyte," " Gideon choosing his Soldiers," " Dante aux
Enters," " L'Entree de Jesus a. Jerusalem," " Chez
Caiphas," " Les Contrabandiers Espagnols," " La Vision
de Calphurnie," " Le Reve de la Femme de Pilate," " La
Sortie du Pretoire," " La Promenade de la Sainte-Croix
dans le Camp des Croises," " L' Alsace," " L'Aigle Noir,"
" LeTriomphedu Christianisme," " Le Dernier Jugement,"
" L' Ascension," " L'Ecce Homo," " Les Saltimbanques,"
"Venise," " Le Pays des Fees," "L'Enfant pauvre a
Londres," " Le Chant du Depart," " La Patrie en
Danger," " La Marseillaise," " Le Ravin," " Foret des
Sapins dans les Vosges," " La Greve," " Le Rhin Alle-
mand," and his latest picture exhibited in the Salon,
" La Mort d'Orphee."
Dore was certainly a great man, and painted well
enough to have been spared " calumnies " and " pin
pricks." From the time he exhibited his first pictures until
his last, he was made to feel in France a lash of criticism
as sharp as it was unjust. In order to judge fairly of
Dore's pretensions to be considered a great painter, itwould
be as well first to sum up his qualifications for that title.
He had genius, creative power, a lively imagination, and
the skill to make everything coming from his hand seem
alive. These were no mean auxiliaries in his struggle for
success ; but the world of artists and critics said he had
" no school" in painting, and this phrase was accepted
.as his conclusive condemnation.

"THE GREATEST ILLUSTRATOR OF HIS TIME." 317
Dore was the greatest illustrator of his time, and
brought so many qualifications to bear upon this branch

ORIGINAL DRAWING FOR STATUARY.
(Unpublished. Paris, 1870.)

of art that he surpassed all those draughtsmen who had
previously been considered incomparable. In Paris,
even in those early days, he found competitors of no

3 1 8 G USTA VE DOR A.

small merit. It was something not only to excel them,
but to stand so far above them that no comparison was
possible. In the art which boasted not only a Gerome
and a Meissonier, but many others of equally deserved
renown, Dore was heavily handicapped at his start in
the race for fame. Not only was he not first favourite,
but the odds against him were formidably long. His
most insurmountable obstacle was his own acknowledged
superiority in another branch of the artistic profession.
It has been generally conceded that a Jack-of-all-trades
is master of none ; but there are exceptions to every rule.
A person generously endowed by nature may learn to do
many things equally well ; and the career which proves
successful in such a case, may not be the one originally
undertaken. Not infrequently, it is only after many years
of fidelity to the wrong groove that a man has the luck
to hit upon the right one. In order to succeed he must
first of all know what he is specially fitted to do, and
secondly, must stick to that one thing with inflexible
persistence. Dore had the rare good fortune to begin life in the one
profession to adorn which he was indisputably cut out by
nature. Talents which are of secondary importance to
a painter, are absolutely essential to an illustrating
draughtsman ; and with these he was lavishly provided.
Looking at his " Dante," his " Rabelais," his " Don
Quixote," and " The Wandering Jew," any true lover of
art can scarcely fail to grasp the real force and nature of
Dore's genius. What difference can it make to me that a
limb should be out of drawing here or there, or that a
hand be too large or a foot too small ? As well find
fault with the thick wrists of Correggio's model and say
that, because nature had not endowed her with joints of
patrician slenderness, the artist's sublime Magdalen was
a failure ! What one looks for in an illustrator is the
soul, the idea, the essence, the meaning of the poet
whose works are graphically treated ; and these Dore's
genius has triumphantly conveyed to us. But the art of
painting requires in its practician the knowledge of cer-

" THE ACTUALITIES OR COMIC WORK." 319
tain fundamental rules and mechanical training, to which
the rarest of natural gifts must long be subordinate ; whilst
with these rules the art of illustrating may to some extent
dispense, when genius guides the draughtsman's pencil.
Had Dore begun life as a painter, there is every reason
to believe that he would have achieved grander successes.
Although his disposition was impetuous, he could ill
brook restraint, and his impatience would have prompted
him to sacrifice many an inspiration. But these faults of
character were no hindrance to his success as an illus
trator ; for his ideas were executed as soon as conceived ;
his fertile brain, teeming with projects, required but the
apprenticeship of immediate action and constant practice ;
and all those years which he regretted as having been
" devoted to the actualities of comic work," were merely
safety-valves by which his brain was relieved of over
thought-pressure, whilst they accustomed his fingers to
the performance of still more cunning and difficult feats.
Dore was greatest when he allowed his imagination to
run away with his pencil. That is why his hasty sketches
were usually more perfect than his laboured works.
When he could reveal his ideas immediately through the
medium of his fingers, they expanded under his magic
touch, as a flower opens to the sun. When he felt
obliged to bestow time, labour, and long consecutive
thought upon his paintings, the original beauty of their
conception was obscured, for the executant detail was
usually more or less incomplete. His pictures, however,
were always instinct with life, movement, and subtle
power. Critics might detect errors in their outlines and
colouring ; but it could not be denied that they evinced
the genius of creative force and lively imagination.
No one who knew Gustave Dore could possibly imagine
him plodding away at drawing-classes, fighting with
shadows, or fuming at models. In his early youth, even
to have become a second Michel Angelo, it may be
taken as a certainty that he never would have submitted
to such discipline.
The hours and days and months that he spent at his

320 GUSTAVE DORE.

studio in the Rue Bayard were consumed in efforts to
satisfy his self-love and to gratify his ambition. His
nature was rendered despotic by his innate sense of genius,
by his successes, and by his constant craving for fame.
Like the majority of human beings, he wanted what he
could not have ; and had Paris proclaimed him a Da
Vinci, the next day he would probably have dropped his
brushes, and would never have put forth the splendid
efforts which make the Dore Gallery one of the wonders
of the age.
Beyond a doubt Dore's heart was in his painting. He
worked away steadily at illustrating ; but that branch of
art occupied an inferior rank in his estimation. His
pictures were always accepted at the annual exhibitions
of the Salon, but were rarely mentioned by the art-critics ;•
and Paris seemed persistently to shut its eyes to the fact
that Dore, their prodigal child in genius and talent,
their illustrator of Dante, Rabelais, and Don Quixote,
was or ever would be anything more than a draughtsman
of the highest class.
This cut Dore to the quick. He was received with
princely dignities in England, where he was called the
Preacher-Painter, and his smallest canvas brought him
more than its weight in gold from America as well as
England. But in his own country he was forlorn of
honour; not in every sense, but in the one in which it
would have been his paramount happiness to have been
acknowledged. He painted constantly, however, and the
studio in the Rue Bayard was entirely given up to huge
pictures and to models in clay, for he had also begun
sculpturing. But of that I will speak hereafter.
The world at large will be very much surprised to learn
that in France Dore was not considered a great painter.
His genius was admitted ; his creative and imaginative
powers were acknowledged to be unrivalled ; his drawings
were raved about, and some of his water-colours were
classed amongst the best efforts of the eminent artists
of the day. All these qualities were conceded to him ;
but in France he was positively denied the fame and

A FRENCHMAN'S OPINION OF DOR A. 321
rank of a great painter, as the following incident will
attest. Mr. H—  , a Frenchman, and celebrated amateur of
the fine arts, went to London a few years ago. When
he had been a day in town an English friend said to him, —
" Now you must come with me to New Bond Street,
and see the pictures of your greatest living painter,
Gustave Dore."
"What? Dore our greatest painter? You must be
beside yourself!" exclaimed Mr. H  . "You mean
your greatest painter. He is our greatest illustrator ; but
a painter — never ! He is neither greatest nor great ;
indeed, we never knew he was a painter at all until you
told us so."
Mr. H  spoke without prejudice ; on the contrary,
he was one of Dore's most fervent admirers and friends.
He simply expressed a conviction which had become
ridiculously patent in Paris, and had so strongly impressed
itself upon public feeling, little by little, that had Dore
been Raphael himself, France would neither have per
ceived nor admitted that he was so. Undoubtedly he
had great faults ; but at the same time his two redeem
ing qualities, creative power and executive capacity, have
never been surpassed by those of any living painter.
Dore worked by pure inspiration, a rare and precious
gift which he too highly appreciated. However, the
solitary criticism pronounced on his paintings in 1854
has been conscientiously repeated every year since that
time, at first by the few and finally by the many, — " Dore
had no school for painting."
How much or how little truth there was in that asser
tion I leave the world in general to decide ; but in justice
to Dore I must say that the critic's dictum was extrava
gantly severe. It seems almost impossible for French
men to attain the right level of criticism and stick to it. An
artist is raised aloft to the very skies in the first instance,
through some caprice of the public, and through no fault
of his own is kept there feeding on celestial aliments
until mere mundane pabulum becomes unpalatable to
Y

322 G USTA VE DORA.

him. Let the poor victim of popular fantasy and false
criticism, encouraged by his first success, spread his
pinions to attempt further flight into the empyrean, and
he is not only brutally dragged down from his airy heights,
but his wings are clipped and he is given to understand
that he must not presume to have a will of his own ;
that his advancement from the very first depended on the
influence of public favour, which, alas ! was only the
fickle caprice of the passing hour, not the genuine
homage to talent which takes time to build up into a
solid reputation.
Paris is a delightful city ; but amongst its besetting
drawbacks are the craving for novelty, constant itching
for notoriety, and irrepressible proneness to create repu
tations out of nothing. Inferior creatures, unheard of
yesterday, are exalted by Parisians to the seventh heaven
to-day and allowed to drop to-morrow, by which time
another victim is ready to be plucked from obscurity and
cast into the aerostatic whirlpool of popularity. Perhaps
one here and there may escape ; perhaps all are sacrificed.
What matter, so long as the beautiful vampire be satis
fied, the public appetite for novelty appeased, and excite
ment of some sort continually kept up ? Paris lives on
this sort of intellectual diet, and often her favour, political,
professional, or social, is a venomous viper, warmed to life
in your bosom only to sting you to death as soon as the
temperature of its body varies, is either raised or lowered
to any certain degree of heat.
But, as it sometimes happens, great talents have the
good fortune to obtain speedy recognition, and Gustave
Dore belonged to that exceptional category. It must
not be assumed, however, that he benefited much by
this inborn privilege. His fate was little better than
that of others who had not an atom of genius, but had
been chosen by fickle fortune to occupy a place of
honour for the moment on the chariot of public favour.
Dore, being possessed of supreme gifts, unconsciously
fanned the flame of popularity so as to keep it alive
longer than another less talented artist could have done ;

FRENCH CRITICISM IN GENERAL. 323
and this explains his having been for several successive
seasons the pet of the Parisian public. He never failed
to work honestly and indefatigably, never played any
tricks, never attempted in any way to ridicule his patrons,
and, above all, never presumed on his position, except,
perhaps, in being over-ambitious.
That he certainly was. He felt Promethean fires glow
ing in his breast, and fed their flames by constant executive
effort. It has been given to very few men to attempt and
accomplish what he attempted and accomplished. To be
a successful draughtsman, engraver, sculptor, painter,
and etcher, is what Gustave Dore alone has been among
Frenchmen. Not even the vaunted Renaissance pro
duced such a genius. To say that his fellow-countrymen
were grateful for this quintuple triumph would be untrue.
No ; he was regarded as over-ambitious, and those who
exclaimed, " Lo ! a genius ! " at the least remarkable of
his works, were first to say, " Thus far and no farther ! "
when it was discovered that he had taken his critics in
earnest, and sought to prove that he really was one.
As in the case of Wolsey, his ambition was a
crime. The public cried out, " What ! is he not satis
fied ? We have said that he is the greatest draughtsman
of his day. What more does he want?" Gustave
Dore not only wanted the full measure of all that his
ambition, talent, and industry demanded in the way of
fame, but he desired to be a great painter, and gauged
his wants by pure aspirations, which were exalted and
limitless. No one can blame him for this, and least of
all for considering his lot a thorny one. We know that
life itself, with fame, power, position, and riches, is not
worth having when the one wish of the human heart
remains ungratified. To see the sun daily rise and set
on vain hopes, to watch the months and years roll by in
ceaseless disappointment, when the one thing which would
make life bearable is the only one that life refuses to give,
is to be deeply and utterly miserable. It is all very well
to preach philosophy and contentment, but those whom
nature has predisposed to be stoical, she has seldom
Y 2

324 GUSTAVE DORA.

endowed with keen sympathies or sensitive susceptibilities.
In a word, they are exceptions to the rule of humanity ;
and Gustave Dore was intensely human. C est tout dire !
So Paris kept asking, " What more does Dore want ?"
and French criticism was not backward in reminding him
of his former obligations to it, with that indelicacy which
is the outcome of facile favours. His relations to the
Parisian press at that time remind me of an American
I knew, rich in everything but worldly goods, who was
continually invited to evening entertainments. He
secretly borrowed a dress suit of a friend in order to
fulfil his social engagements properly attired, until one
night, as he was standing under a dripping wax candle,
the owner of said garments publicly begged him " to be
careful of his dress coat," whereupon he resolved to
accept no more such broadcloth favours. Generous
Senator C  , heaven rest his soul ! subsequently
insisted upon the young man helping himself from his
(the Senator's) wardrobe ; and at the next ball, noticing
his carefulness and avoidance of the candelabra, bawled
out at the top of his voice, " My friend, you may stand
under as many candles as you please with my clothes
on." Even pagans respect their idols ; but " the centre of
civilization," as Victor Hugo calls it, has little time to
waste on real sentiment ; and after Dore had been styled a
universal genius for so many years, it was not only useless
but cruel to revoke the title so brusquely.
To a country in which the first principle enjoying
popular consideration is the caprice of the moment,
England is far preferable-; for while Englishmen are
colder than Frenchmen in the outset, and less ready to
enthrone idols, once on lofty pedestals, the rock of
Gibraltar is not more firmly founded than is their con
stancy to objects of their worship. A man once pro
nounced a genius in these islands will remain so, at least
until he " shuffles off this mortal coil ;" and woe to the
critical or any other faction which dares throw mud at
him ! But in a country which has not the absolute cour-

FRANCE versus DORE. 32s
age of its opinions, and the self-respect to adhere to them
when once pronounced, it is difficult to distinguish gold
from dross, and real genius from acquired renown.
Dore should have known how to bear his disappoint
ments calmly. He was so highly gifted that he should
have been above wondering or caring whether or not the
eyes of the world were fixed upon him. On the contrary,
he not only worried -himself in secret, but allowed his
country to see that its non-appreciation affected him
seriously. At last, wishing to show that he did not care
for French neglect, in a lofty spirit of bravado he
carried off his paintings to England, established himself
there, so to speak, and gave France to understand that
he could afford to laugh at her.
From that day his doom was sealed in his native
country. He did not hesitate to let France know how
highly he was appreciated abroad ; and the more splendid
the honours showered upon him in England, the more icy
the indifference displayed towards him in his fatherland.
And yet, in spite of all, Dore still hoped to make a
great name as a painter for himself in his beloved France.
The greater part of the money he earned by illustrating
was spent on interminable yards of canvas, most of which
came to life in the studio of the Rue Bayard. For
instance, the cost to him of a picture like the " Entry of
Christ into Jerusalem " was about ten thousand francs
(.£400) ; and Dore repeatedly began works of this kind
with but little prospect of their being immediately sold.
Unless they should be purchased for some cathedral,
church, or religious college, he had not the remotest idea
what would become of them until the Dore Gallery was
opened ; and yet he did not hesitate, from a pure love of
art, to spend months on his ladder, and to wear out his
eyes working by lamplight at his blocks in order to pay
for the pleasure of indulging himself in this costly pastime,
and also because he felt truly inspired, and had been told
that he was capable of painting religious subjects.
In vain he hoped that France would purchase some of
his religious works. To this day there is not the slightest

326 G USTA VE DORE.

chance of such a thing coming to pass. His " Neophyte,"
one of the most remarkable inspirations of this century,
and of which Alexandre Dumas said, " It was a triumph
of nature and art," came near winning him the grand gold
medal in the Salon of 1870 ; but only near!
Dore once told the story of his first box of colours to
M. Delorme. It is so interesting that I shall repeat it
here in full.
One day — a sad day for Gustave Dore, when he had
been cruelly disappointed in his legitimate hopes ; and
deeply wounded in his self-love — when his views of
art had been attacked, and his convictions and faith as a
painter jeered at — he said by way of conclusion in speak
ing of these things, — ¦
" I might have expected it. Long ago it was predicted
to me that painting would be the despair of my life. I
was only as high as that," he lifted his hand less than
three feet from the floor, " when the prophecy was
uttered ; and since then it has been but too terribly
realized. " Listen. I am about to tell you the history of my
first box of oil-colours. This is it. I was very small, but
for a long time had despised the harmless water-colours,
free from mineral poison, with which I had been so
prudently supplied. I ardently longed for a box of
those little tubes in white zinc, in order to squeeze real
colours out of them. At last, as I was going one day
into Josserond, a little commune in the Department of
the Ain, to pass a week with a friend of my father, I
received a famous little oaken box bound with brass and
filled with tubes and brushes. I was wild with joy.
Never before had I received such a present. I was
for opening all the tubes and beginning at once to cover
my palette with paints ; but, alas ! the carriage was
waiting, there was no time to be lost, and we started off.
" Naturally I carried my cherished box with me under
my arm ! say rather on my heart ! At the same time
I promised myself a good go in at my painting the
very instant I should arrive at my journey's end. The

DOR A PAINTS A CHICKEN. 327
drive, however, proved longer than I had anticipated.
We only arrived after nightfall. Then came a pro
hibition to touch my box ; an order to go to bed ; and
— the lights were put out ! All night long I never
closed my eyes ; and with the first grey streak of dawn I
jumped out of bed, seized my box, and went downstairs
into the courtyard. Alas ! There was neither canvas,
panels, nor pasteboard to be found. The evening before
they had all been put safely away. I was dying to paint ;
it was a madness, an irresistible desire which I could not
get rid of ; and all the while I was anxiously asking my
self how I should make a beginning, and what I should
paint ? I began by uncorking my tubes, and decorated my
palette with several appetizing little clots of paint. The
freshness, the gleam, the cheery look of those colours
caused a delightful thrill of intoxication to run through my
veins — for what in this world, to an artist, ever equals
the charm of his first palette ? Amongst my colours
there was a beautiful green that delighted my eyes ;
what a lovely hue ! — the real Veronese green in all its
glory !
" But how to paint, and what ? Whilst I was putting
this question again and again to myself my eyes fell upon
a poor little chicken, not bad in form, but with a fearfully
dirty pseudo-white plumage. This innocent creature was
calmly pecking at something in the gravel not two yards
distant from me. The real tone of the chicken's colour
was frightful. It seemed to me an error of the Creator
to have made any fowl so ugly in hue as that one, when
it would have been so easy to have clad it in a gorgeous
dress, like that of a parrot's, for instance. I determined
to lose no time in rectifying this fault of Nature.
" The chicken, however, raised some difficulties in the
way of my project's execution. The wretched ignoramus
could not understand that I was only working for her
good, in her own interests. However, I was tenacious,
and finally gained my end. In a very short time she was
as verdant as spinach, and all my lovely Veronese green
was used up. But — what a beautiful chicken ! It

328 GUSTAVE DOR A.
was a pleasure to see her walking about in her gorgeous
new dress, so brilliant and fresh that it surpassed in vivid
ness the loveliest spring verdure.
" I spent some time in contemplating my work ; and,
having momentarily satisfied my longing by this brilliant
success, I suddenly began to realize that I was sleepy,
and should do well also to make up for my restless night by
indulging in a brief slumber.
" Two or three hours later I woke up with a start, hear
ing cries, sobs, and lamentations ringing in my ears.
What on earth could be the matter ? Running to the
window, I saw hosts of peasants and village folk stationed
in front of the house. Some raised their eyes and hands
towards heaven, others were crying pitifully, whilst others
expressed in various ways the most profound despair. In
their midst was my beautiful chicken. Whenever she
attempted to move, fingers were pointed towards her
in horror, and lamentations burst forth with redoubled
vigour. " After a few moments' reflection, all at once I sounded
the mystery, for I remembered a legend of that country
in which a green chicken played a terrible part. Her
appearance heralded floods, the loss of the harvest, a
disease amongst the cattle, and a pestilent epidemic
amongst the people. That was why the little town was
so stirred up by the apparition of my contriving ; and
whilst I was still thinking about it, a poor woman, seized
with a nervous attack, fell to the ground in convulsions.
Then I hesitated no longer. I ran to find the master of
the house, and made the most humble and complete
confession. It was not really my fault ; that diabolical
Veronese green was at the bottom of all the trouble.
Besides, why was that miserable chicken so ugly as to
tempt me to make it beautiful for ever ?
" I assure you it took my father's friend more than an
hour to make those simple people and the superstitious
Josserond peasants believe that this green bird had not
been sent by some evil spirit to blight them, instead of
being simply my first effort at painting. They only fully

TOO CREDULOUS PEASANTS. 329
believed me when they saw my palette and the well-nigh
emptied tube of Veronese green. Not until their fears
were somewhat dissipated did I dare to show myself in
the town ; and then one old woman, who had been more
terrified and was more incredulous than the rest, shaking
her withered fingers in my face, cried out with a prophetic
voice, ' Wretched youth ! You have made the world weep.
In its turn it will make you shed bitter tears over your
painting.' "

330 GUSTAVE DOR A.

CHAPTER XXXI.
THE DORE GALLERY IN LONDON.
In the earlier part of 1868, the year of Dore's first visit
to London, an exhibition of his oil paintings was held in
the Egyptian Hall, amongst them being the colossal
picture of the gaming-table at Baden-Baden, called, " Le
Tapis Vert." This picture is larger than any other of
those at present in the Bond Street Gallery, and in itself
almost constituted an entire exhibition. Besides this
were shown " Dante on the Ice Fields with Virgil " (an
enormous picture), " Jephtha," and several others.
This exhibition was started by M. Arymar, a Parisian
acquaintance of Gustave Dore, who went to Dore's
studio in Paris and made a proposition to him with
regard to exhibiting the above pictures in London, which
works of art were at that time in the Rue Monsieur le
Prince. The next day Dore signified his willingness to
part with the pictures for the above-mentioned object,
and that same year these works were accordingly first
exhibited in London. It would be unnecessary to follow
the fortunes of this first Dore Gallery, especially as they
were most infelicitous.
The Dore Gallery, as it now exists, originated in a
commission given to M. Dore by Messrs. Fairless
and Beeforth to paint the picture " The Triumph of
Christianity over Paganism." As it may be of interest

THE DOR A GALLERY. 331
at present and at some future day, by permission of the
above-named gentlemen, I am able to give a copy of
that first contract,, with some other valuable memoranda
in re Dore : — Dec. 7, 1867.
" Memorandum of agreement, made this seventh day of December,
One thousand eight hundred and sixty-seven, between M. Gustave
Dord, of No. 3, Rue Bayard, Paris, on the one part, and James Liddle
Fairless and George Lord Beeforth on the other part.
" The said Gustave Dore undertakes to paint, in a highly finished
and his best manner, for the said James Liddle Fairless and George
Lord Beeforth, an oil painting representing the ' Fall of Paganism,' for
the sum of eight hundred pounds (^800) of lawful money of Great
Britain, to be received from them jointly on the completion of the said
picture. This sum of ^800 is to include payment for the copyright of
the said picture in France, Great Britain, America, and every other
country where such right is recognized, which right the said Gustave
Dore hereby undertakes to transfer to the said James Liddle Fairless
and George Lord Beeforth, on payment of the sum mentioned. Also
for the same sum to make a water-colour drawing of the said picture,
fit for the engraver to engrave from, and all the original sketches which
he may make in connection with the said picture, which he engages
shall be ready, with the original picture, not later than March the first,
One thousand eight hundred and sixty-eight.
" Gustave Dore also undertakes to lend to the said James Liddle
Fairless and George Lord Beeforth his bust, to exhibit along with the
above-named picture, during the continuance of its exhibition, on the
understanding that it is to be returned uninjured at its close.
" Gustave Dord further undertakes to paint one or two other pictures,
representing either ' Christ healing the Sick,' ' The Sermon on the
Mount,' ' Christ leaving the Praetorium,' 1 ' St. Paul led to Martyr
dom,' or any other subject of like character on the same terms as
he hereby undertakes to paint the ' Fall of Paganism,' should it be
thought desirable by the said James Liddle Fairless and George Lord
Beeforth, after the exhibition of the said picture of the ' Fall of
Paganism.' " Gustave Dord also undertakes to sign, in the usual manner, with
his autograph, the remark proof and the artist's proof of the engraving
from the ' Fall of Paganism ' when they are published.
" Gustave Dord further undertakes to paint of the same size, and
equal in quality and finish to the original picture, a second picture of

1 This has reference to a picture on a much smaller scale than that
which was eventually adopted. The great work which has added so largely
to Dord's fame was the subject of a separate treaty between Dord and
Messrs. Fairless and Beeforth.

332 G USTA VE DORA.

the ' Fall of Paganism,' if the same is required by the said Messrs.
Fairless and Beeforth, the said duplicate, or second picture, to be com
pleted within the space of six months from the receipt of the
commission. " Signed at Paris, Dec. 7, 1867.
"G. Dore.
" James Liddle Fairless.
" George Lord Beeforth."
To the exhibition of this work was added a miscellaneous gathering
of pictures and drawings, which comprised the first general collection
of Dore's works, and these were exhibited at the Gallery, 168, New
Bond Street, during the season of 1868, viz. April 17th to September
26th. On April 23rd of the following year, 1869, the exhibition was
transferred to much larger premises at 35, New Bond Street, where,
from its opening at that date to the present day, the gallery has been
open continuously, without the interval of a single day (Sundays,
Christmas, and Good Fridays excepted), a fact which gives conclusive
evidence of the unparalleled popularity of the artist.
From time to time, since all the most important pictures painted by
Dore — either bought or commissioned by Fairless and Beeforth — have
been added to the attractions of this perennial show, and the collection
thus formed now comprises the following well-known works, to the list
of which is appended the date of their completion.
Gustave Dore faithfully fulfilled all the obligations of
the above contract, as did also Messrs. Fairless and
Beeforth. Probably at the present day few art galleries
in the world enjoy a higher reputation than the Dore
Gallery in London. From the time at which he trans
lated his classics at school with the aid of his pencil, up
to the epoch when his illustrations of " Rabelais," " The
Wandering Jew," and " Dante," disclosed new beauties in
those works to the civilized world, Gustave Dore's fame
had been founded almost exclusively upon these latter
masterpieces of delineation. Yet how different is the
measure of his celebrity appraised within the radius of
two countries which are separated by a mere " silvern
streak " of sea !
In Paris, those who contemplate M. Dore's paintings
exclaim, "These are, of course, by the illustrator Dore ! "
In London, on looking at his illustrations, people remark,
" How finely the painter Dore could draw! Have you
never been to the Dore Gallery ? "

SOME OF DORA'S LONDON PICTURES. 333.
Although a book ought scarcely to degenerate into a
catalogue, I must take leave to enumerate here the works
of art exhibited in the Bond Street Gallery, commencing
with " Christ leaving the Praetorium," the great picture
probably well known to all Londoners. The story of this
picture's genesis has already been told, and it may be
observed that Dore's great religious paintings are all
posterior in date to this grand work. The " Neophyte,"
although a masterpiece of serious thought and feeling,
has neither the religious depth, breadth, nor scope of
subject displayed by M. Dore's later works. In the
" Neophyte " Dore dealt with a type of humanity gifted
with refinement of feeling, and animated by a spirit whose
comprehension of things divine is troubled by surround
ings of materialism and hypocrisy. In treating the
subject of " Christ leaving the Praetorium," he entered
for the first time as a painter into the grand domain of
the Divinity and the sublimer element of the life and
passion of our Saviour.
It will be remembered that this is the picture the pos
sibility of painting which Dore discussed with the Rev.
Frederick Harford, when the two friends were on their way
to Sydenham to visit Sir George Grove. The picture in
its present state is the crystallization of Dore's inspira
tion, humility, and patience.
Dore has been often described as unconquerable,
opinionated, and extremely self-willed. The following
authentic incident about the Praetorium picture will show
that he was neither the one nor the other, and that, on
the contrary, he could sacrifice every personal considera
tion to the exigencies of his art.
In February, 1870, Dore was busy on his work for the
Salon Exhibition of the following May, at which he was
to be represented by two pictures. " Christ leaving the
Praetorium " was one of the works intended to be shown
on that occasion. Three weeks or a month before the
expiration of the time allotted for sending in his pictures
the work above alluded to was nearly completed. One
morning Canon Harford, who was staying in Paris, went

334 GUSTAVE DOR A.

to visit Dore's studio. The picture was not what it is at
present. Instead of the heavy sky and sombre pall of
cloud looming up in the background, which at present
intensify the fatal and lugubrious aspect of that sad
morning, Dore had painted a sunshiny sky, and all the
roseate luminousness of a fair spring day. Canon Har
ford said little about the picture, and, remembering their
conversation and Dore's decision as to how he was to
depict the scene in its every detail, felt that Dore had
either forgotten his original intention, or had slightly
changed his conception of the work ; for the fair morning
he had painted almost nullified the idea of sadness and
fatality that should have been indicated by Nature's
aspect on the day of that dread tragedy. Dore noticed
his friend's reticence, and remarked, " You say nothing
about my picture ; our picture of " Christ leaving the
Praetorium. '
The reverend gentleman hesitated to pronounce an
absolute opinion, but with a few apt words recalled their
conversation respecting the artistic conception of the
subject, and contrived to convey to the artist his impres
sion that the picture did not absolutely represent Dore's
original preconceived idea of what it should be.
Madame Dore, who was present in the studio, was
horrified that any one should dare to speak so plainly to
such an artist as her son. Dore seemed overwhelmed,
but listened with profound seriousness to the sentiments
expressed with regard to his picture. As a matter of fact
he was too creative, original, and unpractised in mere
mechanical art to stick absolutely to any settled scheme.
He could develop his ideas in a thousand different ways,
each bearing to him a strict relation to the radical one ;
but perhaps the very redundance of this faculty of
development might lead him astray.
After the brief conversation above referred to, a painful
silence fell upon the studio. Dore looked at his erring
picture again and again, and seemed buried in profound
reflection. Then, at last, a sad, determined look over
spread his countenance ; he sprang up his ladder like a

AN EXAMPLE OF DORA'S HUMILITY. 335
cat, and, before a word could be spoken by any one
present, seized a brush and commenced vigorously
painting out the picture. Madame Dore nearly had a
fit, and screamed out with irrepressible anguish, " Oh,
Gustave ! how can you ? Stop, stop, do stop, it hurts
me to see you ruin your glorious picture. Don't do it.
You are both wrong ! "
" It is quite right, mother, and my friend is quite
right ! " exclaimed Dore, emphasizing each word by a
frantic lunge at the picture, " quite right ! and I am
glad he has told me the truth. There, now ! " He gave
one final flourish of the brush, totally obliterating the
unfortunate sky, and then descended his ladder. He grew
very pale as he added, in a helpless sort of way, " That
is done with, and — my work for the Salon ? Nothing
remains of this ; what am I to do ? " It was afterwards
that he painted the " Massacre des Innocents " in two
days, a feat I have already alluded to.
Dore, having been decorated for his services to art, had
the privilege of sending his works in at the last moment,
and he certainly had little time before him to think of any
thing else. Besides, the personal sacrifice of not sending
this particular picture to the Exhibition was one which
cannot adequately be described. His heart and hopes
had been growing more buoyant with every stroke of his
brush for more than a year. Yet all this went for nothing
as soon as he conceived the slightest suspicion that he
had been wrong.
I lay stress upon this incident, for I consider it an
irrefutable proof of the finer qualities of Dore's real
nature. Taking everything into consideration, the man's
personal feelings, the artist's professional amour-propre,
the circumstances connected with the Exhibition, and
the overwhelming probability of his not being represented
there at all after hissanguinehopesandconsecutive labours,
these are details which display the artist's disposition in
noble and splendid relief. Few painters would have done
what Gustave Dore did. It is curious to observe, in at
tempting to gather materials for a man's biography, the

336 G USTA VE DORA.

sparseness and sameness of the details gleaned from
one's informants. I think that up to the present time
few to whom I have applied for assistance in my
self-imposed task have spoken to me of Gustave Dore
without making reference to his obstinacy. However
slight in the case of each individual these allusions may
have been, added together and summed up, their totality
presents a startling array of evidence against a vice which
seems almost pronounced enough to merit the name of
virtue. It may be presumption on my part to attempt
the refutation of all this evidence by one simple incident
even more simply told, such as the above. But it should
be remembered that intimacy with our fellow-creatures
accentuates and brings out all their least amiable qualities.
In the mass of spoken and written matter emanating
from his dearest friends which I have compiled relative
to Dore, it has been with the greatest difficulty that I
have contrived to get at one authentic anecdote illus
trating his capacity for yielding to advice. My personal
acquaintance with the artist was slight enough, however,
to allow of my being an absolutely unbiassed, unpre
judiced appreciator of his nature and talent. I re
member once having been greatly struck with a remark
made by a life-long friend of the late Professor Long
fellow in connection with the latter's biography. The
person in question remarked, "These biographers are
springing up everywhere. Why, I have known him all
my days, and far too well to ever think of writing his
life." I am now in a position to fully understand the meaning
of this apparently paradoxical observation.
From the spring of 1870 until nearly two years later
Gustave Dore continued to work at his Praetorium pic
ture, and practically repainted one-third of it. Before
speaking of the London exhibition of this great work,
its reception in Paris may be best described by Dore
himself. On the 2 ist of April, 1872, Dore wrote from Paris to
the Rev. Canon Harford a letter, from which I subjoin

SUCCESS OF THE DOR A GALLERY. 337
the following extract concerning the Paris success of
" Christ leaving the Praetorium :"—
" I have at last finished my picture, which I have
placed in a beautiful light, and to see which I have con
voked the Parisian public until the end of this month,
giving due notice that it must be in London early next
month. " I assure you that if I have as much success there as
at this moment I am having here, I shall be extremely
well pleased. You haven't an idea how the last month's
work has augmented the effect of my picture ; I ought to
say our picture, because you have interested yourself in
it so affectionately, dear friend, that you must feel the
same emotion as I do touching the question of its recep
tion in London. , I am going to begin tormenting you next
month to see if there is no means of inducing you to
come to Paris to enjoy a few of our beautiful May days.
Then we will choose a fine sunshiny day or a beautiful
moonlit night, aad return together to London. My
mother sends you a thousand affectionate remembrances,
and I embrace you cordially. " G. Dore."
It would be useless for me to attempt the description
of a picture so generally known as this one. Its recep
tion in England was of the most enthusiastic nature.
The Dore Gallery was crowded from morning to night;
preachers, painters, connoisseurs, art-critics, press-men,
and the public in general kept up a constant talk and
excitement about the work. The unanimity with which it
was praised was astonishing, and for a wonder the art-critics
outvied one another in descanting on its general merits.
One review said, " The most marvellous picture of the
present age is to be seen in New Bond Street ;" another,
that " for grandeur and boldness of mass and outline, and
for energy and passion of expression 'Christ leaving the
Praetorium ' suggests a comparison with the masterpieces
of Michel Angelo ;" another, that " this picture is well
worthy of notice, not only on account of the superhuman Z

338 GUSTAVE DORE.

interest of the subject itself, but also on account of its
wonderful elaboration of detail ;" another, " In this vast
assemblage Dore displays his extraordinary faculty for
painting character under its most varied aspects of the
picturesque. We are not disposed to dwell upon any
weak point in a work of such unquestionable power and
such noble aspirations as this ; neither can we complain
of the preponderance of the complex forms and colouring
of the picture over the higher requisites of simplicitv and
grandeur, as necessary to these great themes of art. A
painter, like an orator, must be allowed his manner : if he
can impress us with his art, he deserves our praise and
our gratitude. It must be owned, whatever one may
think of the style of M. Dore, he is always impressive.
His picture of Dante's ' Inferno,' his ' Wandering Jew,' his
' Gambling Salon,' his ' Neophyte,' his ' Christian Mar
tyrs,' and an innumerable host of smaller illustrations, are
all wonderfully full of thought, and abound in artistic
facility ; but this great achievement of his tells of more
matured and chastened power of conception and much
more scholarly work of execution." Another critic savs,
'' The work in the picture is immense, but it is the least
interest of the composition ; for all the multiform types
of physiognomy, all the picturesque details of costume,
all the touches of beauty are subordinated to the one
grand sublime expression of sorrowful pity that beams out
of the divine eyes of Jesus Christ. It is bv far the
largest canvas this artist has yet filled, and will, unless
we are much mistaken, prove the most splendid manifes
tation of his genius which he has yet given to the world."
Gustave Dore could never have imagined a more
brilliant success for his picture ; and it must have been
a flattering testimony to his talent and perseverance.
Considering his unfortunate first experience of the work,
his finishing it at all was a marvel. Most men would
have been disgusted after so unfortunate a start. It is
little to say that, after the incident alluded to some time
back, Dore paid a double tribute of devotion both to his
inspiration and his public.

ENGLISH CRLTICISM OF DORE'S PAINTINGS. 339
Dore received the lump sum of 6000/. for this picture,
and it may be considered to have constituted a very
handsome financial success. Speaking of money mat
ters, naturally the prices Dore received for his later
works were more than tenfold what was paid to him for
his earlier ones. For instance, the beautiful " Francesca
and Paolo," at present in the Dore Gallery, was originally
sold for 400/., but after various wanderings was acquired
by its present proprietors for something over 640/. In
the beginning of his career as a painter Dore was
singularly modest in the prices he set upon his work. It
is a curious fact that Dore" charged enormous sums for
his illustrations, which he cared comparatively little for,
and put a ridiculously low price for his paintings, which
he really thought a great deal of. The first private
picture Dore ever sold in England was disposed of to
Sir William Frazer at a small price. The subject was a
Spanish mother and her child. For the picture pur
chased by her Majesty, Dore was paid 400/. ; and " The
Martyrs " fetched a much larger sum, namely, iooo/.
Mr. Duncan, the Laird of Benmore, possesses amongst
other magnificent works of art a splendid collection of
Dore's pictures and sketches.
The following incident was vouched for by the painter
himself. Mr. Duncan came to his studio at Paris and
expressed his intention of purchasing a picture. He
selected one and was told its price, which we need not
say was extremely low. He looked at another, and
another, each time M. Dore's reasonable demands
evidently encouraging the buyer to continue adding to
his collection. In fact, he was not more surprised at
getting such works of art so cheap than was Dore to see
one man buying so many of his pictures ; for he had no
sooner shown one to his visitor and named its price than
Mr. Duncan responded, " I will take it." Presently Dore
began to wonder about the destination of his paintings,
and hesitated just as he was about to point out one in
particular, of which he was very fond. He also remem
bered at the moment that his English friends had
Z 2

34° GUSTAVE DORE.

repeatedly said to him, " You must charge a high price
for your pictures, otherwise the world will set the value
on them which you yourself do." Dore, however, was
honest and conscientious, even to the detriment of his ¦
own interests. He stopped before the picture, " A
Midsummer Night's Dream," then as suddenly turned
away from it.
" What is that ? " asked Mr. Duncan.
"I have not decided to sell it," replied Dore; and,
thinking to check the seeming recklessness of his un
known Maecenas for a moment, he mentioned at random
2000 guineas, the first sum that came .into his head, as
the price of his picture. To his surprise Mr. Duncan
immediately said, " Will you give me the refusal of it?"
The work in question is now in Mr. Duncan's very
celebrated museum of paintings.
Gustave Dore must have counted that as one of his
red-letter days, and it says a great deal for the artistic
merit of his works, setting aside any reflection on their
market price, that so celebrated a critic and art collec
tor as Mr. Duncan should have secured for himself an
entire Dore gallery. Through Mr. Duncan's liberality a
large sum was made to figure in Gustave Dore's banking
account. Mr. Duncan, it will be remembered, has one of the
finest picture-galleries in Europe, 120 feet long, and filled
with the choicest works of ancient and modern art. He
was a sincere friend of Gustave Dore, a steadfast patron
and ardent admirer of the " Alsatian genius." The
following incident affords very good proof of his affection
for the artist. He paid Carolus Duran iooo/. to paint
him a portrait of Dore, and this picture, a capital like
ness, Mr. Duncan now possesses. Dore stayed very often
at Benmore, where he was a welcome and cherished
guest. In speaking of the picture by Carolus Duran we
may mention that the other best portrait of Dore extant
is still in the house in the Rue St. Dominique in Paris.
It is a sketch also by Carolus Duran, in which Dore is
represented sitting on the top of his ladder in the studio

(Decorative Plaque. London, 1869. G. Dore. By permission of Rev. Frederick Harford.) Page 340

AN ENTHUSIASTIC DORAlTE. 341

m the Rue Bayard ; and was made in 1877. The way
Dore sat for it is curious enough. He was in his studio,
working at one of his great paintings, high up on his
perch, when Duran happened to come in. Dore looked
•hastily up, turned round, and placed one hand on the
side of his ladder without moving from his topmost
round. " At last ! " exclaimed Duran. "Just what I want ; you
must sit for me this very moment. I have long been
awaiting this chance, and have often wished to get your
face with just that expression on it. Don't move for a
minute, and I'll have you down on paper all right."
The picture is lifelike, and the attitude a striking one,
as every one will remember who has ever seen Dore at
work in this studio.
It would be superfluous to give detailed descriptions
in this synopsis of the pictures in the Dore Gallery. They
comprise, amongst others, the magnificent canvases,
" Christ entering into Jerusalem," "Moses before Pha
raoh," " The Night of the Crucifixion," " The Battle of
Ajalon," " The Soldiers of the Cross," " The Christian
Martyrs," and " The Dream of Pilate's Wife," one of the
most superb pictures in the gallery. This was one of
Dores favourite paintings, and proved a great success in
London. Amongst the many favourable notices received,
the Graphic remarked : —
" The Dore Gallery, 35, New Bond Street, which has
now deservedly taken a position as an exhibition of
permanent interest, has recently been enriched by a new
and important work from M. Dore's hand. It is entitled
'The Dream of Pilate's Wife.' Claudia Procula, the
wife of the Governor, is represented as a beautiful young
woman, standing with sleep-dazed eyes on the steps of a
broad staircase. Over her hovers an angel, whispering
the story of the wonderful vision in her ear ; while behind
her is the couch which she, an unconscious somnambulist,
has quitted. The centre and right-hand portion is occu
pied by the vision, in which our Saviour stands as the
central figure, surrounded by crowds of worshippers of

342 GUSTAVE DORE.

all peoples and languages, including the Roman soldiers
who assisted at His execution. In the background are
long lines of figures — Crusaders, martyrs, and the like ;
the sky is tenanted by a winged host of angels, while
above and beyond all rises the cross, white and trans
lucent. It is a very powerful picture, and those who
have been thrilled by ' The Crucifixion — Darkness,' and
' Christ leaving the Praetorium,' will not be the less awed
by this vivid representation of Procula's symbolical
dream." The Daily News, in speaking of this picture, said, —
" The Dore Gallery in Bond Street has become as
much one of the sights of the season as the Royal
Academy Exhibition, and most certainly none of our
country cousins can enjoy the solace of having ' done '
the exhibitions without having seen Dord's great picture,
' Christ leaving the Praetorium,' and his last painted work,
' The Dream of Pilate's Wife,' which has recently been
added to the collection which has for some years past
represented this most remarkable artist of his time.
Dore has again proved himself a most original thinker
as well as a powerful and most resolute painter of his
own imaginings. In this picture he has chosen a subject
quite after his own heart, suggested by the message sent
to Pilate, while he was on the judgment-seat, from his
wife, Claudia Procula : ' Have thou nothing to do with
that just Man, for I have suffered many things this day
in a dream because of Him.' Painters have not over
looked the passage entirely, and they have before now
embodied all that was troubled and foreboding in some
grand figure which they chose to call ' Pilate's Wife ;'
but to paint the dream was reserved for the genius of
Gustave Dore. How this has been accomplished, and
with what amazing artistic faculty of creation, no words
can exactly describe away from the picture. The painter
shows us the dream-troubled Claudia descending the
steps from her chamber in the blaze of strong light from
lamps within, and by her side, as if whispering in her
ear, is a flying angel, resplendent in glorious light. The

" THE DREAM OF PILATE'S WIFE" 343
dream is told by the figure of Christ, radiant with light
that spreads around, showing the forms of Christian
martyrs, the Evangelists, and Fathers of the Church,
and following these are crowds of kings and potentates,
among whom we may discover the Roman Helena,
Charlemagne, Godfrey of Bouillon, and Crusaders with
banners and crosses carried in triumph beneath the
heavenly host of angels, above whom shines out a starry
cross, shedding rays of silvery light over the scene. All
this is brought before us so vividly by the brilliant effects
of light and colour, that the thoughts are taken captive,
and we are carried completely into a world of wonderful
visions. For the moment it does not occur to our critical
sense to inquire whether all this art may or may not be
legitimate and orthodox, or to seek to discover how it
is done. So it is that we bow to the power of a real
magician in his art, whether it is the beautiful, the terrible,
or the marvellous, that he conjures upon his canvas."
The Dore Gallery also contains the " Souvenir of
Loch Leven," "The House of Caiaphas," and "The
Death of Rizzio," which we may positively state to be
the identical picture of which Edmond About spoke
in such enthusiastic terms in 1855. This work is enor
mously clever, powerful in conception, and splendid in
design. The face of the Queen as she bends over
Rizzio's body, and the foreshortening of the latter are
masterpieces in the art of drawing. The picture is crude,
with much inharmonious colouring, but abounds in creative
power of the very highest order.
The next picture is the " Day-Dream " (a companion
piece to " The Neophyte "), a young Monk seated at the
organ, while an angel or mortal vision, evidently occupy
ing his thoughts, is corporeally present to the eye of the
beholder. Looking around these spacious rooms, we find rich evi
dence of M. Dore's genius and versatility. The eye
only leaves one great canvas to fall upon another equally
clever in conception and artistic finish. We see about
us " Mont Blanc from the Brevent," a " Snow Scene in

344 GUSTAVE DOR A.

the Alps," " A Torrent in the Trossachs," then we turn
to the fated " Paolo and Francesca," — immortal lovers,
glorified by poets and painters ever since Dante saw the
vision of the " Inferno," and the couple whose mortal
ecstasies had been stifled in the clutch of everlasting tor
ment. I think this one of Dore's greatest works in every
respect. Every one must admire the noble beauty of
Francesca's clear-cut Italian features, the grand fore
shortening of her limbs, the lovely flesh-tint, the harmony
of the sapphire drapery, and Paolo's countenance, which
is instinct with passion and aflame with undying love.
This is indeed a noble creation, worthy to rank with the
best of the many Francescas with which the world is
enriched. In the Dore Gallery we also see the last grand concep
tion, " The Vale of Tears," of which Dore wrote in 1878,
the "Andromeda," "The Triumph of Christianity over
Paganism ;" " The Prairie " (exhibited in the Paris Salon
of 1857) ; a " Head of Christ," the famous etching, and
several other heads of our Saviour taken from different
points of view ; the great painting of " The Neophyte ;"
" The Falls of the Garry, Perthshire ;" a reduction of
" Geniuskilled by Fame," the group of which I speak in
my mention of Dore's sculptural works.
Besides these there are many original sketches of the
great pictures ; and in these we see the full play of Dore's
genius, for their execution followed so quickly upon their
conception that the ideas embodied in them were never
harassed by nor restricted to the dull limits of mechanical
lines and figures.
I have run across the following notes which may
conclude my remarks on the Dore Gallery. Messrs.
Fairless and Beeforth vouch for their authenticity ; and
it may be of interest to know the exact date of each
picture, when begun and when completed ; also the
names of several purchasers of Dore's works. I also
give an aggregate of monies received by the artist from
Messrs. Fairless and Beeforth, which, as will be seen,
constitute no small sum.

HEAD OF CHRIST.

(Original drawing. Pore Gallery. By permission of Messrs. Fairless and Beeforth.)
P«%* 345.

LIST OF DORE'S ENGLISH PURCHASERS. 345
'' The Triumph of Christianity over Paganism." Size, 9 ft 10 in by
6 ft. 10 in. 1868.
" Paolo and Francesca da Rimini.-' Size, 8 ft. 10 in. by 6 ft. 4 in. 1863.
" The Christian Martyrs." Size, 4 ft. 10 in. by 7 ft. 6 in. 1870.
" Christ leaving the Praetorium."1 Size, 20 ft. by 30 ft. 1872.
"The Night of the Crucifixion." Size, 4 ft. 3 in. by 6 ft. 4 in. 1873.
"Andromeda chained to the Rock." Size, 8 ft. 6 in. by 5 ft. 6 in. 1868.
" The Dream of Pilate's Wife.'' (Claudia Procula.) Size, 6 ft. 4 in. by
9 ft. 7 in. 1S74.
"The Soldiers of the Cross." (Scene from the History of the Crusaders.)
Size, 3 ft. 9 in. by 6 ft. 2 in. 1S74.
"The Massacre of the Innocents." Size, 12 ft. by 17 ft.
•• Le Tapis Vert." (Gambling-Table at Baden-Baden.) Size, 17 ft. by
34 ft. 1867.
'' The House of Caiaphas.'' (Judas plotting against Jesus.) Size, 3ft. 6 in.
by 5 ft. 9 in. 1875.
"The Battle of Ascalon." (Scene from the History of the Crusaders.)
Size, 4 ft. 2 in. by 6 ft. 4 in. 1875.
" Christ entering Jerusalem.'' Size, 20 ft. by 30 ft. 1876.
" Moses and the Brazen Serpent." Size, 18 ft. 4 in., by 29 ft. 6 in. 1877.
" Ecce Homo." Size, 20 ft. by 13 ft. 6 in. 1879.
Replica of " Christ leaving the Praetorium.'' Size, 17 ft. by 23 ft. Completed
with the exception of a few touches at the time of M. Dore's death
(unsigned). 1883.
" The Ascension. Size, 20 ft. by 13 ft. 6 in. 1879.
'• Moses before Pharaoh." Size, 17 ft. 6 in. by 26 ft. 6 in. 1880.
Replica " Ecce Homo."2 Size, 6 ft. 9 in. by 11 ft. 1883.
Ditto, "Ascension."8 Size, 6 ft. 9 in. by 11 ft. 1883.
" The Day Dream." (Young Monk at the Organ.) Size, 8 ft. by 9 ft. 6 in. 1SS0.
Ditto (upright). Size, 11 ft. by 6 ft. 8 in. 1882.
" The Neophyte." (One row of Monks.) Size, 5 ft. by 8 ft. 6 in. 1868.
" The Neophyte." (The same subject as the above, but with two rows of
Monks.) Size, 8 ft. by 10 ft. 6 in. 1869.
"The Vale of Tears." Size, 14 ft. by 21 ft. "Come unto Me." (The
picture on which the artist was occupied within three days of his death.
It apparently is finished, and required little else but signing. 1883.
" The Death of Rizzio." 3 Size, 8 ft. 6 in. by 10 ft. 6 in.
The following pictures, amongst others, have been sold from the Dore
Gallery to the purchasers whose names are appended: —
" Famille de Paysans." — E. C. Potter, Esq., Dinting Lodge, Glossop.
" High Lake in the Alps." — Robert Tennant, Esq., Leeds.
1 Messrs. Fairless and Beeforth entered into an agreement with M. Dore
for the purchase of a picture of this subject on a much smaller scale on seeing
the monochrome sketch in 1867 (vide agreement); but the picture being
painted of the dimensions here given, it was the subject of a subsequent
agreement J- ween the parties.
2 The above two pictures were completed at the time of M. Dord's death,
with the exception of a few touches.
3 Painted in 1855, when M. Dord was twenty-four years of age. It is said
that he was about this time much under the influence of Delacroix, and that
the style of this master is indicated in the picture. Of this work Theophile
Gautier and Edmond About had a high opinion, and prophesied of him
great things for the future.

34*5 GUSTAVE DORA.

" The Dancing Lesson." — Samuel Thomas Cooper, Esq., Bulwell Hall, Notts.
" La Gitana." — Samuel Thomas Cooper, Esq.
" Spanish Fortune-Tellers." — Samuel Thomas Cooper, Esq.
" The Child Moses'asleep."— J. A. Blencowe, Esq., Marston House, Banbury.
" Solitude." — Joseph Evans, Haydock Grange, Lancashire.
" The Ascent of the Matterhorn." — The Most Hon. the Marquis of Queens-
bury, Kingmount, Annan, N.B.
"Elaine." — Hilton Philipson, Esq., Tynemouth.
'' Knitters of Alsace." — Hilton Philipson, Esq.
'' Psalterion." — Her Majesty the Queen (at Windsor Castle).
" Street Scene in Spain."— — Rowbotham, Esq., Manchester.
" The Flight into Egypt." — The Right Hon. Lord Borthwick, Soltray House,
St. Andrews, N.B. '
"A Forest in Spring."— Wm. Banbury, Esq., Lombard Street.
"La Figurante." — F. A. Yeo, Esq., Sketty Hall, Swansea.
"Girl of Valenciennes." — W. H. Chamberlain, Esq., Cleveland, Ohio, U.S.A.
" Loch Lomond." — Dr. Montgomery, Penzance.
" Loch Ech."— Benjamin O 'Fallon, Esq., St. Louis, U.S.A.
" Alpine Landscape." — Chas. Kurtz, Esq., Bettws-y-Coed.
" The Blind Beggar." — Buddie Atkinson, Esq., Woolley Grange, Stratford-
on-Avon.
" Spanish Beggars waiting the arrival of a Diligence." — John Moffat, Esq.,
Ardrossan, N.B.
Landscape, " Night." \ Purchased by Messrs. Thompson and Mackenzie
„ " Morning." j for the Australian Government.
"The Flower-Sellers."— H. Thompson, Esq., jun., Liverpool. (In the
Walker Art Gallery.)
" Loch Canon " (the famous Rainbow Landscape, which caused so much
attraction in the Salon). — General Whittier, Boston, U.S.A.
"Avenue to Ruined Chateau." — J. C Bowring, Esq., Cranbourn, Windsor.
" Poor Peggy." — Edward Villiers, Esq., London.
" Fleur des Champs." — Edward Villiers, Esq.
" La Mere."— Ephraim Hallam, Esq., Oakwood Hall, Romelly, Stockport.
These pictures and copyrights, the aggregate prices of
which amounted to upwards of 60,000/., have been bought
by Messrs. Fairless and Beeforth, of the Dore Gallery,
from M. Dore, and the above sum was paid by them to
the artist.
A volume would not suffice to relate all the incidents
attendant upon the inception and completion of each
one of these great works of art. The only thing we
can do is to call attention to their magnitude. One
interesting incident recurs to my mind in reference to
Dore's painting of " The Resurrection." He had been
staying in Gloucestershire, and had accompanied Canon
Harford on a visit to Leigh Court, the beautiful country
seat of Sir Philip Miles. Dore admired the art treasures
there, and on his return to Canon Harford's house re-

DORA'S ENGLISH REMUNERATIONS. 347
ferred to several things which had pleased him greatly.
During dinner Gustave ate very little, and that little
appeared to distress him greatly. He evidently had
some new undertaking on his mind, and as usual when
thus preoccupied, was suffering from a sort of suffocation
and a feeling of oppression in his chest. He finished
his dinner rather abruptly, went out into the garden, and
began to smoke. He walked up and down for a little
while, puffing vigorously at his cigarette, all the while
elaborating in his mind the conception of some new
work. Dore was wrapt up in thought for some time,
and during their return journey to London, which took
place the same evening, his companion, the Rev.
Frederick Harford, noticed that he was still absorbed in
reflection, though evidently feeling somewhat better.
The friends separated for the night, and the next morn
ing at an early hour Canon Harford came to call upon
the artist. Dore's servant met him at the door, and in
response to the query if Dore was up, responded, " Up !
oh, yes, sir. He hasn't been to bed all night. He has
been working." At this moment Dore appeared, looking
tired, harassed, and excited. Still, he greeted his friend
affectionately. " Come in," he said ; " I have something
to show you," and he led the way to his work-room.
On the easel was a magnificent sketch in black and
white, which Dore called the " Resurrection." The
artist had omitted but one detail — the stone before the
door of the sepulchre, which we are told " was rolled
away by angels." This observation was made to him,
and as quick as thought, whilst Canon Harford was
looking at him, he seized a crayon and deftly sketched in
a broad, flat, and massive stone fallen to the earth ; I say
"fallen," but rather let me say, in the act of falling to
the earth, for the same exquisite art which expressed our
Saviour as walking, gave the appearance of corporeal
motion to the huge granite slab. The movement in both
seems reciprocal ; the earth trembles under the divine
footfall, whilst the air vibrates with the concussion which
follows the shock of the supernatural tearing asunder of

343 G USTA VE DOR A.

mighty rocks. This was one of the triumphs of Gustave
Dore's genius — the ability to express life, motion, action,
reality !
"What do you think of it?" said Dore. "It has
been on my mind for some little time, and I had to
do it."
I have the picture before me, and can recall every
line of this masterful work. The drawing, about thirty-
six inches by thirty, represents " our Saviour," clad in
astral-hued cerements, issuing from the tomb on the
morning of that third day. Christ stands a few. feet
from the door of the divinely unsealed sepulchre. In this
picture, as in some of his Dante drawings, Dore has in
vented a climate, an atmosphere of such limpid purity
that we may imagine, as he must have done, the angelic
face of nature, the softness of the air, and the bright
transparency of the unclouded sky on that auspicious
morning when Christ walked forth in all the majesty of
that sacred marvel, " the firstfruits of them that sleep."
The face of the Redeemer wears a radiance not of
earthly joy ; His holy feet are buoyant with divine
lightness ; He walks on the air and breath of God's omni
potence. I see the gracious form ; I feel the fluttering
movement of those flowing robes ; I gaze at the sublimest
of all sights, the face of the Saviour illumined by that
divine halo which only inspired mortals emit from the
crucible of their genius to spread in a golden substance
of reality before the eyes of their not less believing, but
less inspired fellow-men.
Surely, M. Dore worked all night, but he did not work
alone. He must have been in the presence of that
invisible host which peoples the minds of God's chosen
whilst the prosaic world sleeps. As a little child he only
saw the angel sent to Sabine von Steinbach ; with later
years, a deeper faith, and a purer inspiration, he was per
mitted to gaze on that other and greater vision. Surely
he must have heard with enchanted sense the angelic choir
singing, " For now is Christ risen from the dead, the first-
fruits of them that sleep."

DORE SKETCHES, THE -RESURRECTION." 349
This picture is at present in the possession of Canon
Harford, to whom Dore gave it. I am not aware that
he executed a larger or more elaborate developed paint
ing on the same subject ; but I think there is one in his
Bible series (not unlike the above) which would of course
have been designed prior to the sketch I have mentioned.
It is a pity that all the world cannot see this drawing, the
result of one night's inspiration and work.
The following year Dore came again to London, and
amongst the manv things he did during his stav here we
may mention one in particular — his visit to the dens of
London thieves in company with Mr. Blanchard Jerrold
and the Rev. Canon Harford. The chief of police wrote
the following to Canon Harford, in reply to a note from
that gentleman, mentioning Dore's wish to see the above
celebrated haunt of vice : —
" 3, Hobart Place, Eaton Square,
" Wednesday Evening, 7.30 p.m.
" DEAR Sir, — I regret that I have only just heard of
M. Gustave Dore's wish to see the dens of the London
thieves to-night. There is no time now to make proper
arrangements, but you mav be put in the way of seeing a
good deal bv showing this note to the inspector on duty
at King Street Police Station. " Yours faithfully,
" Thos. Peirsox."
Dore had here an opportunity, such as he was always
glad of, to dress himself up in some disguise, although
the occasion was not a Parisian dinner-partv, to which
he would often go in carnival time with a complete cos
tume hidden awav in the pockets of his great coat. On
such occasions, whilst talking or walking with Dore, his
friends would be surprised by his sudden evanishment
and as sudden reappearance, arrayed as a smart Pierrot,
a ragged vagrant, or a lordlv Venetian. Since his boy
hood's days and those Sundays spent at " Dear Graffen
staden '' with M. Kratz and his family, Dore had not
altered one iota in his love for tricking himself out in

&

35» GUSTAVE DOR A.

fancy costumes of every description. It is a pity that we
have not his portrait as he looked on the night of that
visit to the thieves' den. I am told that his dress was a
triumph of vagabondage and Bill Sykes style of signifi
cance. Mr. Blanchard Jerrold has spoken so much of
this episode in Dore's life that I am forced to pass it over
undescribed. Suffice it to say that the book " London,
a Pilgrimage," contains the most explicit details of the
adventure in question ; and later on, M. Bourdelin, an
old friend of the artist's, will also have something to say
about it.
Speaking of Mr. Blanchard Jerrold, I am reminded of
an incident which I am told took place at a Press
dinner given in Willis's Rooms, and presided over by a
literary celebrity. Jerrold and Dore both sat at the
President's table. After dinner, when toasts and
'' speechifying " had begun, Jerrold wrote a hasty line
in pencil on a card, and passed it up to the chairman.
It ran as follows : —
" In the absence of the French Minister, would it be
malapropos to request my friend Dore to say some
thing ? "
We are to imagine that haste, the blunt pencil, or the
effects of the dinner had rendered Mr. Jerrold's hand
writing somewhat illegible. At any rate the president
returned the following written answer : —
"Certainly, my dear Mr. Jerrold, with pleasure; but
who the devil is door ? "
Dore once went to a ball at the Mansion House and
was indeed the lion of that entertainment. This was
in 1869. So much curiosity was manifested to have
"just one look at him" that, as he came into the
room and the name Dore was announced, more than a
hundred and fifty young ladies stood in double rows
awaiting him as they would have done in the presence
of Royalty. This flattered Dore in no small degree,
but at the same_ time made him feel painfully shy!
Speaking of the incident some days after, he said, " I
never was more surprised in my life, and felt as if I were

'zA A.A ' ' .

A ¦ ""¥¦ ::\AffAAmtf[

' There both, I thought, the eagle and myself
Did burn, and so intense the imagined flame
That needs my sleep was broken off."
(By permission of Cassell and Co.)

J.SWAIN £/vc .

Page 35°-

ANECDOTE RELATED BY BLANCHARD JERROLD. 351
some strange wild creature." This ball was an experience
which Dore did not often repeat ; for the farther he ad
vanced in his art and its multitudinous preoccupations,
the less desire he felt to show himself about, and to go
into the great world. There was always the old element
of boyishness in his nature ; the charm of novelty, the
hero-worship and flattering attentions he received in Lon
don at first delighted him, and he behaved like a child
with a new toy. Afterwards even he became surfeited with
these pleasures, because the elements for real satisfaction

IN SCOTLAND.
(Unpublished. 1873.)
were not implanted in his soul. He was always dreaming
impossibilities in art ; and the exactions made upon him
by his task-master, ambition, were, like the inner fires
which feed the smouldering lava of Vesuvius, always
burning, always fermenting within the crater of his im
perious imagination, and rendering his life one turmoil
of unrealizable hopes, irritated rather than gratified by
petty successes and small triumphs. What could be
more painful to the heart of an ardent, indefatigable,
super-sensitive man, always working with the highest

352 GUSTAVE DOR A.

aspirations, and unseasonably scattering lavish seed of
genius, than to reap a premature and unripe harvest !
The following is an incident illustrative of his sensitive
ness and affectionate nature. Before Dore left London
in 1868, he was one day at Canon Harford's house, sign
ing some photographs to present to acquaintances, and
after diligently writing for some time, he looked up at his
friend and said, —
" But you do not ask me to sign any for you ? "
A response in the negative elicited a contented smile.
Dore forthwith selected the best portrait and dated it two
days later in Paris. The photograph in question repre
sented the artist seated at a table, with books, papers,
and crayons before him, his head slightly inclined on one
hand, an expression of deep thought upon his features,
his whole attitude one of profound reverie. This is what
he wrote at the bottom of the picture. I reproduce the
inscription in his own words : —
" Un homme absorbe, —
" Plus dans le souvenir de votre bonne amitie, mon
cher Harford, que dans son travail. " G. Dore.
"Paris, July 10th, 1868."
Dore was very fond of speaking Latin, and often went
so far as tojmake jeux de mots of no mean order in that
language. One I recall is this, it was of course apropos
of his friend Canon Harford. " yEstimo tuam harfortitudi-
nem." He wrote many letters in Latin, and some of them
were extremely clever, all were correct and careful. Of
his aphorisms, I see one before me on a portrait signed by
himself in 1870. I read " Ne soyez pas modeste dans
vos entreprises, mais soyez-le toujours dans le succes." 4
These are not bad sentiments and are expressed with
rare brevity. Dore certainly lived up to them. He
4 " Never be modest in your undertakings, but always be modest in the
day of success."

UN HOMME ABSORB A," ETC., ETC. 353

also originated some really quaint and original aphorisms,
wrote charming comedies, plays, and farces, and, as per
haps may not be known, in his earlier days composed
the entire text of some of his most important illustrated
albums. I think that " Three Artists, miserably misun
derstood, &c." was his own, as well as " The Plumets'
Pleasure-Trip," and others which do not now recur to my
memory. Amongst many of his Latin inscriptions on
portraits, he once wrote to his friend Canon Harford, —
" Quam tempora delentur omnia, sola manet amicitia."
This was in 1869, and on another portrait he wrote an
inscription which follows a curious statistical statement
written as follows to the left and right of the photo
graph :—
" Statistique de mes chevalettes du 10 Mars, 1870.
(Left-hand side of Portrait.) (Right-hand side of Portrait.)
" Le Rdpos en Egypte. 23rd of March, 1872 (Ouvrages
d'importance).
" L'Entre'e d'un Cathedrale. Massacre des Innocents.
" Le N£ophite (ist) L' Alsace.
" Les Martyrs. Le Christ sortant du Pr6toire.
" Le Deluge Le Dante.
"Jesus sortant du Pre'toire. Mox mei nunc hujus sed postea,
nescio cujus.
" Le Mont- Blanc.
5 " Tenterden's Tavern.
6 "Le Massacre des Innocents.
"Forsitan haec olim meminisse
juvabit. G. Dore."
Lieut.-Colonel Dudley Sampson was an old and valued
friend of the great Alsatian artist. He has kindly lent
me a few notes relating to Gustave Dore, from which I
extract the following paragraphs. Besides recounting
another incident in Dore's London life, they throw a great
deal of light on his real character.
Colonel Sampson writes : —
******
" One of Dore's most extraordinary peculiarities was, I
5 Original sketches in the possession of the Rev. F. Harford. A a

354 GUSTAVE DOR A.

think, his keen recollection of faces — good, bad, and
indifferent. " Many years ago I was introduced to him at a dinner
party in Palace Chambers, St. James's Street ; Blanchard
Jerrold, Edmund Yates, Mrs. Jopling, then Miss Good,
if I remember rightly, and others equally well known in
the literary and artistic world, being amongst the guests.
After a few commonplace compliments on my side as to
the honour and pleasure of making the acquaintance of
the great painter, Dore turned suddenly round upon me
with ' Monsieur ! this is not the first time we have met.
Three years ago, in June or July, we crossed the Channel
together from Boulogne to Folkestone. You stood, for
the most part of the trajet, talking to a very tall man in
a very long coat, what you call an " ulster." ' On my
expressing surprise at his having carried such a trivial
incident in his brain so long, he added, ' It has nothing
to do with me, c'est plus fort que moi. When I see a
face it never leaves me until I have drawn it, perhaps
several times.' I laughingly asked whether he was
ridding himself of me in the ' Inferno ' or the ' Paradiso ' ?
to which he made some goodnatured reply. But I always
date our acquaintance and subsequent friendship from
the peculiarity in question.
" Apropos to the above, it appears to me that the brain
characteristic mentioned is, though of perhaps rarer
quality, very much the same as that which a good many
of us unfortunately possess in another branch of art ;
that is, the involuntary and often exasperating remem
brance of certain bars of music over which, be they from
oratorio or opera bouffe, we have for a time no power
of suppression whatever.
******
" I once asked Dore if there was any truth in a rumour
very current at the time, that he was engaged to be
married to a certain celebrated prima donna. We were
alone in the Rue Bayard studio at the time, and he said
nothing for the moment ; then, suddenly waving his hand

"NO; MY WIVES ARE THERE." 355
in the direction of the dozen or so of easels, each having
upon it some unfinished work, he exclaimed, half sadly,
half mockingly, ' No ; my wives are there ! Better that
they should be canvas ones, mon cher ! ' and he added,
laughing, ' A married artist not only must neglect one of
two things, his wife or his art ; but he is sure to get into
hot water, sooner or later, with the former a propos des
modeles.'

" I always thought it a very remarkable trait in Dore's
genius that he could go so rapidly from one canvas to
another and not get ' mixed ' as regards his colouring.
They were usually ranged anyhow in the studio, and I
have frequently seen him, chatting meanwhile, wander
round it and stop, first for a couple of minutes,
say, over the dark and sombre interior of a Spanish
cathedral ; then, for five or six more, perhaps, opposite a
brilliant rainbow-hued scene of Scottish moorland, and
then again, with only sufficient pause to knock the ashes
off the top of his cigar, wander across to finish some
delicate passage in a portrait or flesh painting.
******
" Dore's great idea was to have an immense gallery in
London, standing by itself somewhere and built expressly,
not only for the exhibition, but for the permanent home
of all his more important works.
" I fancy that he had ever Thorwaldsen's Museum, at
Copenhagen, in his mind's eye ; and no wonder, for there
is, perhaps, no more touching or suitable resting-place
for a great artist than some such ivy-covered grave in the
midst of the immortal productions of his genius.
******
" He was extremely sensitive, at least I always found
him so — with regard to criticism, favourable or adverse,
and nothing delighted him more than an honest assurance
— given, I am persuaded, by his friends, in all genuine
A a 2

35° GUSTAVE DOR A.

truthfulness — that a century hence the former view would
have completely annihilated the latter.
" He thoroughly believed in his own genius, but, unlike
the majority of artists, more especially French artists,
he never wantonly depreciated or sneered at his con
temporaries."

DORA VISITS THE EMPEROR AT COMPlfGNE. 357

CHAPTER XXXII.
DORE A PATRIOT.
GUSTAVE Dor£ was a sincere patriot. Although a
staunch Legitimist, he had a profound liking and respect
for the Emperor Napoleon III., and since the occasion
of his visit to the court at Compiegne in 1867 had often
spoken of his Majesty in terms of admiration and loyalty.
However, some people have said that he set no special
value on the marks of Imperial favour so persistently
shown to him, and once gave away a beautiful and valu
able pencil, the Emperor's gift, to a fair friend who
happened to express her admiration of it. I will do
Dore the justice to say that he really cared for this pencil,
and that his giving it away was a greater proof of re
gard for the lady than of indifference to the Emperor.
Surely he could not give anything he did not like to a
person for whom he cared ? Dore's nature was of a finer
fibre than was generally supposed. His generosity was
proverbial, and always costly to himself. He never
offered a worthless sketch to a friend, or made any one
his pis-aller.
In 1869 Dore was specially invited by the Empress to
make one of her suite during her journey to Suez for the
opening of the canal. To her surprise — to every one's,
in fact — he refused the invitation. Twice at the

358 GUSTAVE DORE.

Tuileries the Empress asked the artist to honour them
by his presence — twice Dore refused. On the second
occasion the Emperor made such a point of being agree
able to Dore, that the latter's persistency in not recog
nizing the honour extended to him became a matter of
serious concern to his friends. The following are the
artist's own words on the subject : —
" His Majesty was most kind, most amiable. He had
asked me once to go to Suez, and I had made some
excuse, so I scarcely expected a second invitation. It
came, however, and I refused it positively. The Emperor
looked surprised and half offended. He bit his lip and
observed, ' Pray let us say no more about it.' "
Two reasons have been assigned for this strange con
duct, one of which would have been potent enough to
warrant Dore in his refusal to go to Suez ; the other can
not reasonably be so considered, as when once he had
overcome his political scruples so thoroughly as to deem
himself at liberty to be present at court-balls, fetes, and
picnics, he certainly would have been straining at a gnat
to have raised any objections to this last royal invitation.
It will have been divined that the former reason was
his political faith ; besides which his mother's complaints
"that he was seen too often at Bonapartist houses,"
might have influenced him in no slight degree. At this
time, it will also be remembered, Napoleon III. was not
in the heyday of popularity. The second reason I must
give in full, as it seems eminently Doreish. In speaking
of the invitation he said to his friend Kratz, —
" Arthur, they want me to go to Suez ; but I shall
not go. I should meet new people, a new race. These
Oriental ideas and customs — how do I know but they
might instil new thoughts into my mind, and upset all
my present train of work ? You know how I felt about
London. Well, I have made up my mind to stick to
that, and to eternalize myself there in the interest of my
fortune. You know that I am an impressionable dog.
I am none too fond of that foggy land, but I have
resolved to devote myself to my new mode of work and

THE Q UEEN BUYS" LE PSALTERION " OF DORE. 359

living, and shall not indulge myself in the luxury of visiting
any strange and fascinating countries. It might upset me.
I am too old to attempt new departures in art. I dis
trust myself, but — I can resist temptation. I shall not go."
I leave every one to draw his own deduction from
the above, upon which I will make but one comment.
Dore's extraordinary nature, combining honesty and
superstition to an almost inconceivable degree, certainly
shines out clearly in this latter argument. In short, no
one but himself would ever have given such a reason as
the above for refusing an Imperial invitation, which is
usually considered a command.
I now come to some events of the war, but must disturb
their chronological order by mentioning an occurrence
which took place in 1868 at a dinner-party given by
M. Joanne, Sr., Dore's dear friend, the compiler of the
valuable " Guide Joanne." After the repast a lively
political discussion took place, in which Dore joined with
great warmth, concluding his arguments by betting that
before two years should have elapsed France would be
mistress of the Rhine. M. E. Forgues (Old Nick) took
up the bet, and staked all his works against all Dore's.
M. Forgues attached little importance to this bet, which
he considered merely a hasty after-dinner effusion. Two
years later he saw a commissioner coming up to his door
laden with an enormous case. In it was a complete set
of the works Dore had theretofore illustrated. Dore
rarely spoke lightly, and never forgot what he had said.
In 1870 Dore had the honour of selling a picture
to her Majesty Queen Victoria. This was hung in the
gallery at Windsor, and is indeed one of the most lovely
works Dore ever painted. It is called " LeRsalterion,"
and has for its subject a youth with his lute, singing and
dreaming over his future.
Dore's gratification at being thus honoured is best
shown in the following letter, sent to his friend Canon
Harford, which also explains why Dore did not spend
the season of 1870 in London.
It will be remembered that this was one of the most

3<5o GUSTAVE DO RA.

terrible and eventful years France had ever known. From
.theinception of the Franco-German war until the moment
when the storm fairly broke over France, Gustave Dore
has graphically described his feelings in two letters
written to Canon Harford, the first dated from Paris in
July, 1870, and the second the 13th of September of the
same year. I give these letters almost entire. Dore's
heart, elevated sentiments, patriotism, and noble nature
speak for themselves in every line. I extract from the
first letter as follows : — "July 27, 1870.
"Dear Friend, — Without doubt you have already
divined the causes, the sad causes, which have delayed
my projected trip to London, which I announced to you
some days ago in my last letter. We are on the eve of
a gigantic and terrible war, -and France is on fire with
excitement. " Under these circumstances, dear friend, you may
imagine how little inclined I am to absent myself from
my country, where we all have at present but one thought,
to unite together, and to face the common danger which
threatens us. Besides, we are in momentary expectation
of great news, which could only get to London second
hand. My brother, Captain Emile, has just written to us
that his division^ is on the eve of a campaign ; but, dear
friend, across this lowering sky news has come to me
from your country like a ray of the brightest sunshine.
This news you must already know, and your friendly
heart will have already rejoiced over it with mine.
" Tne Queen of England has just done me the signal
honour to buy one of my works for her gallery, and, my
dear Harford, I have no words with which to express the
proud joy I feel, nor all my gratitude for this high mark
of patronage. ******
" I pray you, dear friend, to keep me informed respect
ing your health, which I hope is always good.
" Your devoted friend,
" G. Dore."

z:ca

" OUR MISFORTUNE IS IMMENSE." 361
During the war Canon Harford sent a present to his
friend Dore of a silver flask of a peculiar kind, one
which could be drunk from without using both hands.
Dore acknowledged the gift in the following terms : —
" September 13, 1870.
"Dear Harford, — How shall I ever thank you
enough for your kind and affectionate thoughts, and all
the good they do to my soul ? With the day of distress
came the souvenir of a sincere and dear friend, and such
precious wishes !
"In writing to you thus, I profit by the last day upon
which letters will be able to go by train to England ; the
enemy is at the very gates of Paris, and from one moment
to another we may be in the throes of the first bombard
ment. Our misfortune is immense, and our anguish
terrible. How shall we ever emerge from this gulf of
blood and abandonment into which poor France is
plunged ? No hope and no solution gleams on the
horizon ; and yet it seems hard to think that our beloved
France, so innocent of this war, should be the object of
universal execration.
" I shall carry my flask with me, dear friend, when I
go to the ramparts — this well-chosen object which your
affection has prompted you to send to me. I think it
will be to-morrow, for, as I have told you, the peril is
most imminent. My dear and well-loved friend Harford,
I beg you to address your prayers to Heaven that this
drama now in progress may have as prompt an ending as
possible, and that the grief that already overwhelms us
may not put all France into mourning.
" No news of my poor brother, the captain ; we are
in mortal disquietude. I have tried everything, even the
help of several members of the Geneva Society, who
they say ought to know certain things ; but have signally
failed. Adieu, my dear Harford, my heart is very heavy,
but it is with the best of my affection that I embrace you.
" Your devoted friend,
"G. Dore.

362 GUSTAVE DOR A.

" P.S. — I forgot to inform you that I have sent my
thanks to her Majesty the Queen by Colonel Ponsonby."
It may not be out of place in these reminiscences of
Gustave Dore to say a few words here about his well-
loved brother Emile. Lieutenant- Colonel Dore, whom
Gustave calls " my brother the captain " in the fore
going letter, well fulfilled the promise of his early youth,
when he was a brave, steady, and honest lad. He is to
day one of the most distinguished officers in the French
army, and won his first honours at Strasburg during
the terrible siege, where he was twice decorated on the
field for bravery and splendid military conduct. Gustave
Dore, with his family, felt a justifiable pride in his
brother's glory, which was to him one of the bright
spots in that otherwise deplorable year. The Dore
boys were made of fine stuff, as is proved by the way
in which they fought and won even the ordinary battles
of life.
M. Bourdelin, a distinguished Parisian draughtsman,
was one of Dore's intimates, and takes great pride in the
fact that Dore regarded him as one of his oldest and
most valued friends. M. Bourdelin not only kindly told
me a great deal about his relations with Dore, but sent
me a little handful of notes from which I shall here and
there quote verbatim, commencing with those having
reference to the war. M. Bourdelin says :—
" Gustave Dore was an ardent patriot. Alsatian by
birth, at the first news of war with Prussia his heart went
back to the Rhine. He already saw the French army
triumphantly crossing that river which he had so often
crossed, and this hope supplied him with the subject of one
of his finest sketches. He saw there modern Zouaves,
wearing the honours of Africa and Lombardy, saluted
by the soldiers of the first Empire, and the Republic
uprising from her tomb at the sound of the French
clarion. He also saw the armies of Conde assisting at
this marvellous march, and again carrying into Germany
the heroes of Friedland and Jena. At that moment every
hand which held a pen was hot with patriotic fever ; and

MY PASSAGE OF THE RHINE, ALAS!" 363

I, who possessed this work of Dore, wrote an article full
of praise to a well-known journal, which shortly after came
to Gustave's notice.
" Then weeks rolled by, and the marvellous sketch was
left in the studio of the painter, whose enthusiastic heart
had taken fire too quickly. One morning I saw Gustave's
valet entering my house ; he bore a roll of paper and a
note in his hands. The note said : —
'"My dear Bourdelin, — My passage of the Rhine, alas !
has been seen by you alone, and in consequence you alone
were able to give an opinion upon it. How kind and
amiable you were to me in that newspaper article, in which
you struck out right and left for your country ! Ah ! both
of our heads were filled with too extravagant dreams !
My drawing has no longer any reason to exist ; I give it
to you. Keep it in remembrance of our vanished hopes.' "
This picture, which I have seen, is indeed a glorious
inspiration, one of Dore's great imaginative creations in
black and white ; and the characters represented in it
are so real as to belie the idea of a fictive battle. It oc
cupies the place of honour in M. Bourdelin's studio, and
he may well pride himself on so magnificent a gift from
his celebrated friend. I walked up a great many flights
of stairs to look at it ; but I would have ascended ten
times the number rather than have missed seeing this
memorable work. M. Bourdelin continues: —
" Recalling Dore's marvellous faculty of taking in at a
glance the physiognomy of men and things, I remember
one circumstance which occurred at the close of the
siege of Paris, when the capitulation had just been signed.
Dore and I went to take a walk as far as the bridge of
Courbevoie. Our end of the bridge was guarded by
French soldiers, and the other by Germans. In the
middle of the bridge we saw a group of officers, Ba
varians, Prussians, and Saxons, whose various types
seemed specially chosen to prompt the caricaturist's
pencil, had we but been in the vein to take advantage of
the opportunity to sketch them. But we could not dream
of taking a pencil or drawing-book from our pockets, for

364 GUSTAVE DORE.

we should immediately have been surrounded and sus
pected, had we done so.
" During a quarter of an hour Dore examined these
dozen different countenances. That same evening, when
he returned home, he took up a sheet of paper in my
presence, and with the most extraordinary precision
sketched the entire group, not omitting a single detail.
Even the different uniforms were marvels of correctness.
Dore talked very little during the long walks we often
took at that time, in the midst of the fearful debris that
five months of siege had strewn about the ramparts and
environs of Paris. He was happy to know that some one
was near him, and often forgot to speak. He always had
some great project in his head, some great picture or
drawing. He composed while he was walking ; he com
piled all his documents ; he remembered all his land
scapes ; and in the evening by lamplight with one touch
of his magic pencil reminiscences and thoughts came to
life without erasure or alteration."
Dore has consecrated some of his most vigorous
sketches to the memory of this war. Foremost among
these ranks his " Marseillaise ;" but it should be re
membered that when he painted this great picture the
strains of Rouget de Lisle's inspired song were not often
heard on the Parisian ramparts. " La Marseillaise " is
alive with the forms of thousands of Frenchmen marching
gloriously on to victory, whilst the angel of the Republic,
sword and torch in hand, hovers above the heads of
France's brave soldiers.
The next stirring picture was entitled, " The Country
in Danger." The crescent moon shines above the gabled
roofs, the streets are thronged with a frantic, shouting
mob of citizens and soldiers, and at the door of one grey
mansion thewarangel sounds the tocsin of alarm. Thereare
always angels in Dore's pictures ; heavenly angels, angels
of peace and war, ministering angels, angels of nativity, and
angels of Death. How easily we can trace in every stir
ring moment of Dore's life the quick memory, harking
back to his boyhood's days, when the celestial visitant

ALAS! POOR ALSATIA ! 365
broke through the vault of heaven and immortalized
Sabine von Steinbach !
There is another painting of the " Marseillaise." In this
the Goddess of Victory leads Gallia's faithful warriors on
to conquest or death. The well-known picture " War " re
presents groups of soldiers no longer in battle array, but
stricken down on the field. Night has fallen. Straying
herds of wild-eyed oxen seek their pasturage in blood
stained meadows. "War" was painted in 1868, but is
commonly supposed to have been one of Dore's patriotic
pictures of the year 1870.
"Le Rhin Allemand," " Le Chant de Depart" and
" L'Aigle Noir" were painted during the year of the war.
We now come to one of the greatest works Dore ever
produced, the fame of which is world-wide. I refer to
" Alsatia." Who has not seen the Alsatian peasant
woman, standing in a mournful attitude, with the French
banner clasped to her desolate breast ? Hard by, an old
nurse caresses a baby that has obviously been left father
less. The widowed woman's face is shadowed by dark
despair. Her sable cap and broidered girdle — even the
lace-work of her hand-made sleeve — are as black as the
crape wound about her neck and round her country's
mourning flag. None can look at this picture without
feeling a heart-throb of profound sorrow. One need
not be a Frenchman to ejaculate with Dore, "Alas ! poor
Alsatia ! " The Rhine shall flow on in its limpid course ;
young pines shall spring up midst the velvet of the Black
Forest ; mountain flowers shall bloom in all their luxuriant
fragrance, and the voices of children wandering through
the forest shall make the air resound with the accents of
the unhallowed German tongue, which has superseded
French in Imperial Alsace ; but for many a year to come
in every true Alsatian's house, be it palace or hovel, you
will assuredly find one picture : it may be a painting,
drawing, lithograph, photograph, or even the trusty little
engraving of " Alsatia " which has been produced by well-
nigh every illustrated journal in Europe. This you will
look at with reverence, thinking not of the painter, but of

366 GUSTAVE DORE.

the patriot who would have given his life-blood for his
native province as freely as he devoted his talent to
perpetuating her memory in the heart of France.
During the Commune Dore went with his mother
to Versailles. There they established themselves for
some time. Madame Dore, although in good health, was
not in very brave spirits ; the late terrible events had told
upon her nerves, and, at heart a proud Alsatian, she
deeply felt the bitter humiliation and melancholy fate
of her beloved province. Besides, Paris was yet in a
state of wild excitement ; the ruins of the Tuileries were
still smoking, and the whole capital was in a whirl of wild
tumult and ever-renewed panic.
About that time Dore had on hand the late Blanchard
Jerrold's " London," which, as will be remembered, was
the outcome of Dore's visit in 1869 to the dens of the
London thieves. Without entering into detail respecting
the preliminaries of this work, we have it on very good
authority that before a page of the book was printed,
Dore offered 600/. to be released from his bargain. As
is well known, Douglas Jerrold's talented son was an old
friend of Gustave Dore ; and as the reasons for their
collaboration are probably given in the text of the work
itself, I abstain from any reference to them here.
" London, a Pilgrimage," was brought out by Grant
and Company, and enjoyed distinguished popularity.
Certainly with two such names as Jerrold and Dore on
the title-page, the former a writer of high distinction,
and the latter the acknowledged King of illustrators, it
would have been strange had this work not commanded
a favourable reception at the hands of the British public.
Without touching upon the merits of Mr. Jerrold's work,
which has already been judged and criticized, I will say
a few words about Dore's share in it. Undoubtedly
some of his finest character-sketches are contained in
these volumes ; sketches in black and white, sound and
vigorous in sentiment and tone, touching in pathos,
really comical in their humorous vein, life-like in action
and pose, some even Rembrandtish in colour, concep-

LONDON, 1 87 1.
(Unpublished drawing in possession of Rev. Frederick Harford.)

Page 366.

"A POOR CHILD IN LONDON." 367
tion, foreshortening, and finish. On the other hand, I
must call attention to one peculiarity, which seems to me
almost a prevalent defect in Dore's work, and a great one
from an Anglo-Saxon point of view. His characters are
for the most part un-English. Their original conception
was not at fault, but the artistic execution was. The
hand of the great French draughtsman had too long
been accustomed to draw the types of his own country
and continental faces, to change his method in a trice
and suddenly display current proficiency in depicting a
new and totally different race.
This drawback is manifest in some of his other drawings,
called " London Character Sketches." For instance,
" A poor Child in London," might be anything but an
English child ; the curls falling about her neck are dis
posed after the manner of French hairdressing ; the
unreasonably shortened waist and unusual length from
the waist downward is an absolute reproduction of ninety-
nine French children of a hundred.
The method of dressing English and American children
in youth is a physical preparation which gives them in
later life long waists and supple figures. To return to
the " Poor Child," she may have been a denizen of
Leicester Square or Soho, but it is not likely that Dore
would need to draw upon his recollections of Venice or
of the Revolution in the Faubourg St. Antoine in order
to sketch a typical London street-Arab. So it was with
some of the poor outcast women whom he sketched in
the streets — the only home they have ever known in
London. The details of dress are in every instance
faithfully portrayed ; there are the reeking, ragged
flounces, the tattered shawls in every imaginable design
and colour, the transparent bonnets ghastly with faded
tinsel and paper flowers, the unkempt hair breaking away
from comb or other restraint, the brows and cheeks
seamed by debauchery and hardened by misery, the
attitude and unsteady, almost reeling, gait bespeaking
non-memberhood of the Blue Ribbon Army, and the
whole figure a startling invocation to miserable humanity

368 GUSTAVE DORE.

and recalcitrant justice. But what of the faces ! Here'
M. Dore's pencil is at fault, but perhaps justly and poeti
cally so, for instead of the hard British irreclaimable
vagabond's look we have — --while in the same degree of
misery — the more pathetic grace of the Parisian grisette,
whose misery may have been deadened by one draught
of absinthe, or of the betrayed Zingara who chants to
the moon, and lies down in her misery and tatters, wooing
eternal sleep from the dark shadows of the stately
Alhambra. The sketch we subjoin in this place is one of Dore's
unpublished drawings, originally intended for the " Lon
don." Its scene is an interior of one of the well-known
haunts of the London thieves, and speaks for itself. The
sketch is in the possession of Canon Harford, and was
presented to him by the artist during the season of 1869.
I must now revert to M. Bourdelin's notes, which say
a great deal about Dore's visit to London in 1871.
" During the Commune Dore was living with his
mother at Versailles. About this time we decided to go
to London together. Blanchard Jerrold was busy with
the text of a work on London, for which Gustave had
contemplated executing two hundred drawings. Worried
by his publishers and hindered at the outset by the
stirring events which had taken place in Paris, he had
requested me to aid him in the architectural and
picturesque portions of his work. We went to London
and passed nearly six months there together. Dore
inhabited a superb apartment on the first floor of the
Westminster Palace Hotel. One room had been trans
formed into a studio, and there we worked during the
whole summer of 187 1. For our trips round and about
London in search of material for our sketches and studies
of character from the life, two private detectives had
been placed at our disposal ; and every night we spent
hours in populous London districts such as Lambeth,
Clerkenwell, Bayswater, and the Docks.
"It was a real pleasure to watch Dore, dressed in
some ragamuffin style or other, hurrying in and out of the

AN ILL-FATED DISH OF BACON. 369
streets and alleys, and rapidly taking notes with the
rarest precision — notes which served him for the com
position of his blocks. I filled in backgrounds, houses
or monuments, which he afterwards animated with his
glowing fanciful pencil. There is no horrible place that
may be seen in London into which we did not penetrate.
I remember one Sunday morning in the Jewish quarter
of Petticoat Lane ; we went from one end to the other of
a long sort of market, where old clothes, comestibles,
and all. sorts of heterogeneous wares were sold. In this
dingy lane we had remarked some poor wretches for
whom Dore bought some old shoes and hats, and
amongst whom he distributed generous sixpences. It
was there, in the open air, surrounded by a compact and
curious crowd, that he produced his famous sketch of the
' Seltzer-water Maker,' my contribution to which was
an accurate presentment of the apparatus for manufac
turing the effervescent liquid. Dore made himself exces
sively popular in London, and his photograph was in a
great many shop windows. It was by no means un
common to hear his name inadvertently and inaccurately
pronounced by some street-boy or woman of the people
who recognized his likeness thus displayed.
" I lived in Brompton Square, and he sometimes took
his breakfast at my house. One morning my landlady
gave a loud cry on seeing him, and dropped her dishful
of bacon and eggs. ' Mister Gustave Dore ! ' she
shrieked out. She was indeed proud to see the great
man in her dining-room. Gustave's pleasure was equally
real at her compliment. He said to me, ' You see she
knew me. I like to be recognized by the people, because
I work for them.' I think Gustave enjoyed the compli
ment more than his breakfast, for during the whole of
that day he seemed as happy as a child.
" The London cabmen knew him as well as the Paris
coachmen, and likewise held him in great veneration.
Dore was probably the first Frenchman who ever dreamed
of paying a coachman five hours' fare for taking him
only from the Madeleine to the Rue Richelieu. The
B b

37° GUSTAVE DORE.

same eccentricity often repeated itself during his sojourn
in London, and this is how it generally happened. Dore
would take a cab in order to pay a visit ; he would be
kept to dinner, after which there would be music and
conversation, and then, at one o'clock in the morning, he
would suddenly remember that he bad a ' growler' at the
door. The concrete result varied between twelve and
fifteen shillings in hard cash, for a fare which, but for the
lapse of time due to his forget fulness, would have been
handsomely discharged by the payment of half-a-crown.
" H.R.H. the Prince of Wales had for a long time
honoured Dore with his friendship. He always apprised
him of his presence in Paris, and invariably consecrated
several hours to visiting Dore's studio. In London,
whilst we were working together at Westminster Palace
Hotel, the Prince came to see him several times incognito,
accompanied by his aide-de-camp, Colonel Teesdale.
One day his visit bore a more official character. Princess
Louise accompanied her brother, several ladies and
gentlemen and officers of the Court and of the Princess's
suite came, having the previous evening announced the
visit of his Royal Highness.
Dore resolved to receive them right royally. Loads
of lovely flowers came in from Covent Garden Market,
lavishly decorating his apartment, the staircase and
vestibule of the hotel, and a magnificent lunch was
prepared. About three o'clock, when three carriages
(each drawn by four horses) were drawn up in front of
the door, more than ten thousand people had collected
in the street outside the hotel, and not the least frequent
of their cries was, ' Hurrah for Dore.' It was a short
time after this that Dore was presented to her Majesty
the Queen.
" Dore was always smoking. It seemed to me that he
was never without a cigar or cigarette in his mouth ; his
head used to be enveloped in such a cloud of smoke that
it appeared to come out of the top of his skull, to escape
from his brain, a real cauldron always seething. We used
to go very often whilst in London to see the celebrated

JUGGLLNG AT CASTELLANI S. 371
collector of antiquities, Castellani of Rome, who each
year spent some time in the metropolis. It was at his
house that one evening after dinner, Dore, whilst juggling
with some daggers, accidentally drove one into the palm
of his hand, and for some days had to keep his arm in a
sling. He was very robust and fond of bodily exercises,
especially of practising on the trapeze and with the
gloves. Not infrequently, when he was in particularly
good spirits, he would walk on his hands all round the
studio, keeping his feet in the air.
" Dore was a long time in England, where he was made
welcome, and received with open arms by the most noble
families. Strange to say, he never learned to speak
English. He used to get off now and then a few phrases
which helped him to get about in cabs. The reason of
his not studying the language of the country was simple
enough. You see all the English people of distinction
whose houses he frequented spoke French perfectly well,
which made his intercourse with them easy and
agreeable.

B b

372

GUSTAVE DOR A.

CHAPTER XXXIII.

MORE LONDON INCIDENTS.

" I REMEMBER another incident of our stay in London.
One day, in a street in Islington, we found ourselves
before the door of a public school for young ladies.
Dore wanted to visit this school, so I summoned one of
the servants, and bade her announce to the schoolmistress
the name of the unexpected visitor. We were kept
waiting some minutes in a little parlour, and were then
introduced to the presence of the lady directress, a most
distinguished woman, by the way, who spoke the purest
of French ; another proof, I may observe, of our neigh
bours' superiority over us in learning foreign languages.
Presently this lady conducted us into the amphitheatre
of the school, where about 500 young girls arose, saluted
Gustave Dore, and began to sing in unison the ' Marseil
laise ' to the accompaniment of the harmonium. Gustave
was visibly affected ; you see he was a fervent patriot.
Those ladies were not obliged to know what political
opinions he entertained ; but, as a matter of fact, he was
not much of a Republican, and it was only in 1878,
when he had been appointed an officer of the Legion of
Honour, that he could be brought to admit that Jules

« WHY DIDN'T YOU SAY SO BEFORE." 373
Ferry and Gambetta had not in person set the Tuileries
on fire. He saw Gambetta very often after that, how
ever, and finding him agreeable and highly instructed,
allowed himself to be carried away by the fascinations
of the great Tribune.
" I remember one day, at St. Katherine's Docks, in
London, we were drawing some ships which were loading
and unloading at the quay. An old sailor was working
near us, so, in the hope of obtaining some local informa
tion, Dore asked him a few questions in his own peculiar
English. The sailor looked somewhat embarrassed, and
answered in a tongue that did not seem very intelligible
to us. It was only by a great effort of imagination that
we contrived to piece his words together into any sort of
a coherent statement. At last Dore, somewhat puzzled,
addressed a few words of French to me, upon which the
old tar began to laugh merrily, exclaiming, ' Eh ! — Troun
de l'air, you are Frenchmen ! Why didn't you say so
before ? I am from Marseilles.' An intimacy was
established en the spot, and Dore, having discovered a
little restaurant hard by, we went all three to dine a la
Provencale, and soon laid hold of a bottle of expatriated
Medoc. The sailor would not have missed that adventure
for a good deal.
" Dore had the greatest affection for his mother ; at the
age of forty he lived with her just as if he had been a
child. In their immense house in the Rue St. Dominique
several superb rooms were encumbered with documents,
cartoons, and books. He might easily have taken one
of these apartments for himself, but he never thought
of doing so. He used to sleep in a little cabinet adjoining
his mother's room ; the door of communication was always
open, and the mother and son used to talk together for
hours before they went to sleep, discussing every event
of the day, large or small. It was in this same little
schoolboy's room that Francoise, the old servant, used
to bring him his cafe-au-lait in the morning and his
tisanes if he had a cold. Francoise, as you know, was
an Alsatian, and has served the Dores all her lifetime.
She is more than eicrhtv vmi-s old, and has survived all

374 GUSTAVE DORE.

the old people. She used to answer Gustave back when
he attempted to make any observations to her. ' Leave
me quiet to attend to my housekeeping,' she would say,
' and occupy yourself with your little wooden men.'
" Dore had a generous and open hand ; the people he
has obliged and done favours for it would be absolutely
impossible to name. His manner was sometimes rather
brusque, but he had an excellent heart and was always
grateful for the slightest service one rendered him. He
distributed drawings, sketches, and photographs of his
works amongst his acquaintances with the greatest lavish-
ness, and many were not backward in taking advantage
of this generosity.
" He seldom went to the theatre, for he objected to
losing his time in listening to a lot of rubbish that he had
no interest in. I must say he was a little narrow-minded
in that respect, for he evidently forgot how great was
his own pleasure on seeing heads bent over his albums,
looking at and admiring them. In his private life Dore
had not the gift of order ; not that he was exactly
disorderly, but he alleged that if the best servant in the
world had even looked at his table or library he could
never find anything afterwards. So he prohibited those
about him from touching anything that belonged to him,
and in the midst of the greatest apparent confusion his
astonishing memory enabled him to know exactly where
to find everything.
"Dore was never a collector of curiosities ; at his house
you would see nothing but his own works. ' Dore every
where, Dore for ever ! ' I suppose all great intelligences
have their little weaknesses.
" He never played at cards in his life; he detested them.
His mother was very fond of whist, so he was obliged to
sport a card-table at his weekly evenings ; but his chief
delight was to tease the players. He used to stand
behind the backs of their chairs and amuse himself by
calling out their cards in a loud voice. This proceeding
sometimes caused no slight discomfiture to the whist
party. In these reunions general conversation was not

DOR A INVITES M. KRATZ IN ENGLISH. 375
only difficult, but impossible ; the sound of the piano and
violin predominated, or Dore's singing, with his pretty
tenor. We all used to laugh when he imitated Roger or
any other famous singer, which he did so well that one
could almost imagine the artist in person was performing.
How happy I am when I think of those evenings, to
which every one' felt so much honoured to be invited a
second time, and at which one breathed the very life and
soul of gaiety and good-fellowship ! "
As Dore himself remarked, coming to England would
interrupt his Sunday receptions at home ; but it will be
understood that the chief cause of his objection to travel
was because he would have been obliged to leave his
mother in France. Although he missed the companion
ship of his intimate friends, his life was so filled up with
social and material occupations that he had little time
while in this great city to think of the old Paris days.
He gives a fair idea of the way he spent his time, in
a letter written in 1 871, to his schoolfellow, M. Arthur
Kratz :— "Bath Hotel, Thursday, 1871.
" My dear Arthur, — The agitation of the life which
I lead here must be an excuse for my long delay in
answering your amiable letter. From the first gleam of
Aurora until the moon sinks to rest I am in cabs, beating
round the cardinal points of this great city. If I make
any errors in writing to you in French, pray excuse me.
I have really forgotten my native language, and only
take up my pen in self-defence. [The rest of the letter
is written in English.] Ten weeks spent in this country
without speaking a word of French, that is my singular
life from long ago. But I begin to be taking to the
Home Society, and I long to see again all my friends,
hoping find it in very healthy. I am most satisfied of
my stay in this hospitable country, and I find there a
large indemnification of Foranzer and misfortune which I
had suffer lately. Many, many, many thanks- my dear
Arthur, pronounced OOOORSHUR, for- your kind
remembrance. The Right Honourable Lord Mayor and

376 GUSTAVE DORE.

all the Aldermen of the city beg me send to you their best
compliments, and I add to you a strong hand-breaking.
Your faithfuill, "G. DORE."
Dore went very often to visit the Sick Children's Hospital
in Great Ormond Street, and made many drawings of the
pretty waifs both for himself and for them. Then he also
went frequently to the Newport Refuge, to draw the little
shoeblacks and picturesque-looking lads. He always
made friends with all of the children, they understood
Dore at once. One of his happy remarks was made in
reference to his picture, " The Triumph of Christianity."
One day at the Sick Children's Hospital some one spoke
of that work, and Dore, looking at the interested
visitors come from far and near, said, " These are your
true triumphs of Christianity — English ladies coming
daily here to care for the outcast, the sick, and the
needy." M. Bourdelin has spoken of Dore's cutting
his hand one day at Castellani's in London. Dore's love
for mumming and juggling came very near on one
occasion proving fatal to him. Many of his friends up to
this time have spoken about him in these pages ; but
never heretofore his physician. The story of Gustave
Dore's well-nigh fatal accident has been given me by Dr.
Lavies, too well known in London to need further intro
duction on my part. His notes seem to me so extremely
natural that I shall insert them verbatim. He also is
another witness to the enthusiasm and simplicity of good
Madame Dore's nature. Dr. Lavies' friendship with Gus
tave Dore dates from — but let him speak for himself: —
" Dear Gustave Dore ! My first introduction to him
was a summons to his bedside at the ' Golden Cross
Hotel,' where, in throwing a knife into the air and failing
to catch it, it fell with its point on his thigh and wounded
him. Perfect anatomist as he was, he knew it was exactly
over the femoral artery, and jumped to the conclusion
that he had inflicted a mortal injury on himself. I found
him pale and anxious, his hand cold and clammy, and he

"NO; I WILL STOP HERE." 377
could hardly speak. The wound was very slight, and I
assured him there was no kind of danger, but he implored
me to visit him every hour till evening ! Of course I
could not do this, so I applied suitable remedies, and
promised to come as often as I could, and I begged him
to go on with his drawing, and to think as little of his leg
as possible. He was engaged at the time in illustrating
' London,' and I was amazed, when I called again, at the
number of small sketches he had completed since I left.
When I visited him in the evening the table was covered
with them, thirty or forty. I should saw
" He got rapidly well, and a very close intimacy sprang
up between us — his expressed opinion being that I had
saved his life ; that was not in the least true ; but it was
quite useless to attempt to alter this whim of his ; and,
when a year or two after I visited him in Paris, and was
introduced to his mother, he had evidently imbued this
charming old lady with his views about me ; for on enter
ing the room into which I had been shown, she rushed
across to me, fell on her knees and embraced mine,
declaring that the life of her dear child was due to my
skill and care ! Mv daughters were with me, and Dore
took us over to his studio in the C.E., where we saw
the great ' Praetorium ' picture in process, and several
other paintings (in various stages) which have since
attained a world-wide celebrity.
" Dore was very fond of visiting us, and I never saw
him more perfectly happv than when spending a quiet
evening with mv daughters. Canon Harford, and myself.
He would never leave to go to any second party to which
he mav have been engaged, though we often urged him
to do so, feeling that his remaining with us must be
causing disappointment to others. He always said, ' No,
I will stop here. I go to them another time.' He gave
mv elder daughter a wonderful sketch of ' Parrot Walk,'
at the Zoological Gardens, which he made in mv drawing-
room, and in which a leading figure of a broad, middle-
aged gentleman was, I suspect, intended as a quizzical
portrait of me, but the face is not seen, the sight-seer

37§ GUSTAVE DORA.

being engaged in looking at the parrots. My younger
daughter received an exquisite coloured etching of a
scene on ' Dee-side,' and when he gave this he said that
' Papa was not to be jealous, as he had something very
good for him ; ' and very good indeed it was when it arrived
in the form of a highly-finished pencil picture of Merlin
and Vivien, from the ' Idylls of the King.' It is an
exquisite work, the admiration of all who see it. Dore
sent me an artist's copyof the ' Ancient Mariner,' and I
am ashamed to confess that I had had it many months
before I discovered that one of his original sketches had
been fastened in the book, containing his presentation of
the work to me and duly signed.1 It is very interesting
to compare the original with the highly-finished engraving.
I prize these four works of the great artist very highly —
not least because I know they were all expressions of his
regard for me and mine. Since his death I have received
from his gallant brother an exquisite engraving of the
' Neophyte ' in memoriam. Dore, I must add, before
closing these few lines, was a clever mimic. One of the
most wonderful pieces of mimicry I ever saw in him or in
any one was what he called a ' Souvenir of the Shah of
Persia.' " He explained that this potentate never recognized any
one as being in front of him, still less bowed to or noticed
any one, unless he had to turn slightly to do so. ' I
show you,' he would say, and then walking on his toes
he would turn his head now over the right shoulder,
now over the left, and giving a condescending nod that
was ludicrous in the extreme, and which seemed to amuse
him quite as much as those who were looking at him."
At the close of his long stay in London Dore returned
to Paris, where his life was very much broken up in one
sense. After the war the receptions at the Rue St.
Dominique were restricted to his most intimate circle of
friends. The horrors of the late struggle were still too
1 I wrote to acknowledge this gift and my own oversight as to the 6th
of January, 1883 (Festival of the Epiphany), his birthday.

" / WORK INCESSANTLY." 379
recent for Paris to seem itself ; in fact the city was visibly
and deplorably changed. Homes were broken up ; many
of Dore's friends were scattered abroad ; the old familiar
faces were no longer to be seen in the old familiar haunts ;
there was an air of general desolation and unrest about
the place, as any one will remember who recollects Paris
immediately after the war. Added to this unsettled
spirit, Gustave Dore had grave preoccupations about his
family, as will be seen by the following extract of a letter,
dated 20th of June, 1873, and written to the Rev. Frederic
Harford ; he also spoke of a table-piece, a fish dish pre
sented to Dore by that gentleman : —
" Your magnificent salmon is the delight of our table.
It is a charming little work of truth, and we call it a
Bernard-Minton Salizay. This style of thing is really
one of the industrial arts of your great country ; it has
wonderful freshness of style, and a fine decorative tone.
******
" I have no good news to give you of my family. My
eldest brother has been ill for some time, in a way that
makes us very uneasy. The doctor does not speak
positively about his illness, which, according to a medical
term, is still in its first stages. From a psychological
point of view I am much afraid that he is threatened
with a serious brain disorder. There is a hypochondriacal
melancholy and a general feebleness which frighten me.
In short, a striking change has taken place in his entire
person. My mother's health is not very good ; the
chronic bronchitis from which she suffers seems to me
greatly aggravated. That, too, makes me very sad and
anxious. I work incessantly, like one distraught, on
things which will probably go to London. This excess
of work is my only presentable excuse for the rarity of
my letters. You will soon receive, my dear friend, a
copy of my last work of Rabelais — your enemy, or rather
your antipathy. Let us hope that the sight of my jovial
energies will take a few of the wrinkles out of your
severe face when you hear the name of this personage
pronounced in your presence ; and if you have the

380 GUSTAVE DOR A.

patience to decipher some of this old French, you will
allow that he also was a genius. I shake your two hands
cordially. " G. Dore."
A month later Dore was in London, living much the
same life as before, as will be seen by the following letter,
written to his mother on the 21st of July, 1873 : —
" Dear Mama, — I have received all your letters this
morning. I thank you, and ask pardon for being so brief
in mine, and for writing so seldom. Every day I see
escape from me the hour of solitude and calm in which
I hoped to write to you, for my life here is stretched out
to its fullest extent. But I do not complain. On the
contrary, and I should have been greatly mistaken not to
have prolonged my stay here during this month. I must
tell you, however, little mother, that I positively count
upon embracing you on the ist of August; and I now
propose to you a long or a short hygienic trip to the
seaside, or to the Pyrenees, just as you like. In spite
of all the efforts which they make here to persuade me
to dissipate wildly, and to go into the country, &c, I will
keep that for later on, all the while giving various good
people the hope of paying them a visit some day, but —
it won't do to show oneself too anxious.
" Always the same life here. Every day I breakfast
and dine with interesting and notable people. I have
dined twice with the Lord Mayor, yesterday with the
London Rothschilds, and this morning with H.R.H. the
Princess Louise, at a veritable family party. There were
besides her Royal Highness, the Marquis of Lome, the
Duke of Argyll, his sister, and myself. To-day I dine
with a very interesting and singular notability, Mr. Shaw,
chief of the London Fire Brigade ; and after dinner,
which is given for me two hours later than the usual
time, Messrs. the officers are going to have some
manoeuvres in the large court of the general station with
all the engines, pumps, machinery, ladders, and so forth ;
for you must know that one of the things in which they

FLOWER GIRL.

(Early original Sketch in Dore Gallery. By permission of Messrs. Fairless and
Beeforth.)

Page 380.

THE ESCAPE OF DAVID FROM THE WINDOW.
(The Bible „ By permission of Cassell and Co.)

J. S WAIN £/V 0 ¦

Pa*e 380,

ORIGINAL SKETCH FOR BIBLE IN DORE GALLERY. (Unpublished.)
(By permission of Messrs. Fairless and Beeforth.)

" WE ALREADY SUFFOCATE HERE AT 2 P.M." 381
pride themselves in London is their Fire Brigade and
perfected art in extinguishing fires.
" I learn with great pleasure that the Doussoults are
at last going to get to work on my studio, for I really
am in desperate need of it for this winter, having inces
sant work before me ; and I need plenty of light. Impress
upon Doussoult not to put an ounce of Saulinia or
Paulinia in his plaster. I have just received a charming
letter from F  , who speaks to me of his illness with
a Christian resignation and a really Gallic wit. He
announces that he is leaving Lisbon for a post of Director-
General. I have written to both of them.
" I hope before long that you will tell me that my
health is good, and that you are less bronchitic. Heat
is good for you ; it seems to me that you have enough
of it now. We already suffocate here at 2 p.m. Let us
hope that Paris is like London.
" I embrace you very hastily because I must dress to
go and dine with my amiable Fireman. " Your own son,
" Gustave.
" Embrace all the family for me."
Dore made but a short stay in London this season,
and was back in Paris, as usual, at work with his
illustrating and painting ; he was also busy illustrating
Michaud's " Crusades,'' and was just beginning his great
work, " The Entry into Jerusalem." He was still the
same old Dore, thinking of a hundred things, and trying
to do twenty at the same time. He speaks more plainly
of himself and of his work in a letter written to Canon
Harford, in 1873, November 5th, a memorable date to
English ears : —
" I am somewhat ahead in my fatiguing work on the
' Crusades.' It has taken a great deal of time and
research. I have been working also at the picture ' The
Dream of Pilate's Wife,' which I am finishing with
extreme care, and which I hope will do me honour in
London. However, I must constantly listen to the voice

382 GUSTAVE DORE.

of reason in order to be able to work. There is always
despair in my heart, and yet I have forgotten nothing.
You know I am not without religion, and I sometimes
think that constant grief is a law that Providence in
flicts upon us. She has a reward for those who, without
too much vacillation, have been able to drain the cup of
bitterness to its dregs.
"Alas! my unhappiness is very great, my dear friend.
Pity me, the future seems to me very sad. I thank you
from my heart for the kind interest which you take in
me. I am also glad to hear that your health is better.
Do write me soon, and above all speak to me of yourself.
With all my heart, yours, "G. Dore."
M. Dore has made so many sketches for the " Fran-
cesca da Rimini " that it is really a matter of interest to
know the destiny of the original drawing ; that is to say,
the very first one made by Dore of this subject. In
January, 1870, he wrote to Canon Harford, and I make
this extract from his letter : —
" The two little drawings, one that of Francesca,
which you always said you loved so much, and the other
the ' Scene of the Fall,' which sends them both to ever
lasting torment, and which ought to be called the Kiss
on Earth, or the Kiss of Eternity, these two sketches
are the first which I made of this subject, when, in
1861, I worked illustrating the 'Divine Comedy.' You
will see that these two preceded both the book and the
large picture."
During that season M. Dore went very often to visit
his friend, Mr. Galpin, at Datchet. He was enthusiastic
about the beauty of the country, and thoroughly enjoyed
those brief intervals of rest in so picturesque and pleasant
a spot. To him it was a glimpse of an earthly paradise.
His admiration of Windsor and the surrounding scenery
was absolutely without limit. After once driving through
the famous park he knew every tree by heart that he had
glanced at, and said that he could draw all from memory ;
indeed, he very much surprised Mr. Galpin some time

THE HERO OF KARS. 383
afterwards by referring to several of the known beauties
of the wood upon which his eye had rested only once, and
that seemingly without taking special notice.
This year Dore went to Scotland, and revelled in the
strange romantic scenery. He made many notes for
future works, but no sketches. He was as usual very
careful about data and memoranda.
He had a wonderful memory for names, especially for
Scotch names. Strange to say, when in North Britain, he
pronounced all the cognomens of the towns, villages, and
country seats perfectly well. Near Skye this faculty was
put rather severely to the test.
Another proof of Dore's carefulness and systematic
method of training his memory will be found in letters
written to his mother from Scotland, which I will subjoin
shortly. Still speaking of Scotland, I may here insert several
letters written by Dore whilst visiting his friend Colonel
Teesdale, of whom I have heretofore said so little in this
recital, perhaps not enough for one to whom Dore was
so sincerely attached. In any case, my words would be
weak in comparison with the stronger terms used by Dore
himself in a note written to his friend Canon Harford in
December, 187 1 : —
" I have just received a letter from the good and brave
Teesdale, in which he announces to me the death of his
father, in such touching terms as only afford me another
proof of how much there is that is elevated and tender in
this lion's heart."
The hero of Kars is too well known to need further
introduction from me. With others of Dore's friends he
was only too willing to testify to the artist's noble and
dear qualities ; and in proof of a sincere friendship has
kindly added to these memoirs. He shall speak in his
own words ; and, as they have reference to Dore's visit
to Scotland, I shall insert them here. I shall make
extracts from letters recently received by me from
Colonel Teesdale. He wrote from Bognor : —
" So many people are acquainted with Dore's life in

384 GUSTAVE DORA.

Paris and London, it will perhaps be best if I write a few
lines about his trip to Scotland with me in April, 1873.
It was with much difficulty that he was persuaded to
undertake the journey, as he was very averse to leaving
his home. At last it was managed by my going to pay
him a visit at his house in the Rue St. Dominique, and
then bringing him back to London with me. After a day
or two spent there, we started from St. Katherine's Wharf
in an Aberdeen steamer, and had very fine weather for
our voyage. Unfortunately my poor friend was anything
but a good sailor, and was so thoroughly upset, that
when we landed at Aberdeen he could take no interest in
anything, not even in the lovely drive from Ballater to
Braemar. However, a good night's rest soon restored
him, and he then began to thoroughly appreciate the
beautiful scenery that we were in the midst of.
" I did all I could to make him take to salmon-fishing,
but it was a very unfavourable moment, and he was
not an apt pupil. He soon became wrapped up in the
scenery of the Deeside, and was far happier with his
sketch-book than with his rod. He used to get up on
the hillside with an old stalker, and dash down all sorts
of memoranda there. In the evening, at our comfortable
little hotel, when dinner was over, the sketch-book used
to come out again, and then with his water-colours, or
anything that came first to hand, the memoranda of the
day were amplified. Dore's memory of anything that he
had once seen was marvellous, and he seemed to work
at night as if the scenes he had made note of during the
day were still before his eyes.
" He could take the stump of an old pen, or a pencil,
use his finger or thumb, and always manage to produce
just the effect required. Once, when I saw him using
some common ink and water, I laughed, and asked him
why he did not try coffee, upon which he said it would
be just the thing, and immediately flooded nearly all his
sketch with it, producing exactly the required effect.
" We spent a very happy fortnight at Castleton, and
before leaving Dore drew two admirable likenesses of the

LAST OF COLONEL TEESDALE'S NOTES. 385
two old stalkers who had been with us, and gave to each
his own. They have been religiously kept as great
treasures, and the renowned French painter is still well
remembered in these parts."
" From Castleton we drove down to Ballater, visiting
Balmoral on the way. From Ballater we made a very
interesting excursion to the Dhu Loch, with which Dore
was very much impressed ; and from a sketch which he
made then he afterwards painted a fine picture, but what
became of it I never knew. Amongst his other talents
Dore was a capital performer on the violin ; and having
discovered one in the hotel, in his kindly, genial way,
would often amuse the people by his performances. One
night he took it into his head to take a walk to look at
the river by moonlight, playing all the way. On arriving
at the bridge a party of country people were coming in,
and as they stopped to listen, Dore began to play a very
good imitation of a reel, upon which every one danced
until there was not a breath left in fiddler or dancers. It
was a droll scene ; the moonlight, the bridge with the
Dee rushing swiftly underneath, the gillies dancing and
shouting, and the great man playing away, drinking in
and mentally absorbing the unusual and curious spectacle.
We gave a dance in his honour at the hotel at the
country side before we left Ballater, so that he might
see the historical dance and Scotch costumes. When our
stay came to an end we travelled home by Edinburgh,
and Dore was so much struck by the picturesqueness of
the old town that he quite determined to return to it
some day, and to remain there long enough to make
many studies. He never did so, though he again
visited Scotland, and the country evidently made a great
impression on his mind, as he painted many beautiful
landscapes subsequently, either from sketches that he had
made, or impressions that had been left upon his mind,
and I have a charming souvenir of that Scotch trip in a
water-colour picture that Dore made for me, including
portraits of all the party.
" I cannot enter into all the grief that I felt at my poor
C c

386 GUSTAVE DORE

friend's death. The wreath that he sent me to lay upon
my mother's grave had scarcely withered when the news
came that he had been suddenly taken away ; and now
I can but live amongst the reminiscences of one of the
dearest and warmest-hearted friends that it was ever
given man to possess."
Colonel Teesdale has spoken as usual all too modestly
of himself and of his relations with Gustave Dore when
he said in the outset of his letter that Paris friends knew
the artist better. He might have said Paris friends
had known him longer, for I think no one knew Dore
better than Teesdale. Of their friendship, surely no
word of mine could now lend additional evidence.
Any one who has been to Scotland will readily imagine
the life Dore led there. Although he was not in the
north during the summer season, the weather was charm
ing, and he found his stay most agreeable. We may
judge of his Highland experiences by the following letters,
written to Madame Dore in April, 1873 : —
" Invercauld Arms, Braemar, Saturday.
" Dear Mama, — I wrote to you this morning before
starting off to fish, and now, on my return, I send you
a second despatch. We have just supped after a long
and exciting day, entirely devoted to the violent exercise
of salmon fishing. I promise you that were I to spend
some time in practising this class of sport, I should soon
lose several pounds of flesh, of which I still have enough
to complain about. This method of salmon fishing is
very far from being like what you think it is. Instead of
the immobility that characterizes ordinary fishing, it is
locomotion, or rather perpetual motion, all up and down
the banks. It resembles no other kind of fishing. We
do not use ordinary bait ; what we drop in the water is a
sort of fly, which we make run up and down the surface
of the pond, just to tease the fish. Up to the present, this
has amused me very much ; but the important thing is
that it takes place in the midst of pine forests and rocks
whose snowy peaks are reared high above our heads.

AN EXPECTANT MORROW. 387
The view is indeed magnificent, and I fish, above all, in
order to catch beautiful landscapes. Until now my other
companions, Messrs. Freme and Ponsonby, are the only
ones who have caught any salmon. Teesdale and myself
for the moment are plunged in all the fury of wild jealousy,
I am afraid. But he promises them a splendid revenge
for the day after to-morrow, Monday. To-morrow,
Sunday, we do not fish. You know how Sunday is
blotted out of one's life in England ; but that is nothing
in comparison with its treatment in Scotland. Here they
are what is called ' Methodists ' and ' Presbyterians,' and
evidently everything which makes one tired is looked
upon as work ; so we have planned, instead, a long walk
in the mountains. Friend Teesdale sends you his best
compliments. " Yours,
" Gustave."
This letter is one of the famous illustrated ones, and its
two inside pages represent a party of gentlemen engaged
in salmon fishing ; another of Gustave's lamp-light
sketches. The water is water-like — the trees are tree
like — the men are man-like and the lines line-like — but I
am afraid it would take a mother's fond eye to recognize
any of these hooded figures, and to tell which garments
concealed the body of her son. If we are to judge by
appearances, two expectant creatures patiently waiting,
may be the two who promise themselves an ardent revenge
for the morrow. The following Monday Gustave wrote
as follows : — " Invercauld Arms, Braemar,
"Monday, April, 1873.
" Dear Mama, — I hoped this morning to have had a
letter from you, for I have been three days without news,
and begin to be very uneasy. W'e quit Braemar to
morrow, and I beg you to send your letters to our new
address, "M. G. DORfi,
" Invercauld Arms,
" Ballater, " Aberdeenshire, Scotland.
C c 2

388 GUSTAVE DOR A.

" You will see that there is but one word changed
between this address and the preceding one, that of
Braemar to Ballater; but take careful note of it. We
shall stop in Ballater until Tuesday, and our stay in
Aberdeenshire will terminate on Monday evening by a
splendid ball which the friends of Teesdale have or
ganized in my honour. All the people present will be
dressed in full Scotch costume. On Tuesday morning
we shall go straight on to Edinburgh, where we shall
spend Tuesday evening and the following day ; and then
on Wednesday evening without fail we shall go back to
London. This time we shall adopt the terrestrial route
in order to vary our pleasures. On Thursday I shall
be in London, where I shall also pass Friday and Satur
day. On Saturday evening I shall start for Paris, and
shall be back on Sunday for our usual family reunion.
" I shall return enchanted with my trip. I have seen so
many things that it seems to me as if I had been away for
months. People are wrong to say that I am visiting
Scotland at an unfavourable time of year. True, it is
cold; but one discovers so many landscape effects in
this season amongst these grand transparent forests
variegated with a sombre green, certainly as fine as any
pines in summer time. One of the most beautiful and
curious things that we see at this moment is a herd of
stags which has descended from the hills to the valleys.
As this is not the stalking season, they are not very timid.
I shall have my memory pretty well filled with an ample
number of landscapes, which seem to me more suitable
to my London Exhibition than Swiss Alpine scenes. I
have just written to Mrs. Beeforth, to give her notice of
the date of my return to London, as you see my excursion
has been prolonged for a week more than I had anticipated.
But, to tell the truth, if I had hurried up things, I should
have much regretted it, and might have interfered with
the benefits of so long a journey. I am afraid on my
return to Paris I shall find things a little complicated, but
let us hope not too much so. Are there many letters
waiting for me ? I am not much at description, and very

SOME SCOTCH SKETCHES. 389
little of a narrator in my letters ; but I shall have a lot of
things to 'talk about on my return ; for I have seen much,
very much ; many new and interesting objects ; and with
the best and most precious guide that heart could wish
for, Teesdale ; that man has the talent of showing one
everything rapidly and well.
" I embrace you most tenderly. With affectionate
compliments to the family, " Your faithful
" Gustave."
It was after this trip that Dore painted the magnificent
" Scotch Landscape " and " A Highland Trout Stream,"
at present to be seen in the Dore Gallery. Always at his
best in mountain scenery, he has never surpassed some of
his delineations of the lochs, crags, moorlands, and wild
heather of Scotland. A delicious air of freshness breathes
over every inch of the ground he has depicted. Of his
Scotch pictures, two in replica, called " The Torrent," are
fine enough to rank with any of the works of the first
artists of the day.
At a recent public display of the Modern Masters in
Paris I was struck by a large painting, which not only
stood out conspicuously among many great works by cele
brated masters, but, by the boldness of its design, brilliancy
and naturalness of its colour, and by its inimitable exe
cution cast everything around it absolutely into the shade.
A great many people were looking at this picture, and it
was some time before I could get near it. Although
anxious to know the name of the artist, I did not regret
the delay, as it gave me a further opportunity of studying
the picture. I heard exclamations of praise uttered on
all sides, and finally curiosity prompted me to approach
the picture sufficiently near to see who might be the
painter of so admirable a work. As I read the name " G.
Dore " on the frame I involuntarily started. A lady stand
ing at my elbow looked significantly at the work and at
me, and then remarked, " And yet they say that he
could not paint ! When I look at that I am glad to be

39° GUSTAVE DORE.

a Frenchwoman." The picture in question was " Le
Torrent." Amongst the other works in the Dore Gallery are a
fine study in black and white, called " Hades, Minos and
Rhadamanthus ;" "A River Scene in Normandy ;" "The
Peasant Women of France ;" " First study for the large
picture of Christ leaving the Praetorium ;" " Drawing of
the Neophyte;" a reduction of the group in the French
International Exhibition, "Fate and Love;" "Gany
mede;" "L'Effroi," and, lastly, a capital bust of Dore
himself executed by M. A. Carrier.
Amongst the other drawings in the Dore Gallery
are the following :— Drawings illustrating Coleridge's
" Ancient Mariner." Series of drawings after the pictures
by Gustave Dore: "Ecce Homo;" "The Ascension;"
" The Night of the Crucifixion ;" " The Dream of Pilate's
Wife;" "Soldiers of the Cross;" "Christ's Entry into
Jerusalem ;" " The House of Caiaphas;" " The Massacre
of the Innocents ;" " The Brazen Serpent ;" " Le Tapis
Vert" (the gaming-table at Baden-Baden); "Christ's
Entry into Jerusalem" (original sketch in water-colours,
by Gustave Dore, signed in black, height, twenty-three
inches ; width, thirty-one inches)'; " The Vale of Tears "
(the original sketch) ; and " Moses before Pharaoh "
(the original sketch).

MY FIRST VISIT TO DORA'S STUDIO. 391

CHAPTER XXXIV.
MY FIRST VISIT TO GUSTAVE DORE, IN 1873
I HAD been in Paris but a short time, when one day the
wish came over me to make Gustave Dore's acquaintance.
But how was I to obtain an introduction to him ? I
thought over this question for some hours, and failed to
answer it satisfactorily to myself. True, Dore and I had
friends in common across the Atlantic, where the artist
was not only well known, but worshipped from afar, and
in England, where his name was a household word. I
thought of writing to America for a letter of introduction,
but soon abandoned that idea. Four weeks to wait for
the post seemed an eternity ; and suddenly remembering
that my English friends were on the Continent, I knew
not exactly where, I began to fear that I should have to
bide my time, and trust to kind fate for the fulfilment of
my desire. Dore's name, however, kept running in my
thoughts, so I took down from my bookcase a volume
which, ever since I had become possessed of it, had
exercised a strange enchantment upon me — Viardot' s
" Don Quixote." How many times had I turned those
fascinating pages ; yet how new their illustrations all
seemed as I looked them through again ! The wondrous
creations of Dore's imagination, prompted by that of

392 GUSTAVE DORA.

Cervantes, were engrossing my attention, when I heard a
sharp ring at the bell. Too deeply interested, however,
to stir from my book, I awaited my visitor with curious
indifference. A few seconds later the door was opened,
and a familiar face appeared on the threshold.
" Don't get up," said the owner of the face, advancing
towards me ; " I presumed on our old acquaintance, and
came straight to you on my arrival in Paris. What are
you doing? Looking at 'Don Quixote,' Dore's 'Quixote' ?
I am not surprised that you were absorbed in your book.
What a wonderful work it is ! but what a still more
wonderful artist is my friend Dore ! "
The word Dore was enough for me. Up I jumped,
and " Don Quixote" fell headlong to the floor.
"I am so glad to see you!" I exclaimed; "and if
you are a friend of Dore, you are the man of men whom
I could have wished Destiny to send to my door. So
you know him ! Tell me all about him, what he looks
like, how does he speak ? Is he young, handsome, and
amiable? Is he in Paris now? Where does he live?
Can one get at him easily ? Of all the people in the
world he is the one man I am anxious to know. You
may as well tell me what he is like. I am not curious,
but—" " Exactly," interrupted my friend, calmly conveying
"DonQuixote" to a place of safety on the table. "Exactly;
you are not curious, and therefore I shall tell you nothing.
But you shall see him and judge for yourself, if you will."
There was a something else in his manner which seemed
to say, " You have given me plainly to understand that I
am only welcome because I can tell you something about
my friend Dore, and yet I generously offer to take you to
his studio." Aloud he added, " There is no time like the
present. This is just the hour at which to catch him.
Put on your things, and we will start at once."
Need I say that I did not require much urging?
Before I realized how it had all come about, we were
walking down the beautiful Avenue Cours la Reine, on
our way to the Rue Bayard. It was a clear autumn day,

ON THE WA Y TO RUE BA YARD. 393
and the fallen leaves were spread like a golden carpet
under our feet, nearly to his very door. I felt that I was
lucky, and began to suspect that Aladdin's lamp must
have come secretly into my possession ; for nothing
could have been more fairy-like than the sudden realiza
tion of my wish. Somehow, it in no way surprised me,
on arriving at his door, to hear that " M. Dore was at
work in his studio," and that " so old a friend as Monsieur
must certainly go in to see him." Forthwith Jean, Dore's
faithful servant, showed us through a little corridor into
an antechamber, drew aside a curtain, and conducted us
into the studio.
I glanced hastily around it. After all, studios are
much alike, the only important difference between one
and another being in their inmates. This one, however,
was to me particularly interesting, because it belonged to
Gustave Dore. There was an unusual aspect about it
which at first I could not place, then suddenly it someway
looked to me like the interior of a grand old cathedral —
there was an air of solemn grandeur, an aroma of Gothic
grace, which impressed me, as I have always been
impressed upon entering any holy place ; and this was
certainly a sanctuary. It was a spacious apartment, well
lighted by one large window. I had a confused idea at
first that it was filled to overflowing. In reality, it con
tained little more than the usual paraphernalia of an artist's
house and workshop. There were tapestried hangings here
and there to the walls, arm-chairs and little sofas, busts,
casts, scores of pictures with their faces turned from the
gaze of the curious, statues, finished and unfinished,
groups in clay, and heads in bronze ; a piano, books,
smoker's accessories, and perhaps a dozen half-finished
cigars lying in a little Japanese ash-tray. Most curious
of all was a high double scaffold. The first one stood
eight feet high, and was on wheels ; the second was
a sort of movable step-ladder, placed on the level of
the other's top surface, and even on the steps of this
upper ladder there were innumerable brushes and pots of
paint. On this side of the room were many yards of

394 GUSTAVE DOR A.

canvas, seemingly starting out of the ceiling. This canvas
was partly rolled up, and beneath its folds I saw heads
of saints and sinners, with bright eyes looking down
gravely at me. Upon this scaffolding, and on the topmost
round of that topmost ladder, was perched a man ; with
eyes intent on his canvas, and his hand holding a paint
brush in mid-air, he was seemingly oblivious to all other
earthly or spiritual objects.
He evidently had not heard us come in. We stood
quite still, not wishing to disturb him. His face was
almost wholly hidden ; he still held his brush aloft for
an instant or two, and then dipped it into a jar by his
side. How many pots of paint there were on that scaf
fold and on the steps he alone knew ; to me they seemed
countless. Withdrawing his brush from the pot, he
dashed it vigorously upon the canvas, once, twice, and
thrice, then gave one final sweep, and deliberately wiped
it on the picture. His was the most astonishing way I had
ever seen of painting even the background of a sketch.
He made a few more deep dives into the jar, each time
fetching forth the brush fairly dripping with paint, and
each time industriously cleansing it on the canvas. After
a few episodes of this kind, and a few more voyages into
the jar, he stopped suddenly, held his brush again aloft,
and turning his head slightly to one side with a ferret-like
gesture, surveyed his work with manifest satisfaction.
After eyeing it closely from one point of view, he turned
his head in another direction, evidently trying to obtain
some particular effect of light, and caught sight of us. His
brush dropped upon the scaffolding; an "Ah, mon Dieu!"
escaped him ; he poised himself for a moment on his
perch with a look of mute inquiry, and then skipped down
the ladder with the nimbleness and grace of a kitten.
During his momentary pause before descending to our
level, I had taken him in from top to toe.
So this was Gustave Dore ! Naturally ! Any one
might have recognized him from his photograph ; but I
found him much more youthful and nicer in reality than he
appeared to be in any of these latter. My opinion under-

GUSTAVE DORE'S MANNER. 395
went a rapid crescendo in his favour as he drew nearer.
There was a charm in his manner and an instinctive grace
in his bearing which were strangely attractive. He
began speaking at once to my companion, and after we
had been introduced he made me welcome in a few well-
chosen words. He then turned to my cicerone — an
officer in the British army, who was one of his oldest and
dearest friends, and asked him a long string of questions,
answering a great many of them himself in the same
breath ; and then he insisted upon our sitting down and
making ourselves at home.
His manner of receiving an old friend pleased me.
It was warm without being effusive, hearty without
being studied, and affectionate without being affected.
I could readily believe all the stories that I had heard of
his fidelity to his friends, and the genuineness of his sen
timents where he really conceived a sincere attachment
for any one. One could perceive this at a glance, and it
was to me as patent at this first time of seeing him as at
the fiftieth.
Every gesture, every word, every movement betrayed
the man's inner nature as plainly as a clear mirror reflects
surrounding objects. He paid the most cordial attention
to me, yet at the same time seemed full of his friend's
visit. Dore had the perfect and rare knack of appearing
completely absorbed with two people at one time. His
conversation was quick, impetuous, and flowing.
While looking and listening, I soon discovered that he
possessed the power of personal magnetism in an extra
ordinary degree. This is, perhaps, one of the rarest
gifts Dame Nature bestows upon mortals, and constitutes
an irresistible personal charm which no words can justly
portray. All the world can attest to the beauty of the
black eye or the blue, of raven hair, or locks of Venetian
gold, to the arch of a brow or the curve of a lip, the poise
of a head, or the shapeliness of a limb ; but no one can
say exactly what this one charm is, although every one
may feel its influence and know instinctively when they
are in the presence of a person endowed with it.

396 GUSTAVE DOR A.

I looked at Dore closely, but his face perplexed me.
It was not so easy to read as I had at first thought ;
while I pondered I inadvertently cast my eyes in the
direction of the scaffolding, and started, for the momen
tary vision came to me of a man on a ladder surrounded
by paint-pots and brushes. It was so real that I thought
I saw the artist himself ; and yet -Dore was no shadow
but a bona-fide substance at my elbow, still chatting with
his friend. He was a man one would always turn twice
to look at ; but he never appeared so well as when on his
ladder, for there he was certainly a personage. There
are some people whom you may meet once in circum
stances of a peculiarly striking character, and they may
turn up in after-life at a thousand different times, with as
many different side-lights thrown upon them, but you will
always see them as you first saw them, and think of them
as you first thought of them. We may magnify or modify
our opinions in later life, but suddenly coming upon the
object which once appeared striking, our first unhesitat
ing estimate of it is regulated by the first impression —
which by some peculiar law of nature remains an indelible
one. Thus I looked at the man at my elbow and saw
with him alternately the artist hovering in air, a god of
the canvas midst paint-pots and brushes.
What was he like ? What impression did his features
convey to me ? Woman, you know, sees — or perhaps
fancies she sees — much, she divines much, especially
when for the first time in the presence of a man of genius,
and — I am so like all other women.
Picture to yourself a face of a squarish oval shape
surmounted by masses of dark brown hair, and per
fectly smooth, save for one questioning wrinkle just
above the right eyebrow ; a firm, broad, intelligent fore
head, full at the temples and but thinly covered with
an almost transparent clothing of flesh, not hiding but
indicating the powerful mental mechanism of a per
fectly constructed instrument. On looking at this pro
minent feature of Dore's countenance one felt that,
although rich in those outward signs which phreno-

PEN PORTRAIT OF GUSTA VE DORA. 397
logists call intellectual, there was much more in it
than mere intellectuality. It told a tale of exhaustless
reserve of power, and an everflowing fount of invention
and genius which he would never succeed in draining
dry. Wells there were indeed of imagination and peren
nial creativeness, and I felt that he could draw upon
them at any or every moment, while the world in general
would never know whether his inspiration came from the
brink or from the bottom, but one accustomed to read
human nature might divine many truths from the intense-
ness of this speaking countenance. They say geniuses
do not know themselves ; an occasional flash of humility
traversing this strange face might have caused me to
think so. Certainly much that I had heard of Gustave
Dore led my mind into strange musings. Did he know
all his own vantage-ground ? This question I put to
myself many times, and finally decided in the affirmative.
His lineaments expressed too much proud consciousness
of power to be compatible with self-deception ; nay, more
than this, Dore not only knew himself, but possessed
an equally correct knowledge of other human beings.
As he deduced merit from his own personal stand
point, so could he also deduce and put the proper
estimates on his fellow-creatures. This intuitive sight
into the characters of others Dore had the power and,
for his own reasons, an evident wish to conceal. This I
felt instinctively. I am sure he would never have asked
Hamlet's question about the recorders, not that he was not
clever enough, but there was a Semitic cunning added to
a certain indifference in his nature which passively per
mitted many liberties, and one could easily "draw him
out ;" still he always perceived when any one was in the
act of doing so, and often passed for what he was not, to
save himself the trouble of even inadvertently explaining
what he was.
When I had decided that Dore knew himself so well,
I looked for and found a confirmation of this in his other
features. He believed in his own potentiality, and the inward

398 GUSTAVE DORE.

conviction of his greatness had indelibly stamped itself
on his face, not in positive lines, but in vague, shadowy
nuances of expression which suggested rather than
revealed themselves ; as we may imagine from the out
ward contour the hidden charm of the half-veiled figure,
or presuppose from the perfection of the Venus de Milo,
the beauty of her arms, were those members restored
which no eye for many a century has been permitted to
contemplate. Dore's eyes were a greyish blue, dark, soft, yet fathom
less. Their prevailing expression, while proud, was one
of anxiety and half-trouble, half-interrogation. Ever and
anon a momentary resentful light sparkled in them as
when he first saw strangers in his studio. But that look
soon vanished from his features, and the true, straight
forward gaze, about which his friends were enthusiastic as
constituting his greatest beauty, was revealed in all its
vaunted honesty.
But I have nearly finished my portrait without having
as yet spoken of his mouth, which, shaded by a slight
moustache, was too small for a man's face. It was well
formed, but closed so tightly that the lips had borrowed
their humour from his eyes and forehead. Pride and
self-consciousness were there signalized to an extreme
degree, especially in that of the upper-lip. The rest
of the face was soft and mobile. Yet the salient ex
pression stamped on his forehead and brows gave one
plainly to understand that those lines were no caprice of
form, but an index to his real character, which was bound
to repeat itself in his every lineament. This feature
seemed to reiterate the expression of the others, which
appeared to say, " Whatever the world think of me, I
know what I have in myself and am able to do."
I could have gone on for a long time studying this
man who had made the world bow down to his pheno
menal talent. What with the creature in the flesh beside
me, and the vision my fancy had evolved, which came
and went, perched at the top of the ladder, I was
strangely impressed. My attention was divided be
tween two Dores, alternating from the one so life-like

SUBSTANCE AND SHADOW. 399
in the ideal world, to the other so phantom-like in the
real. When an expression puzzled me on the face of
the phantom, I sought to read it aright in that of the
man. When I had minutely dissected the features of
the shadow, I fitted them together again and recom-
posed them, aided by the completeness of the living
man's face. At last, when I had almost finished my
scrutiny and had taken a last look, wondering what the
lips would utter were the phantom mouth to speak,
I heard a very clear voice close at hand, asking me,
" Mademoiselle, are you dreaming ? " With these words
M. Dore arose, and I noticed that he was of medium
stature, perhaps not even so tall. His build was compact
and elegant, although slightly inclined to embonpoint ; his
hands were shapely, delicate, and full of character ;
his feet small but heavily shod, in English fashion.
The elasticity, elegance, and vivacity of his slightest
movement denoted him as one of Nature's spoiled
children, endowed with perpetual youth.
Before I could answer his question a goodhumoured,
careless smile played upon his lips, and lighted up his
face with a debonair expression of singular attractive
ness. Was I dreaming ? It certainly looked as if I were.
My friend laughed, and M. Dore repeated his question.
" I was thinking," I answered frankly, " of two men in
one, and I find that you are both of them."
" Good," he rejoined, smiling, " but I do not quite
understand you. I find it as much as I can do to sup
port the existence of one man ; and you generously burden
me with the cares of another. Pray explain yourself."
But I had no intention of explaining. Like most
women I scattered sentiments of doubtful meaning at
hazard, and then, courage failing me to vindicate their
justness, I quietly let them drop. I think any one would
have done the same under the circumstances. I could
not really be expected to tell M. Dore to his face that I
had been surreptitiously studying him both in flesh and
phantom for so long a time. He would have thought
me presuming, and I had no wish to make so unfortunate

4oo GUSTAVE DOR A.

an impression upon him at the outset of our acquain
tance. But answer something I was bound to, and in
my anxiety not to betray my real thoughts I stumbled
upon the very remark which revealed them to him.
" I was thinking how like you are to your photographs,"
I said. " I am sure I should have known you anywhere,
from the resemblance you have to them."
"Ah!" he interrupted coldly; "that is strange. I
never could trace the slightest feature in any one which
could claim to be exactly mine. As a rule, photographs
are either very flattering or very inferior to the original."
This was not what might be called a happy departure
on my part, so I tried again.
" It is a pity we interrupted your painting. You looked
so well on the ladder," I said. "You know we were
watching you for some time before you caught sight of
us. I don't think I ever saw any one put as much paint at
one time on a canvas before. You do it so quickly, too.
I should think you must be afraid of falling ; that scaf
folding is so high — "
" Not he," interrupted the captain. " Monsieur Dore
is like a cat with nine lives. Besides, he is a trained
acrobat." " But is it very strong?" I persisted, glancing uncon
sciously towards the ceiling.
" Mademoiselle," said the artist, with a certain gentle
irony in his voice, "do you refer to the walls, to the
painting, to the scaffolding, or to the ladder?"
I explained what I had meant, but he looked as if he
scarcely understood me. It is possible my meaning was
not over and above clear to him. At any rate, my French
was execrable, and that was one thing in my favour.
My friend began talking to him about his paintings.
He seemed greatly pleased, and offered to show us some
pictures which he had recently finished. If I remember
aright, one was the lovely "Alsace,"1 there was a " Dante,"
and one which he called " Le Massacre des Innocents."
1 "Alsace" was purchased by, and is at present in the gallery of, the
Baroness Burdett Coutts.

TWO ARTISTS. 401

"Is that one sold?" asked the captain. "Is it for
England or for Paris?" pointing to a marvellous Swiss
landscape. Dore gave him one look, and replied, with a
fine irony in his voice, —
" Paris ! my friend, I cannot paint well enough for
Paris. Whither should it go but to England, where you
all spoil me ?"
" Or America," I added, " where we should like to
spoil you."
" Or America," he repeated, bowing with grave cour
tesy. " How could you ask such a question ? It shall
go where I would like to be appreciated."
He sighed profoundly as he spoke. I could not under
stand the sudden sadness which had come over him.
The light died out of his face, and he seemed quite
changed from the proud artist whom I had seen soaring
aloft, as it were, but half an hour before.
Without seeming to notice the artist's strange depres
sion, the captain began speaking of his paintings with such
enthusiasm that the cloud soon passed over, and Dore
was led on to talk of his projects and works. Presently
he offered to show us the one upon which we had seen him
engaged when we entered the studio. He went up the
ladder so fast that he made me dizzy, and from his lofty
perch pointed out various features in the picture
which seemed to please him. If I remember aright, it was
the " Christ entering Jerusalem," and was at that time
not even one-third completed.
He took some time to explain the various points which
, more particularly interested him; others, the merits of
which were doubtful, he spoke of with great frankness
and even asked the advice of the captain, himself an
admirable artist and critic.
I listened with profound interest, his anxiety to take ad
vice striking me as quite different from what I had heard
of him. A few moments later he descended from his shelf,
and began to talk with extraordinary vivacity and ease. I
thought of the late Hans Makart, who, except as far as
his painting was concerned, not only seemed idiotic, but
d d

402 GUSTAVE DOR A.
on the extremely rare occasions when he opened his mouth
did all in his power to confirm that impression. How
different to him was Dore, whose conversational powers
were of the highest and brightest range ! — who added
to the charm of his manner a flow of language and
grace of expression as rare as they were fascinating.
During the whole time we remained with him — more
than two hours — he talked of everything under the heavens
and under the earth, and, although averse to speaking
of himself, not infrequently mentioned his pictures. It
was easy to see that his whole soul was in his paintings.
I felt as if I had shown myself a creature of very poor
taste to even admire his pencil sketches and pen-and-
ink drawings, and was so much surprised at his making
no mention of the latter, that I bluntly asked him whether
he did not like his own illustrations, and, if he did, which
of those works he thought best.
His answer amazed me even more than his previous
silence on that particular topic.
" I illustrate now to be able to pay for my paints and
brushes," he said ; " and even long ago my heart was
all the time in my paintings. I feel that I was born a
painter. Of those other things, bah ! " here he shrugged
his shoulders, " you ask me which one I like best. I
answer, the one that I have not yet done," and he laugh
ingly pointed to a blank drawing-block, then added, " But
Shakespeare, that is indeed a great work. I am in the
seventh heaven over it."
Then he began talking about Shakespeare, and his com
ments ran on in a brilliant stream. I was not surprised
at his fluency, but at his knowledge of this author. He
pronounced several words of English with a guttural sound
which proved that he had been well accustomed to hear
them from the mouths of English people; but I found
that he could neither speak nor perfectly understand the
Anglo-Saxon tongue. The captain tried to get him to
attempt a few phrases, but he shook his head, as much as
to say, " You don't catch me trying anything as difficult
as that."

A WONDERFUL VALET. 403
Chance brought up another subject, viz., Jean, Dore's
devoted servant. Jean, it seems, was a wonder, a
marvel, indeed a most curious type of creature. He is
dead now, Heaven rest his soul ! but his faithfulness
deserves some tribute to his memory, and I shall speak
of him here. For years, I think from the opening of
the Rue Bayard Studio in 1866 until the day on which
I saw him, he had been the jealous guardian of his
master's new artistic home, his works, and his honour.
He seemed, nay, was, to look at, utterly impassible,
and he had a faculty which one might fancy he had
literally imbibed from his master, namely, a rare know
ledge of human nature. He treated visitors whom he
knew his patron disliked with arch but frosty cere
mony, and sent them off without the possibility of an
appeal for grace ; to the friends and habitues of the house
and studio, with his reception of them he always joined
a gracious smile of protectorship and welcome. He knew
Dore's pictures by heart quite as well as Dore did
himself, and he sometimes collaborated with the artist in
a way which rendered him as proud as a fighting-cock,
and certainly was a necessary aid to the picture's success
for he rubbed out drawings and cleaned canvases. One
habit of Dore's went to his heart and completely unnerved
him, to wit, his master's prodigality in brushes and reck
less liberality in colours, and he actually succeeded after
a time in checking some of the fearful and ruinous waste.
He assorted the tubes, cleaned all the brushes, and
prepared all the palettes. This was very good ; but
Jean's connoisseurship did not stop there. He knew even
the exterior of the little leaden pipes with their various
labels, and his practised eye could detect the difference
in shades of every colour with a quickness and truth
which were as useful as miraculous. He established a
sort of proprietary right over his master, the studio, the
paintings, and painting utensils. Dore was very fond of
sampling new colours, and of helping himself freely.
His fingers absolutely itched to unstop a new tube. Think
you Jean permitted this ? Never! He would watch his
D d 2

404 G USTA VE D ORE.

master work for some little time, then seemed by a
sort of instinct to feel that Dore was on the eve of some
recklessness. He was rarely deceived. .The artist would
stop a moment, espy an untouched lead, and proceed
forthwith to open it. Jean, with wary eye, choler-scented
voice, and authoritative accents, would call his patron to
order. On one occasion Dore was gleefully about to try
some new shades of blue and yellow.
" I wish to remind you, sir," said Jean determinedly,
" that you have still some sea-blue, the exact shade
required, in this lead, and the other," indicating a near
tube, " contains quite a quantity of Indian ochre. You
would do very well, sir, to finish them both, before be
ginning on fresh colours."
I asked Dore if he took Jean's advice ? " Always,"
he answered me, laughing, " Always — in the studio."
Such a servant was indeed a treasure. I cannot tell
you all his solicitude about his master's health and
well-being, his observations on the weather, his reflections
on certain habitues, nor the respectful authority with which
he reigned in the Rue Bayard. He was devoted to all
Dore's friends, and would have gone without question
through fire and water for them, or for any one whom
the artist loved.
There was a good deal more talk, and suddenly I began
to suspect that M. Dore was not quite happy. His gaze
wandered, and he began to exhibit signs of restlessness.
Finally his glance fell on a table suspiciously bestrewn
with tobacco ash. My eyes followed his ; perceiving
which, he at once begged leave to smoke. Of course,
the asked-for permission was promptly accorded, and he
lighted and consumed one cigar after another until our
departure. It seems that he had not smoked for several
hours, and I have since been told that he rarely went as
long without his favourite weed. In this habit, as in the
one of work, he indulged extravagantly, and puffed away
with such contentment that it was a pleasure to watch
him. I cannot tell you how quickly the time passed, nor

A BITTER REFLECTLON. 4°5
what pains he gave himself to make our visit an agreeable
one. He showed us every picture in the studio, talked
over some statuary he also had there, and to my amaze
ment I learned that he was a sculptor as well as a painter,
for it was only about that time that he had seriously taken
up this branch of art. I could not find words wherein to
express my admiration of his work, nor my surprise at
the variety of his talents. I think he was more gratified
by my start of amazement, when I was told that he had
sculptured a certain group, than he would have been had
I exhausted a whole vocabulary of flattering adjectives.
" Oh, yes," said the captain, " M. Dore possesses every
talent. He paints, chisels, engraves, draws, dances, sings,
and plays the violin, all to perfection. He is a favourite
of fortune, and the spoiled child of France."
How quickly Dore's face fell !
" Yes," responded the artist, half bitterly; "you mean
spoiled everywhere but in my own country. Don't accuse
France of ever having spoilt me. Besides, I have asked
little enough of her. Perhaps that is the reason she
values me so little."
This time it was impossible to ignore his meaning.
My friend made no reply, but unfortunately I did so : — ¦
" Console yourself, cher maitre, you yourself know that
you are great ; besides, no one is a prophet in his own
country ; and yet, of all men, should you be an exception
to the rule."
He flushed slightly, and the captain came to the rescue.
" M. Dore is an exception to all rule," he said coolly ;
" and, by-the-way, when shall we see you in England ?
You know you belong to us now."
I was beginning to feel uncomfortable. Could it be
possible that such a man was really serious in believing
that his country did not appreciate him ? Was it a
momentary pique, or a settled conviction ? I had not
time to decide before he answered, —
" You will always see me there as long as I have so
many and such warm friends amongst you."
Then he shook hands with the captain as if he had

406 GUSTAVE DORE.

none dearer in the world than he ; at the same time it
was a polite way of putting an abrupt end to the conver
sation about himself.
We could not decently stay any longer, although I
was loth to tear myself away. Each time we had made
a move as if to depart there had been something still
unsaid, or some new object to examine. In vain we
reiterated our apologies about taking up so much of his
valuable time. He refused to listen to them, protesting
that he had not spent so pleasant a day for an age, and
begged us to interrupt his labours whenever it should
suit us to do so. There was no mistaking the sincerity
of his words and welcome.
The daylight in the studio had considerably lessened
when we finally tore ourselves away, and I felt half guilty
on learning that five o'clock had struck. Three hours of
Gustave Dore's time had we engrossed ; in other words,
three hours of enchantment and delight. The captain
was enthusiastic about him, and all the way home spoke
of his talent and kind-heartedness, his simplicity and
straightforwardness. He touched on the question which
had so much puzzled me, namely, Dore's idea that he was
not appreciated in France, but looked upon it more as a
fancy than as anything serious, and said, —
" His time will come. He is very young to have
acquired so unique a reputation ; but, great as it is, those
who know him intimately feel that it is not half as great
as his merit. You will live to see the day when France
will bow down before him. He is indeed a rare genius."
When I reached home I thought over my visit, and
came to the conclusion that, even setting his talent aside,
Gustave Dore was the most remarkable and fascinating
man I had ever met ; and when I looked again at his
" Don Quixote " I was compelled to say, " You are very
wonderful, but nothing in comparison to the man who
made you."
After that I frequently returned to the studio in the
Rue Bayard, many times when the master was not there ;
and during a long residence in Paris Dore's became one

FIRST IMPRESSIONS. 407
of the familiar faces which I constantly met in salon,
theatre, public places, and public promenade ; but, as
you will have divined, I never could forget my first visit
to his sanctum, nor the first impressions the man himself
made upon me. I never had occasion to alter either
in after-life. As I had opportunity to know him better he
always stood out in my mind as one of nature's noble
men ; one of her rarest, truest, and most gifted subjects.
The other things I thought of him, the other deductions
drawn from his life and character, are purely impersonal,
in one sense. It may seem strange that all I have told
of my individual impressions of the man were actually
those I formed of him on first looking at him. It may
be remarked that I saw much at a first glance. I did
Thought out-travels speech, as idea out-distances ex
pression. Thinking it all over, I am sure that I saw
much more that day at his studio than I have told, and
divined more than I should ever have dared to tell. Does
the Greek proverb still hold good, that the half is some
times better than the whole ?

4©8

GUSTAVE DORA.

CHAPTER XXXV.

A NEW DEPARTURE IN ART.
Everybody has heard of Dore the illustrator, and Dore
the painter ; but few have heard of Dore the etcher.
Some years ago this branch of graphic art began to
enjoy great popularity, and Gustave Dore, always abreast
of the age he lived in, insisted upon learning it. He
worked at it with the same faithfulness of purpose and
indefatigable application which charactized all his under
takings. One day Dore was found in his studio insen
sible, having inhaled the fumes from the nitric acid, and
it was feared that etching would have cost him his life.
He was brought to with the greatest difficulty.
In an extract of a letter from Gustave Dore to the Rev.
F. Harford, dated Paris, 5th November, 1873, speaking
of this accident and of his health, he said, "As far as I
am concerned, I am very well, but I have had a violent
shock, and a fortnight ago I literally poisoned myself
with azotique acid, in doing my etchings, which, by my
own choice, you know occupy me very much lately."
To return to his etchings. This well-nigh fatal episode
in no way checked his passion for this art ; he kept
steadily at it, month in and month out, cutting his fingers
and burning his skin, until he felt that he had reached a

DORA TAKES UP ETCHING. 409
stage of expertness enabling him to produce something
worth looking at. The astonishment of his friends may
be conceived when they learnt that he had entered the
lists as an etcher. I say his friends advisedly, because
few Parisians paid any attention to the rumour that
Gustave Dore had taken to etching. Even to this day
there are those who refuse to believe that he ever suc
ceeded in it ; but he did succeed, and marvellously, for the
finest eaux fortes I have ever seen came from his hand.
Dr. Michel has a rare collection of them, amongst
others the " Neophyte," which was reproduced from the
original painting, and which is indeed an admirable
effort. The Doctor kindly explained to me how hard
Dore had toiled at this engraving, and what patience he
had displayed in its production. He showed me nine
proofs, each one of which had been retouched and altered
before Dore himself was satisfied with his work. After
long study, not content with making a small engraving
at first, he commenced the "Neophyte" on a plate
measuring nearly a yard in breadth and over half a yard
in height. To say that he did this work quickly would
be only to repeat the old story of the time he allowed
himself for executing any of his works ; and yet he was,
comparatively speaking, a long while about it.
" For the first time in my life," said Dr. Michel, " I
saw him work without fretting. His temper was sweet
ness itself, and the pleasure of mastering this craft out
weighed all the trouble of learning it. I confess that his
family were never surprised at anything he attempted ;
they seemed to regard his success as a foregone con
clusion. He was, indeed, an astonishing man."
The second remarkable etching by Dore is " Rossini
on his Death-bed." I can now state that it was really
executed before that of the " Neophyte," although
generally thought to have succeeded that work, his great
success at the 1867 Paris Exhibition. The etching
speaks for itself, and is the reproduction of a sketch
made by Dore at Rossini's house, in Passy, on the
occasion of the composer's death.

f " " ,
410 GUSTAVE DORA.

Another remarkable work is a landscape with villagers
in the foreground. This is one of Dore's latest efforts.
It will be understood that Dore worked at his etchings
almost in secret, and in the midst of multitudinous cares
and preoccupations. No one inquires nowadays how he
did these things. It is enough to know that he did them.
The result of his superhuman labour tells its own tale.
Another extraordinary plate is called " Le Christ," at
present in the Dore Gallery, Bond Street. It is a head
of wondrous beauty. As a piece of work it seems to
me even finer than the " Neophyte." The agonized soul
of the Divine victim gleaming through the heavy lids of
His half- veiled eyes ; the blood-flecked forehead and
tear-stained cheeks ; the expression of resignation revealed
by every feature, once seen can never be forgotten.
Many great masters have portrayed our Saviour with
out having entirely divested His countenance of a certain
materialism out of keeping with our preconceived idea
of divinity. This may have resulted from two causes :
a too common-place model or a too unbelieving painter.
This may perhaps not be the place wherein to speak of
Dore's religious convictions ; but I may be permitted to
say that he firmly believed in the divinity of Christ, and
this belief has been expressed by his inspired fingers with
a humility and reverence which have stamped themselves
on the face of the Redeemer in his famous etching with
all the majesty of true religious fervour. Dore has given
us the man-Christ, but with that sublimely divine look
irradiating every feature which, as all the faithful believe,
distinguished the face of Jesus from that of any other
human being.
One day at Madame Braun's there were several people
engaged in conversation, and the remarks of one lady
particularly struck me. Mdlle. Bader, as I have since
learned, is a remarkable writer, a profound student of
human nature, and one of the few women authors who
do not write novels. She was an intimate friend of the
Dores, and, as I entered the room, by a singular
coincidence, was just pronouncing Gustave's name. The

MDLLE. BADER SPEAKS OF DOR A. 411
subject under discussion was his religious works, and I
was not sorry to. hear an opinion respecting them uttered
by one who knew the artist so well. The talk went on
for some moments, and I ventured to ask if it was true,
as I had once heard, that Gustave Dore selected religious
subjects for his great pictures in order to make a show of
piety, which, however, he did not really feel ?
" On the contrary," she replied ; " I was once talking
with him on that very subject, and his remarks surprised
me. I had expressed my astonishment at the rapt
expression of some of his personages, and the air of
religious fervour that seemed to prevail throughout his
pictures. I remarked that it must be very difficult to
reproduce an expression which was spiritual rather than
earthly — to try to paint the soul rather than the body.
" ' It is not difficult,' he answered. ' I shall tell you
the truth. Of all I have ever done, nothing has ever
affected me so deeply as have my religious works. I
consider that my greatest and truest inspirations were
derived from my most sacred subjects, and I never have
felt such fervour with respect to any other tasks. It did
my soul good to labour at them, and as I believed in the
sentiments of the people I pictured, 1 found it easy
enough to portray them.'
" I readily understood what he meant, and in all great
religious works you must feel that Dore himself was a
believer. Take his Holy Bible illustrations and Michaud's
' Crusades.' Nothing can exceed the truth of their senti
ment. They reveal the best of the man's mind as com
pletely as may be. He was truly good ; and although I
never heard him make any other profession of faith than
the above, what he said then was enough for me."
Madame Braun, the kind old lady whom I have already
described, then spoke as follows : —
" Yes, indeed ; when Gustave painted a religious
picture his soul was in his work. It seemed to him a
confession of faith, and he always said he did not believe
that a heretic could properly portray any sacred subject.
You sneak of his goodness ? Let me tell you that the

412 GUSTAVE DORA.

world at large never knew much of it ; but I, who have
known him since he was born, can testify to it un
reservedly. " He used to go to hospitals and visit the sick ; he
was never appealed to for charity but he gave freely.
His mother used often to tell me of little things he did,
always to help the poor, and without a thought of men
tioning it to any one.
" Do you mean to say that such a man was not innately
good ? He was not obliged to go to hospitals ; he spent
thousands upon thousands of francs in relieving distress,
and in all Paris no one knew of it at the time except his own
family, the hospital attendants, and one or two of his
intimate friends. I think, had he been able, that he would
never have heard of any one poor or in trouble without
going to their aid at once. He was the best-hearted
man I ever knew ; his hands were always in his pockets
when there was any question of helping the needy ; and
in those visits to the little sick children, so he told me,
he passed some of the happiest hours of his life. Poor
babies ! they missed him last year, and so they will many
another for a long time to come.
" You were speaking about his sacred pictures," she
continued. " Was it not curious ? Every time he drew
a head of our Saviour it proved a striking likeness of his
brother Ernest. I told him so ; and the strange part of
it was that Ernest never sat to him. Yet he managed
to get his face in every position. No matter how you
see Christ represented, you will always recognize Ernest
Dore's features.
" He also sketched his mother. I could not tell you
how many times he drew her face, especially in his
Spanish pictures. I know Madame Alexandrine at a
glance in her counterfeit presentments by Gustave.
Others might have been deceived; myself, never."
While on the subject I may take occasion to repeat
M. Lacroix's words : —
" Gustave had only his family and intimate friends to
study from. His mother he always painted as an

MADAME BRAUN SPEAKS OF DOR A. 413
accomplished gipsy. It was by no means odd that he
reproduced the same faces in almost all his early works ;
and even in his later ones I have recognized many
familiar countenances of times past. He was very clever
at that ; his memory was so prodigious that no person or
thing ever escaped it."
I sat some little time with Madame Braun, and wish I
could repeat all she said. Some of it I have given sub-
stantiallyinotherplaces; buton the occasion above referred
to there was only one sentiment expressed by everyone pre
sent regarding Dore, and that was of the highest praise.
Many little family matters were recounted, which I can
not make public ; but in every detail his character stood
out conspicuous for its honesty, simplicity, and goodness.
Any one who thinks that Gustave Dore painted his great
religious pictures for money, or from ostentatious motive,
may immediately divest his mind of that idea. Dore said
himself that he followed a divine inspiration, and that he
believed he was destined to paint pictures which would
do some good in the world.
It is a pity that my readers cannot hear Madame
Braun speak of him, for every minute detail of his life
was known to her. From the night he came into the
world — " that snowy night," as old Francoise said — to
that of his death, he was as dear to her as one of her
own. She 'knew him, in short, under every circumstance
of joy or sorrow; and after fifty years of intimacy, pro
nounced the most heartfelt eulogies upon him as a man.
Perhaps they acquire unusual moment from the fact that
they are uttered by one who has lived so long and known
so much ; for Madame Braun is much more than ninety.
Her memory, however, is absolutely unimpaired, and she
seems as young to-day as many a woman not half her
age. She says, " Were I to live to be a thousand, I
know and feel that I should never again see the like of
Gustave Dore."
Speaking of Dore's drawing from memory and refusal
to study from models, I may here interpolate an incident
proving that he was not always opinionated, but really

414 GUSTAVE DOR A.

did everything in his power to work in the orthodox way.
Dore heard on all sides that he ought to draw from models,
and at last determined to try the experiment. It was
about the year 1874, so we may assume that he was at
work on his " Death of Orpheus," exhibited in Paris in
1878. The above story is told by the model herself,
a strikingly beautiful woman, well known to most Paris
artists. M. Dore had sent for her, and she arrived in the studio of
the Rue Bayard about ten o'clock a.m. The artist received
her most politely, and after some few preliminaries posed
her to his satisfaction. He looked at her with a critical
eye, stationed himself a little way off, and began sketching
rapidly. He glanced at her once, twice, thrice, and then
went on for a long time, without again looking up. As
is usual with models, after a prolonged sitting, the young
lady moved in order to rest herself, and said so in a few
words. These the artist did not seem to hear, being
apparently absorbed in his work. In a few moments the
model reassumed her former pose, maintaining it for a
considerable time. She lifted her eyes now and then to
M. Dore's face, which wore a strangely preoccupied
and puzzled expression. He worked on vigorously, but
marvellous to relate, never even glanced in her direction.
After she had watched him attentively for a few minutes,
it suddenly struck her that he was paying little attention
to her. She changed her position, took one attitude
after another, still he made no sign of having noticed
what she was doing. She was curious, amazed, and
finally offended at such strange treatment, and said to
herself, " Is this a farce ? What kind of a painter is
M. Dore?" The morning wore away, until the poor
girl had been "sitting" nearly three hours, utterly ignored
all the while. At last, very angry, she jumped up,
exclaiming, " M. Dore, excuse me, but what can you
mean by such behaviour ? "
Dore started as if he had been struck by a bullet,
dropped his pencil and paper, and stared wildly at her, as
though she had been a phantom who had risen through

DORA'S FIRST AND LAST MODEL. 415
the floor. Presently he stammered, in accents of helpless
amazement, " Ah — mademoiselle ; you are here — what is
it ? Can I do anything for you ? Did you wish to see me ?
Are — are you ill ? I thought I was alone ! " He was still
apparently quite dazed.
This was rather too much. The model energetically
explained ; Dore appeared deeply mortified, and was
profuse in his apologies. Whilst he was speaking, he
picked up the paper which he had dropped when he
started to his feet. The model perceived that no trick
had been played her, and that she had been simply
sitting to an artist whose models were with his inspiration —
in his brain. Dore went on apologizing, and at last took
her hand, while one of his rare sweet smiles came over
his face. " I am sure you will never forgive me," he said
humbly ; " but — I had really no thought of keeping you
so long." Then he added a few hasty, well-intentioned
compliments ; but she could see that he was speaking in
a fearfully distraught manner.
" I have had no breakfast," she said simply. " Pray
don't think any more about it ;" and she turned to leave
the studio. As she did so, curiosity prompted her to
look at the sketch.
" He had not even drawn one outline of my figure,"
said the model afterwards, in relating the story. " There
were only men — madmen, I should think — on that paper.
But M. Dore also forgot something else. He paid me
as if I had been sitting to him for a month instead of a
morning. But — I was never asked to repeat my ex
periment." M. Kratz said to me, apropos of the same subject :
" Once, when Gustave was at work on one of his great
sacred pictures, I dropped in ; and he said, ' Arthur,
please put on that mantle, and pose as a Roman for an
instant.' I did so. He was working away; and after
keeping my position for a few moments, I saw that he
was not paying the slightest attention to me ; so I doffed
my mantle. He could not work from models ; he was
not organized to do so ; his brain acted too quickly ;

416 GUSTAVE DORA.

one idea crowded another out, and he was always greatest
in the first flash that he threw off from his original inspi
ration. Hastily drawn lines gave all their life and move
ment to his pictures, and these he dashed off with the
first few strokes of his pencil. Only of late years have I
known him to repeat any one sketch many times."
I have made but slight mention of Dore as a water-
colourist, and must here repair the error. To speak of his
" Switzerland," the " Vosges," pine forests and meadows,
Scotch scenes and landscapes, to refer to his ideal con
ceptions, is to set forth the most perfect achievements
of any water-colour painter since the Renaissance.
In this branch of art Gustave Dore had few rivals, and
may unhesitatingly claim unlimited praise. Critic and
connoisseur may pick flaws here and there in Dore the
illustrator, Dore the oil-painter, Dore the etcher, Dore
the sculptor; but no one in justice can deny the ripe per
fection of Dore the aquarellist. The vigour of his Alps,
the coldness of his glaciers, the force of his mountain
torrents, the texture of his mists, the odour of his pines,
and perfume of his heather, are things as true to that
multiple nature he so lovingly and steadfastly worshipped,
as life is true to life.
Strange to say, Dore attached little importance to this
particular talent. He was often heard to say, " As for
me, I look upon a water-colour sketch as merely a leaf of
a note-book." In 1878 a celebrated Society of Water-Colour Painters
was formed, numbering amongst its members Mesds.
Madeleine Lemaire and Maslini, MM. Heilbuth, Worms,
Detaille, Eugene Lami (whose lovely " Carnival of
Venice" decorates a smoking-room at the Rothschild
Chateau of Ferrieres), Leloir, and many others ; all
great and worthy disciples of this delightful art ; they
unanimously decided that without Gustave Dore their
association would be incomplete.
I need scarcely say that this art-wonder made his
debut amongst them by a series of master-pieces, the
most remarkable, perhaps, being a life-size portrait of

PEN PORTRAIT OF MADAME ALEXANDRINE. 4' 7
his mother, which I hear figured in the catalogue list as
" La Veuve."
This picture represents Madame Alexandrine Dore as
exactly as though her counterfeit presentment were a
living woman about to open her lips and speak. She is
seated in a red plush chair ; one shapely hand holds a
book, the other slightly uplifting an eyeglass, in an
attitude she frequently assumed when a stranger's face
was visible amongst her guests. Her lips wear an ex
pression as though ejaculating, " Ah ! you know Gustave,
charmed to see you ;" and her questioning, large black
eyes shine with a glow of welcome. The Httle head is
poised with steadfast dignity, and on it is perched the
mauresque violet and white turban, which, as M. Lacroix
said, gave Madame Alexandrine the look of an accom
plished Spanish zingara. And she sits so well, too, in her
incarnadine chair. Her position is one of expectancy,
yet unconscious ease. Her amethyst misty dress drapes
her limbs in graceful folds ; a heavy gold chain hangs
from a brooch and seems by its sheer weight to indent
a rich broidered kerchief folded across her comely
bosom. One noticed all these things in the picture
because they were part and parcel of Madame Dore
herself, and when her portrait was introduced to the
society of water-colourists, there was such delicacy,
softness, life, colour, and vigour in its every feature that
but one opinion was reiterated on all sides, and Dore's
confreres exclaimed, " It is Madame Alexandrine in per
son ; but are we in the Rue St. Dominiaue or in the Rue
Laffitte ? "
Dore sent many works in rapid succession to the
society's art-rooms. The following are amongst his
chief productions : " Gargantua devorant les Vaches,"
painted in 1877. *n I^79> besides the portrait of Madame
Dore, he sent in " Les Geants," " Le Rencontre," " Les
Propos de Panurge," "Surle Pont de Londres," "L'CEuf,"
" La Charite des Poissonieres," " Ecole d'Enfants Juifs,"
four portraits, " Fruits et Fleurs," and three large land
scapes. e e

4i 8 GUSTAVE DORE.

In 1880, " Le Soir des Alpes," and " Le Torrent." The
latter was reproduced in two large paintings, one at pre
sent in the beautiful art collection of Madame de C  n,
in Paris, the other in that of the Rev. Frederick Harford.
Both are Scotch scenes, grandiose in conception and
execution. The other works of 1880 were respectively
" Le Desert," " La Diseuse de bonne Aventure," " La
Nuit sur le Pont de Londres," " La Voliere," " La
Crepuscule," " Le Lac," " L'Orage," "Souvenir du
Chemin des Avents," and " Le Petit Puck."
In 1881 Dore produced " Le Pays des Fees," "Les
Chalets de Naye," " Paturage des Avents," " Le Breit-
horn," " L'Ange de Noel," " Le Soir dans la Campagne
de Grenade," and several other sketches.
In 1882 he sent in fourteen more pictures on divers
subjects, and innumerable small sketches. Near the end
of that year he also sent in his last contributions, " Songe
d'une Nuit d'ete," " Les Elfes," " Docks de Londres,"
" Mendiants a. Burgos," and several landscapes.
Space will not permit me to enter into detail of any
of the above works. Suffice it to say that in them Dore
rose above criticism ; and yet these successes gave him
no genuine satisfaction. One hungry longing was still
unsatisfied, lurking deep down in his heart. The
triumphs that works of the above class brought to him
were as sometimes are the pearls which costthe diver his
life ; and when any one praised his water-colour paintings,
a pained look would cross his face, and he would
murmur, —
" Always those unimportant things ! They say nothing
in praise of my painting."

DOR A ILLUSTRATES SHAKESPEARE. 419

CHAPTER XXXVI.
DORE ILLUSTRATES SHAKESPEARE.
I FEEL at present that it would be considered strictly
relevant to speak here of that other strong ambition of his
life, viz. to illustrate Shakespeare. There are in existence
nearly two hundred sketches in black and white which so
nearly resemble the water-colours that I had rather rank
them with those works than assign an isolated place to
them. Their incompleteness, in one sense, is my excuse
for not devoting more than one chapter to these great
efforts of Dore's brain ; another excuse is their probable
publication at some future day. Some few words I may
say, however, relative to Gustave Dore's conception and
manner of work in connection with this his last ambition.
_ Dore had determined to bring his Shakespeare out
himself. Although he was on the best of terms with his
different publishers, the great houses of Hachette in Paris,
Mame in Tours, and Cassell's in England, he still thought
that he did not realize enough money by his work, and
conceived the project of publishing his Shakespeare him
self. I need not say that this dream was destined never
to be realized. He determined to spare no pains with
this last and crowning effort of his life, and prepared him
self for it by the most exhaustive research and study.
E e 2

42o GUSTAVE DORE.

The single instance, referred to by M. Kratz, of his
making a sketch over and over again, had special refer
ence to the Shakespearian drawings. I have seen no less
than six sketches of Macbeth at the banquet, when
confronted by Banquo's ghost, while the idea in all is
radically the same.
The six sketches differ from one another in treatment.
Dore was so original that it was almost impossible for
him to repeat himself, even designedly. No two copies
of any work of his are absolute fac-similes of the
original, and yet all his reproductions were so admirable
that it would be impossible to choose between them by
distinction of merit. This was one proof of Dore's
genius. I remember that Ary Schaeffer has painted two
pictures of " Francesca da Rimini," at the moment when
Dante sees the perjured lovers floating in the atmosphere
of eternal damnation. One painting was given to Pauline
Viardot by the artist, with an affectionate inscription of
friendship in Schaeffer's quaint calligraphy in one corner.
The second is said to be in the gallery of the Duke of
Devonshire, and also bears a signature. The pictures
are identical, and it would be impossible to say which
was painted first, for both are originals. Ary Schaeffer
knew how to repeat himself, but Gustave Dore never did.
I hope the series of Shakespearian illustrations will soon
see the light of day. They are magnificent, grand beyond
description, and perhaps their perfection lies in their in
completeness. Dore is here in his element, as thoroughly
as he was in his " Dante" and "Wandering Jew." The
great English poet's ideas, the life-like forms and faces
of all his well-known characters are set down in hasty
but inspired outlines. Let them come before the world
as they were designed, before the imaginative painter
had time to dull his pencil and dispel fancy by research
after perfection of style. I must mention as one of the
most potent of the Macbeth series the sketch representing
Macbeth for the first time questioning the three weird
sisters. On contemplating this drawing I was enabled
for the first time to realize the dramatic situation in

A LETTER IN FAC-SIMILE.

421

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^*^eW*-- <Zf^'0A'*A -•/- AW ot^Jr. '

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FAC-SIMILE OF LETTER SENT TO THE REV. FREDERICK HARFORD IN 1869.
(London )

422 G USTA VE D ORE.

question : and the flower-crowned babe that rises from the
enchanted cauldron would have won Dore immortal
laurels, even had his artistic past been an absolute blank.
One of Dore's wishes was to illustrate Campbell's
poem, " The Last Man." On the ioth of January,
1876, he wrote to his friend, Canon Harford, respecting
that work and the "Ancient Mariner:" —
" Dear Friend, — A world of thanks for your kind
interest in my future prospects, and especially in that of
' The Last Man,' which is one of my fondest dreams.
But, alas ! there is no question of ' The Last Man ' at
this moment, but of ' The Ancient Mariner,' the sale of
which preoccupies me greatly. I cannot engage on any
other work until I see some of the money reimbursed
that I have spent on this book, a sum which, up to the
present time, is something really enormous. I feel that
I have the sympathy of the public and the press ; but the
number of my purchasers is still limited. I do not know
whether I am to attribute this to the laziness of my
trustees, or to another drawback which I dare not
mention ; for I still hope and wish to believe that I have
to do with honest people. I have spent about 3500/. to
have this work engraved. Should I recover a part of
this sum — even a third — I would immediately undertake
something else. I am very impatient about it ; but I
suppose that as soon as it shall be known a little in
society that this new work of mine, which I consider one
of my best and most original, is ready, some impetus
will be imparted to the sale : however, I am clothed in
armour of courage and perseverance.
" I recently sent one copy to Dr. Lavies. To-morrow or
the day after I will send you some copies to offer to our
mutual friends. I learn with lively and profound affliction
the news you give me of the illness of Lady Augusta
Stanley. You do not tell me what is the nature of her
illness : pray inform me of it in your next, which I hope
will at the same time bring better news and the possibility
of hope. Will you also, I beg, my dear friend, make known

SOME NE W AMBITIONS. 4 2 3
to Dean Stanley my affectionate solicitude, and tell him
how deeply I feel for his distress and anxiety ? With an
affectionate hand-shake, "G. Dore."
Dore also wished to illustrate Schiller's " Diver," as
well_ as " The Last Man." This was another dream
destined never to be fulfilled. About this time Dore
was possessed by a mania, we can call it nothing else,
for drawing the head of our Saviour. He probably drew
it fifty times in every conception, shape, and size. I
have already mentioned the etching the head on the
cross, which is on view at the Dore Gallery, and is
certainly the most perfect work of this class he ever
executed. I had been very much surprised to hear
several of Dore's friends say, " Oh ! I have a sketch by
Dore; an original head of Christ, which he gave me;"
and I suppose each of these persons thinks that he or
she possesses the only original drawing of this subject
Dore ever made. The knowledge that there were many
cannot detract from their value, any more than in the
case of Raffaelle's " Madonna," numerous replica of
which exist, painted by his own hand. Each of M.
Dore's heads is signalized by some rare and beautiful
characteristic ; one, for instance, in the possession of
Canon Harford, a life-size study in black and white, is
magnificent in conception and realism, the face being a
sweet mask of mingled strength, tenderness, and divinity.
Another beautiful head is in possession of one of Dore's
old Paris friends, Dr. Pratt, who used to see a great deal
of him after the war. One day Dore sent a parcel to
Dr. Pratt, accompanied by these words : " My dear
friend, you did me the honour to admire this sketch.
Pray keep it, in remembrance of yours, "Gustave Dore."
This drawing is also a highly finished and very
beautiful work. It differs from the others in several
respects, but resembles them in expression, the divine

424 GUSTAVE DOR A.

countenance wearing the same look of ineffable sweetness
which characterizes them all.
On the 5th of March, Dore wrote a letter to Canon
Harford, in London, from which I make the following
extract : —
"Dear Friend, — Your little letter made me very
happy, as happy as I am unhappy to have seen you
depart so soon. You were like a meteor ; your visit was
really too short. Every moment I wanted to call upon
you, to ask some advice about finishing my great picture,
and you may flatter yourself, my dear friend, that your
visit will have been the ultimate cause that I have been
able to decide upon several important matters, amongst
others a head of Christ, executed after your idea ; and
I believe that it will be a magnificent thing. I have
also thought a great deal about your suggestion for
" Claudia Procula," and have surrounded her with a group
of Roman women, which seems to me to have a very
good effect.
" I learn with profound affliction the death of Lady
Augusta Stanley. How great must be the Dean's grief
to find himself alone, after having had for a companion
so dear a soul, so noble and elevated a mind ! I beg
you to convey to him my affectionate and most sincere
condolences." I may here say a few words more about " The Ancient
Mariner." We may suppose that Dore was but slenderly
reimbursed for his heavy preliminary expenses, as in
America only is the book a household companion.
Hundreds of thousands of copies have been sold there,
and I do not know of any city, from the State of Maine
to the Pacific coast, where, in some cultivated household,
there would not be found a well-bethumbed copy of this
great classic. Granddames and grandsires, fathers and
mothers, youths and maidens, boys and girls, will speak
to you of Dore's "Ancient Mariner." With their tiny
fingers children will gleefully point out to you the
albatross flying over Polar seas ; the bearded man telling
his story to the earnest youth arrayed in classic Venetian

A' ^ ~

***&

mm

m.i

^ttf'

—a*

ANCIENT MARINER, 1875.
(Original drawing. In possession of Rev. Frederick Harford.)

Page 424.

ANXIENT MARINER. 1875.
(Original drawing in possession of Rev. Frederick Harford).

Page 424.

ANOTHER NEW STUDIO. 425

garb ; the wedding feast, with its bride and groom,
and wedding guests, flowers and wedding favours ; the
horrible night on which the mariner kills the tutelary
bird ; the wretched murderer chained to the ship's deck,
and each gaunt visage around him fatally sick with
deadened hopes ; the hulk with its rotting dead, and each
spirit, as.it rises clothed in celestial light, winging its
way to an immortal sphere. They will show you all these
masterful creations, and with their soft voices will tenderly
lisp Dore's name in away which, could he but have heard
it, would have given him more pleasure than many riper
and more judicious tributes of admiration.
With regard to the sums brought in by the sale of
steel engravings of M. Dore's famous pictures, it is said
that "The Entry into Jerusalem" alone has realized the
sum of 100,000 francs; but of course only part of this
money found its way to the artist's pocket.
About this time Dore conceived the idea of building
a new and magnificent studio and house in one, and for
this purpose bought a suitable piece of ground near the
Pare Monceau, in Paris, the only plot of land available
for building in that district. It was a corner lot, facing
two streets, and overlooking the park, one of the loveliest
and most picturesque spots in Paris. The price asked
for the land was a long one, ^24,000, and Dore estimated
upon building himself a mansion which should cost an
additional ^40,000 Was he tired of the Rue St. Domi
nique, where the ghosts of the Regent, of St. Simon, and
his reckless satellites used to hover about noiselessly
in the night-watches, and converse mysteriously with
those other ghosts, creatures of Dore's brain and fancy ?
His mother might have a richer, more empurpled chair of
state than her well-known throne ; the walls might be
higher, the tapestries richer, the plate-glass thicker, and
the chandelier of a rarer rock crystal, but the new home
could never have been wealthier in memories than the old
one, nor could his banqueting-table be illumined by a
more auspicious lustre than shone from that first astral
which, when so light-heartedly shattered by himself, had

426 GUSTAVE DORE.

scattered a thousand good omens over the first homely
meal prepared in the Rue St. Dominique.
This season Dore came as usual to London, his mind
and hands busy with multifarious prospects and work.
He was still sketching on his " Orlando Furioso," which
appeared the following year, and the drawings of which,
with the exception of some large cartoons, Dore sub
mitted, for the first time, to the new process of fac-simile.
At last he was happy ; for there was no more quarrelling
with engravers, no more fretting over spoiled work.
This book was brought out by the great house of
Hachette and Co., and is a triumphal monument to. the
already solid reputation of that firm.
In this work Dore shows improvement in his figure-
drawing, and has embellished it with some of his finest
architectural designs. The decorations of the interior of
the Palace at Senape may rank with the best of the
Greek friezes. The elaboration of detail is so complete
and the drawing so fine that we are reminded of cobwebs
or Venetian point. It may readily be seen that Dore
was working with a more practised hand. Was this a
fault ? In one sense it was ; for Dore ought never to
have elaborated any details to such a pitch of perfection
as to interfere with the effect of his original design. The
marvel of Dore's art was its powerful incompleteness.
His first idea gives us a sense of vigour, rare fancy, and
inherent occult force. Dore's name will live in art for
these excellences, when the works of more perfect but
less imaginative draughtsmen shall pall by the sickliness
of their perhaps more correct but certainly more stilted
work. A proof of Dore's independence of conception may
be found in his earliest work of importance. It is a long
stretch back from " Orlando Furioso " to the " Inferno ;"
but the lad of twenty who illustrated Dante's masterpiece
showed even then a strange scorn for all rules of precedent,
and disdained to follow beaten paths. Who but Dore
would have improved upon Botticelli, and given us a
smooth-faced in lieu of a bearded Virgil ? And yet we
must admit that the young Alsatian's conception comes

D OR A AND JOSEPH f EPPERSON. 4 2 7
nearer than that of the early Italian to our idea of what
the great epic poet should have been like. Virgil, laurel-
crowned, and clean-shaven, has a poetry and grace which
are not found in Botticelli's portrayal of the immortal
Mantuan. As when working on his heads of Christ there were
many of these cartoons which Dore had sketched and
re-sketched before he was satisfied, he was now bothering
himself about perfection in detail, was subjugating his
natural gifts to rule and measure, was — shall we say it? —
seemingly trying to forget his spontaneity, and to perfect
where he should only have executed.
The idea of drawing the Saviour's head must have been
constantly running in Dore's mind, to judge by the follow
ing incident. Joseph Jefferson, the celebrated American
actor, who was at one time playing in London, occupied
rooms over Dore's head in the same hotel. Mr. Jeffer
son, like all Americans an ardent admirer of Dore,
wished to possess the signature of so distinguished a
personage, and sent his book of autographs down to
Dore's rooms, with a gracefully-worded request that he
would inscribe his name upon one of its pages. When
Dore learned that Mr. Jefferson had asked for his
autograph, with the lively sympathy of an artist and the
tact of a man of the world, he presently returned the book
to its owner, accompanied by a little note. When Mr.
Jefferson opened his book he found it enriched by a
miniature head of Christ, the outcome of one of those
instantaneous flashes of genius which constituted Dore's
chief and unrivalled speciality.
During every summer of Dore's successive sojourns in
London, he had been invited to the Prince of Wales's
Garden Party at Chiswick, where he was often, not only a
welcome guest, but one of the lions of the day ; and on
Monday, July 5, 1875, he had the honour of being presented
to her Majesty.1 The Queen, surrounded by her suite, was
1 Dord was presented to her Majesty this year, and as there was only
one occasion on which the Queen was at Chiswick and Dore' was also
present, the latter's presentation to her Majesty was presumably on that

428 GUSTAVE DOR A.

standing in a pavilion that had been erected in the
garden, when the prince came forward and introduced to
her Majesty first Baron Rothschild and then Gustave
Dore. Her Majesty received the artist most graciously,
and was pleased to mention some of his early works,
which she said she remembered with great pleasure.
Dore's rejoinder was as usual an apt one, for it had
relation to the late Prince Consort and the great influence
some of that illustrious Prince's teachings had had upon
his early mind. With a child's straightforwardness and
simplicity, Dore replied, —
" It is I, your Majesty, who remember with gratitude
the encouraging influence some of the Prince Consort's
words exercised upon my life."
Dore referred to the admirable speeches on art which
his Royal Highness gave to the world, and which remain
an indelible and invaluable literary legacy not only to
art students and amateurs, but to all people and to all
classes who love to combine elements of truth, wisdom,
counsel and grace. The Queen held an animated con
versation with Dore, until at last the artist, seeing the
eyes of the court fixed upon him, feared that he might be
exceeding the limits prescribed by court etiquette, and
began to bow himself out of the Queen's presence. Her
Majesty was even more gracious in her dismissal than in
her welcome of the young artist. As Dore was retiring,
she said, hastily and cordially, —
" I hope to see you again, M. Dore. When you come
to Scotland, I shall be at Balmoral, and you must come
and see me."
Rarely had a royal invitation ever given greater plea
sure. Gustave Dore had been the recipient of world-wide
honours, but no praise had ever seemed sweeter to his
date. I have given her Majesty's words on most authentic hearsay, as
many present on that occasion remember the Queen's gracious speech
with the artist. Dord himself was so proud of this page in his life that
I think he must have learned the Royal Lady's words by heart, as he
often spoke of that day at Chiswick and said, repeating the above, " This
is exactly what her Majesty did me the honour of saying to me."

DORfi AND PELLEGRINI. 429
soul than the Queen's gracious reception of him. In
short, Dore became thereafter so staunch an adherent to
England and England's royal family that he might have
been a Briton born. His enthusiasm on the subject of
Victoria and her dominions was such that, as a friend of
his remarked to me only a short time ago, " Dore etait de-
venu de moitie Anglais."
The same year (1875) Dore made the acquaintance of
the justly celebrated Italian artist and caricaturist, Pelle
grini, known under the pseudonym of "Ape." They
dined with mutual friends and spent a curious evening
together, holding a sort of artistic tournament with only
two competitors — themselves. Dozens of sketches were
thrown off, the quickness and rival merits of each were
judged upon by the friends present, anon Dore, anon
Pellegrini being awarded the laurel for the best, quickest,
and likeliest work. Perhaps no two persons present en
joyed this " breaking of lances" so much as did the rival
artists themselves. Pellegrini was enthusiastic in praise
of Dore, and awarded him unlimited encomiums, at the
same time specially noting one of M. Dore's figures
which he declared to be, taken as a whole, a master
piece. Dore was neither to be outdone in appreciation
nor politeness by London's adopted child in art. He
listened with extreme pleasure to M. Pellegrini, and
responded, —
" My talent compared to M. Pellegrini's is slight.
Show me his drawing of but a portion of a man's figure,
and from that I can see the whole body."
The next year Dore went with his friend, Canon
Harford, to visit the Earl and Countess of Warwick, at
Warwick Castle. Dore's room was the superb and well-
known chamber, made entirely of oak from Kenilworth.
When Dore opened his eyes the morning after his arrival,
looking around and drawing a deep breath, he said, " Ma
foi, c'est imperial." His delight at this marvellous castle
was unfeigned. There was not a nook left unexplored,
not a room he had not admired, not an angle nor a gable
which had not some beauty to his artistic eye. He knew

430 GUSTAVE DOR A.

Caesar's tower, Guy's tower, and the Bear tower by heart,
whilst the magnificent grove of cedars was sketched
under many lovely aspects ; and, if we are not mistaken,
the frontispiece of his "Orlando Furioso" is an etherial-
ized, scarcely idealized, drawing of Warwick Castle and
grounds. If Dore had heretofore conceived a liking for England,
English country homes, and country life, that liking
became an affection at Warwick. This old-world town,
which revives our love for mediaeval lore and mediaeval
folk, held a charm for him which may readily be imagined
by one who, like himself, had been a life-long denizen of
some of the world's greatest metropolises. Warwick,
lying in one of the sweetest of Avon's valleys, with its
historical houses, quiet streets, its lovely- cruciform church,
with pointed arches, mullioned windows, carven cathedral
saints and cathedral sinners smiling in the classic stone,
with its hardy buttresses, vaulted nave and roof, whose
delicate fan-like tracery alike charms the eye of artist and
amateur, — this formed a tender and touching picture in
Dore's memory. This saintly edifice brought back the
days of his youth, and those hours when he built hopes
for the future, and haunted the dim aisles of Strasburg
Cathedral, hoping, like Sabine von Steinbach, for super
natural inspiration.
Dore was so enchanted with his stay at Warwick that
it was protracted longer than he had originally intended.
He not only made some portraits, but played a new role
at the castle — the position of artist being reversed by
his charming and accomplished hostess, the Countess of
Warwick, who made a portrait of the Alsatian painter.
Dore was for the second time in his life a model, not an
artist ; we may presume that he was an obedient and
attentive one, for the result was most felicitous. The
highest compliment was paid to Lady Warwick's really
splendid talent by Dore himself, who pronounced upon
her work in a few words which said volumes of praise.
On looking at it, he exclaimed, " It is perfect ; me myself ! "
Thanks to Lady Warwick's interest in Dore, and her

DORE AT WARWICK. 431
pleasant recollection of him, I am able to give a repro
duction of her original drawing, most kindly lent by herself
for this occasion. No higher praise of the sketch may
be given than was bestowed upon it by Dore ; and we
are indeed indebted to her ladyship's amiability for so
choice a souvenir of the artist and his personal appearance

PORTRAIT OF DORE.
(Drawn by Lady Warwick.)
during that memorable year. This picture also has
another but sadder interest ; it was one of the last like
nesses or portraits ever made from life of Gustave Dore.
Dore drove all about the country in the pony-carriage
drawn by Lady Warwick's pretty Arabs. From morning
till night he was " on the go," and in speaking later of

432 G USTA VE DORE.

Warwick, he said that he knew every inch of it and its
neighbourhood by heart. On one occasion he visited
Kenilworth Castle. In these matchless ruins, where
Scott's heroes and heroines, truly or fancifully, had played
so thrilling a part, Dore, with his usual sensibility, love,
and reverence for historical scenes and people, put himself
at once in thorough sympathy with this most romantic of
all spots ; being also a Scott-worshipper, he undoubt
edly believed — for the moment, as who would not ? — in
Elizabeth's vagaries, Amy Robsart's woes, and Leicester's
perverted sincerities ? Be that as it may, he looked long
and lovingly at the old place ; he feasted his eyes on the
beauty of the ivy-crested, decayed battlements, and the
surrounding woodland, which, with its wealth of varied
verdure and misty atmospheric tints, enshrouds all Kenil
worth and her country with a sacred veil of mystery and
hallowed romance.
Stoneleigh Court was next visited ; and here Dore's
taste for landscape was gratified to the utmost. Lord
Leigh's lovely country seat lies in a park whose very wood
land is watered by the silver Avon ; and the Abbey itself
proved one of the most interesting that Dore had ever
looked upon. Many rustic scenes and charming pic
torial bits which he afterwards introduced in illustration,
painting or landscape, have been recognized as fac-similes
of Stoneleigh Abbey. And now I come to the greatest
of Dores wanderings, his pilgrimage to Stratford-on-Avon.
Think you that only the British heart beats a quicker
throb in re-treading the ground hallowed by remembrance
and the still-echoing footfall of the great bard ? Ah ! no.
With all due deference to Albion and her sons, the man
may have belonged to you, but his works and memory
belong to the world. There beats no tropical sun too
hot, nor gleams any winter moon too cold, to alter the
enthusiasm and universal reverence which is borne to the
name of Shakespeare. So it was that Dore looked and
lingered, revered and pondered, just as if he had been
born within sound of Avon's water. He went where we
all have been ; he saw what we all have seen ; during the

THE POET A DEER-STEALER— NEVER. 433
hours that he spent in Stratford-on-Avon he ate, drank,
lived, and breathed the immortal bard. It would take
but slight imagination to recall the Alsatian enthusiast,
with glistening eyes, as he was on that day in the home
of Shakespeare. One can see him in the house where
the poet was born, looking with reverential eyes at the
time-stained walls and antique mouldings ; for had not
Shakespeare himself gazed upon those very walls ? and
does it not seem as if each inch of plaster reflected a look
which, in days long ago, in their scintillation betrayed the
hearts of women and the minds of men ? Oh, the occult
meanings which that house calls up to mind ! Then he
wanders to the grounds, where every rose that blossoms
and every leaf that falls for time immemorial will be not
alone national but universal property. He goes to the
Museum, and a little desk is shown, where, perhaps, the
unwilling school-boy " turned to his books ;" he wanders
to the Grammar School, and thinks of his own youthful
days. Of those struggles with Calypso, Telemachus, and
Mentor ; those wonderings at Nero's levity ; those liar-
rowings at Clitus' death. Then he wends his way to the
church, and stands with awe-struck mien and reverential
front ; in the heavy shadow of the clerestory window he
looks upon the portrait of Shakespeare ; he bends his en
tranced footsteps towards the cottage wherein blithe Anne
Hatheway first heard such a poet's words of love ; he
wanders on to Charlecote — the poet a deer-stealer — never !
Back Dore comes from the famous park, back to a spot
whose very precincts are hallowed, and here he bends the
knee in silent homage; and a prayer goes up to heaven
that from the breath of this atmosphere, from the dust of
these ashes, he may gain inspiration, light, and power, to
immortalize anew the name of Shakespeare.
Once away from the sound of the " soft-flowing Avon,"
Dore thought more than once of this memorable visit; and
it is not strange that, in the midst of every kind of mental
and manual labour, his thoughts reverted to it and
to his kind friends. He was extremely attached to the
Warwicks, who on their part bestowed upon him the
F f

434 GUSTAVE DORE.

most cordial marks of sympathy and friendship. His
remembrance of the Countess of Warwick was never
effaced; he proved once more his appreciation of cha
racter by yielding in her case the palm of superior
graciousness and culture to one of the fairest specimens
of English womanhood.
Dore made no sketches of Shakespeare's home ; he
did not need to make them, his pictorial memory was
much too accurate for that, inasmuch as he remembered
whatever he saw, whether he bestowed a casual or an
attentive glance upon it, for Dore never looked uselessly
at anything.
Not only had he a marvellous memory, but a thoroughly
practised and skilled one, accustomed to retain any sight
he had once seen, in the same manner as many trained
intellects enable their fortunate possessors to read down
a page of a book for the first time and then repeat its
contents word for word. Dore never looked at anything
without saying to himself, " I may need to make use of
this later on. Consequently the word " casual " would
be inappropriate to describe any glance directed by Dore
at animate or inanimate objects. When he looked at
anything, he did so seriously, and with that intensity of
purpose which produces an indelible impression on the
mind. In the matter of taking notes Dore did as he had
been wont to do when a boy visiting the Bibliotheque in
Paris. He was a very careful archaeologist, and never
trusted to his memory for data or historical facts. The
precaution was a wise one, considering that he once
forgot his own birthday. So it was that at Shake
speare's home he made many and copious notes, but
never a drawing:.
The faithfulness of his recollections may some day be
known, but only when his Shakespearian illustrations shall
be given to the world.

A NEW DEPARTURE IN ART.

435

CHAPTER XXXVII.

DORE A SCULPTOR.
As early as 187 1 Dore had begun to take up sculpture, a
branch of plastic art for which he had not only a strong
predilection, but a decided talent. The world had long
ceased to marvel at his frequently varied new depar
tures in art; nevertheless the surprise was general when
in 1877 ne exhibited a superb group in the Paris Salon,
called " La Parque et 1' Amour." Like most of this
artist's creations, it was characterized by imagination and
originality. The novice's touch was scarcely to be de
tected in this sculpture ; still it was an inspired rather
than an accomplished chisel which cut the features of the
smiling child who watches a lifetime glide away into
eternity. The ideal figure of Love is executed alike with
striking boldness and delicate finish.
This work was followed by a group called " Glory,"
also exhibited in the Paris Salon of 1878. "La Gloire"
is represented by a beautiful female figure, tightly clasp
ing in her embrace the form of a handsome and shapely
youth. Whilst her rounded arms strain him closely to
her bosom, a hand bearing a laurel wreath hides a
poignard which is to deal him his death-blow.
F f 2

436 GUSTAVE DOR A.

This group is instinct with pathos and poetical feeling.
The woman's vengeful beauty, and the youth's slender,
yielding form are admirably rendered. One turns again
and yet again to look at the marble counterfeit of
genius, helpless in the arms of relentless destiny, and at
the futile struggle of the victim, who instinctively feels
that some occult danger menaces him ; whose shrinking
flesh anticipates the impending blow ; whose once god-like
strength, indicated in the lines of the neck, is manifestly
paralyzed by a spell to sheer impotence. The laurel
trails in unconscious beauty almost to his knees, there
drooping over a lute, the strings of which are stilled for
ever. Its ornate frame rests carelessly against two
coronals, abandoned for that third and fatal wreath
beneath which lurks the death-dealing blade.
Gustave Dore's pride must have been flattered by the
circumstance that this group occupied the place of
honour in the garden, where all the sculpture sent to the
Salon is exhibited. Crowds surrounded the work, and
people who read the name of G. Dore on its picturesque
pedestal thought how strange was the coincidence that
there should be two G. Dores. Few connected the
sculptor of " La Gloire " with the creator of the " Neo
phyte," Rabelais, and the " Wandering Jew." Critics
praised the work enthusiastically; and yet the jury of the
Salon, after giving the place of honour to a young man
who exhibited sculpture for the second time only, pro
bably thought that this distinction was reward enough.
One of the most beautiful works of the day was, so to
speak, practically ignored by the Parisian tribunal of
taste. It will be noticed that Gustave Dore's mind was always
haunted by the spectre of unsuccessful effort. There
can be no doubt that he distinctly alluded to himself and
his hopes as a painter in this allegorical group of " Glory "
In all his sculptured works the grandeur of success is
never stamped upon his creations, but always the sublimity
of pathos, the mournful realism of unrequited ambition
of ineffectual and hopeless striving. Dore seemed, like

TIME CUTTING THE THREAD OF LIFE. 437
many other poets, to revel in the luxury of melancholy — a
dangerous but enchanting indulgence. He could not be
content with what he had, because his aspirations were
limitless and consumed themselves by their own fire. The
platitude, " L'amour ne se commande pas," may be
applied to ambition. There was always some void in
Dore's life, some great longing unsatisfied, some yearning
unfulfilled ; and he died, like the youth on the Alpine
peak, still crying "Excelsior!" Even his failures must
be regarded as successes, for they represent " the earnest
upward struggle of a soul " which could not tie itself
down to the vassaldom of conventional routine.
Had all Dore's sculpture equalled his " La Gloire," his
name as a sculptor would have been handed down to
posterity. In this, as in everything he did, the world
should have appraised the poet, not the handicraftsman.
The bronze group called " Time cutting the Thread of
Life," is another highly poetical and original composition.
Again a melancholy sentiment is apparent ; youth is
sacrificed, the cord of life is cut by unseen fate with
sharper shears than even those of Clotho. This work
is finer in the original drawing than in the bronze. The
sketch embodies artistic skill as well as poetical thought
and conception, ever singularly faultless in Dore's brain.
His next ambitious attempt was a group intended for
the Opera House at Monaco, built by M. Gamier in 1878.
This work is called " La Danse," and represents a beautiful
woman, evidently a high priestess of the Terpsichorean
art. Her face is wreathed in smiles, her brows are rose-
crowned, and her slender, supple limbs seem to float in
the air. The idea of motion is so admirably expressed
as to remind one of the famous Hermes poised on the
summit of the Bastille monument in Paris. Any one who
has gazed at this masterpiece of sculpture must surely
have been impressed with the fancy that at any moment
it might soar into space. The lightness of M. Dore's
figure, " La Danse," also suggests potential but sup
pressed motion* The outstretched arms hold a garland
of flowers, the dainty foot keeps time to the invisible

438 GUSTAVE DOR A.

notes from Pan's immortal pipes, the very drapery floats
in air to the tune of Arcadian lyres. M. Gamier, well
known as the architect of the Parisian Grand Opera
House, did a wise thing when he went to Gustave Dore
for an allegorical group ; for the success of " La Danse "
was beyond all dispute, and once more testified to the
richness of the artist's fancy.
" Ganymede " was exhibited before the Cercle de
1'Union Artistique in 1878, and achieved no less a
triumph than its predecessors. Was ever human creature
more audaciously or relentlessly clutched by a bird of
prey ! Again we see the form of a youth presenting a
rare combination of grace and strength, yet helpless in
the grip of the eagle's talons. Even a Ganymede could
not resist the touch of Destiny.
The next work of M. Dore was one which may be
ranked in the category of Decorative Art. It was a
monumental vase shown at the Paris Universal Exhibition
of 1878, where it was placed at the end of an open court
or garden, just in front of one of the doors of egress.
After looking at many of the marvels the world's fair
afforded, I remember coming by accident upon this vase,
which struck me spell-bound. Although tired beyond
expression I sate me down at a little distance to gaze upon
it at my ease, and was soon rapt in contemplation of so
curious and extraordinary a composition. The virides-
cent hue of the bronze gave a peculiar life to every
animal and floral form. Especially one serpent, gliding
amongst bowers and vineyards, brought to my mind
Florida's dismal Everglades, where blossoms perfume
only to poison ; where soft breezes fan the heated brow
only to coat it with the damps of death ; where tremulous
grasses and smiling ferns only wave with gentle motion
to lure the unwary into sloughs of fatal quicksand.
To look at M. Dore's vase is to revel in fancy and
recollection. It would be difficult to describe this unique
creation, or to say exactly what it means. It tells a
different story to every one; the story, mayhap, that
each spectator locks up within his own breast. The

MONUMENTAL VASE.
(Art Decoratif. G Dore. Paris, 1878.)

Page 438.

" THE POEM OF THE VINE" 439
vase is called "The Poem of the Vine," and is necessarily
allegorical. In shape it resembles an Italian flask ; in
size it is colossal ; the story of the vine is told by the
countless figures standing out life-like on its curved
sides. To the commonplace I would say, imagine a tale
of love, intoxication, enjoyment, life, and mystery.
Fawns, nymphs, cherubs, and roses mingle in one
luxuriant harmonious maze. Babies clasp the foot of
the pedestal ; cupids crown the neck of the flask ; heavy-
laden vines cling and droop with a wealth of fruit and a
world of imagery ; the sculptured creatures live, move,
and speak ; the flowers waft rich perfumes, the grapes a
faint aroma ; this world of human and humanized being
revels in one dizzy whirl of delight and maddening
ecstasy. What could have been the state of Dore's
brain whilst this mad carnival was going on within it ?
Like Endymion when he followed the nymph, a glimpse
of whom meant madness, whilst looking at this great
work we are overwhelmed with varied feelings of au
dacity and hesitation, courage and fear, delight and
despair. Gustave Dore put his highest aspirations and fondest
hopes into this work. He laboured night and day, day
and night, sure of his inspiration and happy in his fancy,
alternately excited and soothed by those fast-coming,
ever-flowing illusions which characterized his every new
ambition. He planned, sketched, modelled, even moulded
his work, and his time for some months was absolutely
given up to " The Vine," as well as the material results
of his other mental and manual labour, which were
lavishly devoted to the composition and execution of this
masterpiece. It is estimated that the vase cost Dore
over sixty thousand francs, or very nearly three thousand
pounds sterling. But he never thought of his hard-
earned money. He only said to himself, " I am creating
a work which should give all men pleasure ;" and from the
perfection of his labour and the conscientiousness with
which every leaf was modelled he felt that he must be
doing good work, and positively hoped to see his vase

44° - G USTA VE D ORE.
adorn some great public building, some well-known
palace, or some square in his beautiful Paris.
Need I say that he was disappointed ? When the
exhibition closed, not only did Dore neither receive any
medal or recompense from the Government, but amongst
the many foreigners upon whom medals were bestowed
for sculptures there was not one name, unless we except
the Italian sculptor Monti, whose works were not vastly
inferior to Dore's. Although decorative art is not neces
sarily expressed in sculpture, this vase must be ranked
in both categories. There was a great deal of comment
on this lack of appreciation evinced by the French for their
fellow-countryman, especially as "La Nuit," another of
Dore's superb creations, occupied a place in one of the
interior galleries of the Champ de Mars buildings. This
" Torchere," as it is called, reminds us of one of Marlow's
poems, describing Helen arrayed in starry robes and
bearing a circlet of light above her head. As we have
been assured, it was in fact that very poem which in
spired M. Dore; and certainly his inspiration was a most
happy one.
By an ingenious contrivance flames of bluish light,
emanating from concealed gas-jets, shed a glow of
mystery and weird beauty over this statue. " La Nuit"
stands on a crescent issuing seemingly from a group of
cupids. Her attitude is a peculiar one, the outstretched
arms firmly sustain the circlet, whilst the drooping coun
tenance is studded with tear-drops. Again, the vision of
sadness makes itself manifest ! M. Dore embodies past
hopes and future fears in all his creations ; but the former
idea usually predominates the latter.
This work was greatly admired, and some recompense
was expected for the artist. It is a curious fact that
nowadays most people are of opinion that Dore received
a great many medals, and was usually one of the most
distinguished contributors to the Paris Salon. As a
matter of fact, he never received one ; not even an
honourable mention. His Cross of the Legion of Honour
was conferred upon him after the "Inferno" appeared in
1861.

THE ROSETTE OF THE LEGION OF HONOUR. 441
After nearly twenty years of superhuman labour, during
which period his name had been constantly on the lips of
the inhabitants of two continents, Gustave Dore was not
considered a paragon by his own people. He had not
done enough to merit any public reward. Happily one
man was found susceptible of righteous indignation at
this lack of appreciation for one of the greatest art
phenomena France had ever produced. M. Bardoux was
then Minister of Fine Arts, and personally obtained the
rosette of Officer of the Legion of Honour for Gustave
Dore. After the exhibition Dore was very much cut up. To
be sure M. Bardoux had made strenuous efforts in his
behalf ; but the more trouble these efforts had cost the
Minister, the more galling were his honours to Gustave
Dore ; for they had not been the spontaneous outcome
of that public favour which he felt that he had justly
earned. A real artist always knows when he has done
well ; therefore Gustave Dore cannot justly be blamed
for taking this circumstance to heart. It was the man's
patriotism and noble, unflinching nature that prompted
him to incur any amount of toil, self-imposed or otherwise,
in the cause of art, and for the honour of France. He
would have laboured on just the same, as indeed he always
did, without a thought of recompense, till his last breath.
To gain public appreciation of talent is as much a pro
fession as the career which that talent suggests. Any
one who wishes to achieve a certain outward recognition
of his merit in the present day must keep that sole
ambition steadily in view. He must say to himself at every
hour of the day, at every wakeful moment of the night, at
every step he takes in his walks, and with every conscious
breath he breathes, " I have this or that object in view ;
every other earthly consideration must be subordinate to
it." Whatever be the career, the outward forms of grace
are the ones to immortalize. Cherish the public, adopt
popular tastes, run after ministers, dine and wine cabinets,
resurrect Ovid to write sonnets to society belles ; shame
Lucullus with marvellous midnight repasts ; be at the
beck and call of princes and parvenus; wind yourself-

442 GUSTAVE DORA.

around and about with the graces of the tangled skein of
fast-growing popularity ; be always conspicuous before
the world, a time-server, a sycophant, and a Pharisee, and
you will find that the world will take you along with its
current and land you — where it lands itself.
Gustave Dore still had old-fashioned ideas about merit,
and merit alone, making its way unaided in the world.
Genius has often been born in a garret, but let it taste
the world, taste early success, and let the distracting
element of social life come into its existence, and its
pristine strength is slowly but surely undermined. Like
the dormant lion who accidently tastes blood, or the tamed
boa-constrictor whose body comes carelessly in contact
with the earth, these creatures become unmanageable
even to the hardiest tamer ever afterwards. Dore knew
too much of society, and paid too little attention to it,
to succeed in obtaining its homage, or in deriving any
sustained gratification from its attentions.
About this time his own health was much impaired.
He suffered terribly from a morbid condition of the heart,
and from continual indigestion. As soon as he was pos
sessed by any new inspiration, he neither ate, drank, nor
slept until he had put it to a practical test, but spent
hour upon hour at a stretch in his studio, and never
took any exercise.
A great trial was in store for him. His beloved
mother's health began to fail ; she suffered from chronic
bronchitis, and in a short time became seriously ill. She
did not keep her bed much in the daytime, but sat up
in a great armchair and insisted that she was well. She
was above all fearful of worrying Gustave. Her family
and friends lavished the most constant attention upon her,
and Gustave was unwearying in his devotion.
He had his work-table brought into her bedroom, and
sat up with her night after night, drawing away at his
blocks by lamplight, every now and anon stepping softly
to her bedside to see if she wanted anything. It was by
this invalid's couch, whilst obeying the dictates of filial
love and duty, that Dore sounded his own death-knell.
Every social tie was severed, every recreation connected

MME. ALEXANDRINE BIDS A LONG FAREWELL. 443,
with the outer world was ignored by him ; in short, he
thought of nothing but his mother's illness. The best
of invalids are sometimes fretful, irritable, capricious,
and unreasoning ; Madame Alexandrine taxed her son's
indulgence but lightly in these respects ; still her every
caprice was humoured. He petted, caressed, and
amused her, and ministered to her slightest wish with all-
infinite tenderness. He divined her thoughts as it were
by intuition. Only near break of day, when she was
wont to fall into a troubled sleep, did the artist snatch a
moment of repose. In the morning, as soon as she
stirred, he was again at her bedside, and when compelled
to leave her by imperative business, he went off wearied
and fatigued to work at his huge canvases in the Rue
Bayard. This went on for nearly two years, and at last
the end came. Madame Alexandrine's eyes were closed
in that profound sleep which knows no mortal waking.
She left behind her a weeping and disconsolate family,
besides many sorrowing relatives and friends.
Of Dore's feelings, he may best speak himself. He
wrote the following letter to his friend, Canon Harford,
whom Madame Dore had always regarded with such
special favour : — " Paris, March 16, 1881 ; 6 o'clock a.m.
" Dear Friend, — She is no more. I am alone. She
is dead ; my mother, so tender, so deeply venerated ;
dead, after a long and cruel agony ; and this morning, a
few hours hence, I shall carry her to her last resting-
place. I am without force, my friend, and do not know
how to submit myself to that hard law which spares none
of us. It seems that a black, unbridgeable gulf yawns
before me. You are a priest, my dear friend ; I conjure
you, then, send up all your prayers to heaven for the
repose of her dear and sainted soul, and for the sustain-
ment of my own reason ; for I am singularly overpowered
by despair, discouragement, and fear of the future.
" I embrace you tenderly. " Yours,
" G, Dore."

444 ¦ GUSTAVE DORE.

In this letter Dore writes to his friend, Canon Harford,
giving some slight details of his life and general feelings.
Dore wrote : — "April 26, 1 88 1.
" My dear Harford, — I have still been, during three
weeks, cruelly absorbed by the sad but imperious occu
pations, and carrying out the last wishes of my poor
mother, and the division1 of property with my brothers;
in short, a thousand other forced obligations ; so that
your last letter, and the questions you put to me, unfor
tunately slipped from my memory.
* * « * *
" I am always, dear friend, in the shadow of an awful
solitude, which I live in since so long a time. It was a
terrible trial, and I ought to have prepared myself each
day for it ; but how could I ever imagine the horror of
such a void ? In spite of all one hears about the salu-
briousness and all-powerful influence of work, I find none
of it very true. Work does not console me ; nothing con
soles me ; for I am alone, alone, alone, without family,
and almost without friends. Existence has no longer any
charm for me, for I have had the improvidence not to
know how to build up a home for myself, and some one
to lean upon. Without that, life is but a cursed and
absurd thing.
" I embrace you tenderly. "G. Dore."
As Dore announced in a letter which we give later, he
had been chosen to immortalize in marble the memory of
the great Dumas. An incident connected with this fact
may not be unworthy of notice. A committee of gentle
men came to Dore and spoke of their intention to erect a
statue to the celebrated writer. Knowing how busy
Dore was, they scarcely ventured to suggest to him the
desirability of his sending in a design for the proposed
statue. To their surprise, however, the sketch they secretly
desired reached them the next day, and was unani
mously adopted. The original intention of the Committee

'>>*&y-

ALEXANDRE DUMAS.

(G. Dore fecit, 1882. Erected November 4th, 1884, in Avenue de Villiers.)
Page 445.

LET ME DQ IT FOR LO VE. -445
had been to give the work to Dubois, but he was engaged
at Chantilly ; and Dore, after listening to many pros and
cons, said, " Gentlemen, you have honoured me by con
sulting me and by adopting my idea for the Dumas statue ;
but one thing remains. Let me also be the sculptor, and
present to you gratuitously this memorial of a dear friend
who lightened some of the sadder hours of my youth by
his rare and treasured works. It is little enough towards
repaying some of the enjoyment I owe to him."
Dore's offer was accepted with real thankfulness ; such
a gift was, morally and materially speaking, no small
matter. So Dore buried his sadness in his new work, and
a few weeks later a fine cast of the monument stood in his
studio ; the central figure being Dumas, laurel-crowned,
sitting in his toga or Roman-like working-dress, pen in
hand. The pedestal was to be embellished by figures of
personages who play leading parts in the author's works.
The idea was a grand one, and Dore worked with his
usual superhuman energy to carry it out. All his old
illusions were renewed in this enterprise, and the one
dream of his life was now to see his new work set up in a
public square of Paris, where thousands must daily pass
by it, where rich and poor alike might gaze upon the
face of their venerated Dumas, wrought by the chisel of
Gustave Dore. He was proud and happy to consecrate
his time and labour to this mission, and although hand
some remuneration was constantly pressed upon him, he
as persistently refused all payment for his work.
" Let me do it for love," he would always answer.
" Do not speak of money; my payment is in the work
itself. This is my contribution to the memory of Alexandre
Dumas, my dead friend."
The monument itself in many respects deserves the
highest praise. The ease of Dumas' attitude is truly ar
tistic, and the small statue of D'Artagnan, the adventurer,
is a masterpiece of beauty, grace, and power. Dore has
delineated every detail with rare skill and vivacity. There
is plenty of scope for criticism in the execution of the
face of Dumas as well as in its expression, which betrays

446 GUSTAVE DOR A.

weakness rather than strength of intellect, but the groups
and figure of D'Artagnan might shame a Canova. Dore
bestowed a world of time and labour upon this monument,
although the execution is not in every respect felicitous.
The dream of his life, as I said before, was to see it
placed in some public square of Paris, but his hopes were
never realized ; for a greater Power than his country's
public opinion set the death seal upon his brow ere his
last sculptural achievement was set up in the position it
occupies at the present day.

D'ARTAGNAN.
(Principal figure, statue of Alexandre Dumas. G. Dore, 18S2.) Page 446

DORA'S HEALTH BEGINS TO FAIL.

447

CHAPTER XXXVIII.
last days of '8i and '82.
Dore was failing in spirits and in health. The thousand
and one cares, the constant work and constant disillusion
he met with began to tell on his iron frame. His one
hope now was to see his statue placed in some public
square in Paris, and to this end he had spared no mental
nor physical labour. The following letters written to the
Rev. Frederick Harford in '81 show how much his life
had been a blank since his mother's death. I extract
this much : — " Sunday, June 26, 1881.
"Very dear Friend, — The reasons which have
retarded my writing you were in reality those which you
might have supposed. I thank you for your affectionate
solicitude. I am not ill altogether, but I suffer from such a
curvature of my mind, and mental prostration on account
of all the vicissitudes which I have to suffer, without
counting the rude and material difficulties forced upon
me in my new condition of solitude and my other
difficult tasks, that I daily lack the energy that is neces
sary even to write a letter ; I am alone, without assistance,
without company, and with heavy cares of which you
cannot even have the slightest imagination !

•448 GUSTAVE DORA.

" Like all those in whom the splenetic sentiment is
uppermost, I have a sensation of languor in the very pit
of my stomach which breaks down my will, and which
disgusts me of all effort. Even the day before yesterday,
at the very moment of starting, and for the very excel
lent reason of assisting, at the Lord Mayor's dinner of
yesterday, the 25th, I felt myself overcome by such an
unsurmountable apathy that I was obliged to write an
excuse for myself at the last moment. It is absolutely
necessary, however, that I should be in London a little
time this summer, it is positively obligatory that I should
throw a little look around upon my affairs ; which at the
same time are becoming quite mediocre, and I attribute
the cause to the unconscious negligence of which I have
so often spoken to you. Alas ! I confess to you that
after twelve years of this career across the Channel
which presented itself under such beautiful auspices, I
must say I am greatly disappointed, and I have half an
idea to turn my efforts in another direction.
" I shall write to you at the end of the week tospeak to
you of my arrival. " Yours with all my heart,"G. Dore."
From the second letter I extract the following : —
Letter to Canon Harford. "July 12, 1881.
"Dear Friend, — Your letters and affectionate
pleadings, for which I am very grateful, render me
really unhappy, for I continue to be quite unable to
quit Paris. I am not positively ill, but I am so indisposed
that I am sure any moving about would certainly fasten
some malady upon me. I have had so many vicissitudes
and disappointments in these last months that my head
is dazed. Ah, how much I wish I might be near you, to
pour out some of my troubles into your friendly heart !
However, I have a little hope.
******
" Thanks, dear friend, for your good and brotherly

"/ HA VE SET MYSELF ONCE MORE TO WORK." 449
solicitude, but be assured that I am a man indeed most
unhappy and heart-stricken. " Always yours, "G. Dore."
The same year Dore wrote again to his reverend friend,
and this letter seems to depict, more than any other, the
real state of Dore's feelings ; it also gives some details of
the way in which he had passed his summer ; and is
another proof of his fidelity to and unfailing remembrance
of his comrades. He wrote : — "Paris, Dec. 30, 188 1.
" Dear Friend, — I know that you cannot receive
letters on Sunday in London, so I take the night before
to address to you all my affectionate good wishes for the
New Year. It is, indeed, a century since I last saw you.
I felt I could not bring myself to parade my recent
mourning in the midst of receptions, galas, and dinner
parties without number, and amongst the turbulence of
great cities. I preferred the calm of the Alps, where I
have passed more than three months, successively in the
Cantons of the Engadine, St. Moritz, and Pontresina.
I stayed there until the first flakes of snow chased me
away ; and I had wished that winter would never come,
so that I might be able to rest in that disposition of calm
and peacefulness which this majestic nature always in
spires in me.
" I have now and then had news of you from your
friends visiting Paris ; but I would have liked- better to
have seen you in person. Have you, then, sworn never
again to cross the Channel ?
" I have set myself once more to work — that is still the
sovereign remedy for heart-aches and the dangers of
melancholy which surround me ; for I am indeed alone.
Alas ! I pass entire days without any exchange of friendly
words, and look forward to Sunday, the first of the year,
when I shall perhaps be the only soul in Paris who shall
dine alone. Every one I know has his family ; and I
leave each one to the tendernesses of these festivities.
G g

45° GUSTAVE DORA.

" I have been wrong to let myself glide on to my present
age without having established a home and hearth for
myself ; and now, more than ever, do I repent this short
coming. Tell me, dear friend, what has become of you,
what you do with yourself, and how your health is. I
know that you are lazy in the matter of correspondence ;
but as to that you are not more 50 than myself.
" I embrace you with all my heart,
"G. Dore."
The following P.S. needs little explanation as the
Rev. Mr. Harford's love' for sculpture is well known : —
" How goes on your sculpturing ? Are your angels in
their places ? Apropos of sculpture, I have had one
recent success. I carried off the jury's verdict for the
order to make a grand monument of stone and bronze,
which is to be placed in the heart of Paris, and which
has for its object honour to the memory of Alexandre
Dumas." An extract of letter written to the same in London.
Speaking of his work, Dore said : — " February 6, 1882.
"I am working at some important things, and I
cherish the hope to see you come in to have a look at
them before spring is over. I think you will find I am
improving in my art. Without a doubt you already know
that I am going to make a grand monument which shall
be publicly placed in Paris. 'Tis the statue of Alexandre
Dumas, with figures, accessories, groups, and so forth.
A grand affair for my reputation. My plan took precedence
of all others by the complete unanimity of the Jury of
Commission. " Yours with all my heart,
"G. Dore."
Some idea may be had of Dore's real and profound
dejectment, both spiritual and moral, on perusing the
following extracts from a letter, the last he ever wrote

"THE VALE OF TEARS." 451
to his friend Canon Harford. After many affectionate
good wishes for the coming new year, 1883, he spoke
thus regarding himself : — " Paris, December 27, 1882.
" As for me, I say farewell without pain to a fatal year
where I have known but grief and chagrin. Since the
death of my mother there is always the same heavy cloud
which lowers over my existence, and in spite of much
courage I often faint by the way-side. I am finishing at
this very moment my picture, ' The Vale of Tears '
('Come unto Me'), which cannot fail to arrive soon in
London. I have been interrupted by my work on the
monument of Alexandre Dumas, which little by little has
become something considerable. Without a doubt it
will be erected in its proper place in the spring of next
year. It is absolutely the greatest effort which I shall
have accomplished in my lifetime."
I may state here, although it is generally unknown, that
Dore,being deeply enamoured of a young lady in Paris, had,
through the negotiations of friends, recently entered with
her into a matrimonial contract. The match would have
been in every way a suitable one, and Dore's complaints
that he had neither real home nor hearth were made
when the prospect of a happier domestic future seemed
futile and unrealizable. However, the settled gloom
which of late was rooted in his nature, could not im
mediately be eradicated, and although betrothed, at
his time of life material discomforts and serious phy
sical ailment would have intruded their shadows across
the sunniest pathway of any man. Yet this time the
projected marriage was broken off through no mortal
agent. How true is the old saw, " There is many a slip
'twixt the cup and the lip " !
After the death of Madame Dore there had been no
more receptions to speak of; and the Sunday dinners,
which once reunited the greatest celebrities of Europe,
had dwindled to small family parties, at which only
G g 2

452 GUSTAVE DORE.

Dore's oldest friends still found their accustomed places
awaiting them at his table.
The dinner of the 31st of December, 1882, was no
exception to this rule ; only, as it was given on the last
day of the year, the party was likewise a " watch-meeting,"
and stayed to welcome in the ist of January, 1883.
The dinner was mortally dull, and, long before dessert,
seemed as though it would never come to an end.
Gustave sat silent and absorbed, so different from his usual
gay rollicking self that, struggle against it as they could, a
most painful impression was experienced by all present.
He drank his champagne mutely ; every time any of
his guests spoke a word to him, he started as though
aroused from a profound reverie, and in his absence of
mind answered with a lack of aptness which was as un
usual as incomprehensible. When they all rose from
table and went into the studio for coffee and cigars,
Gustave as usual went up to his little table in the corner,
and carelessly took up a pencil ; but he did not sketch
anything. On second thought he laid it down and left
the room. He was so constantly in the habit of doing
this that the majority of his friends present paid no atten
tion to him ; but M. Kratz, after an instant's reflection,
arose and followed him.
He found him in his late mother's room, standing near
her picture. M. Kratz went up to him, and laid his
hand tenderly on his shoulder.
"Gustave, old boy," he said, "what is the matter?
Are not you well ? "
"Yes — no. Do not trouble yourself, Arthur," he
answered not unkindly. " I do not know what is the
matter ; only I was thinking how different it all is now.
This is the last day of the year, and — and I think one is
always more or less preoccupied on such anniversaries.
Shall we go back to the studio ? "
M. Kratz saw that he was still not quite himself and little
inclined to keep his guests company.
" No — no, my friend. Don't hurry yourself. I will go
back now, and you return when you please."

IT IS LIKE A FUNERAL PARTY." 453

With these words, M. Kratz left him and returned to
the studio. As soon as he entered the room he was
interrogated on all sides, —
" What is the matter with Gustave? Is he ill ? Has
anything happened ? Mon Dieu ! c'est done un enterre-
ment ce soir ? "
M. Kratz replied that Gustave was all right ; a little
sad, perhaps, but would be with them shortly, and so on.
Dore came back almost whilst his friend was speak
ing about him, and some one laughingly questioned him
as to what had come over him.
" It is like a funeral party," he said. " What a way to
pass the last night of the year ! Cannot we have some
music ? "
Dore assented readily to this proposal, and M. Kratz
went to the piano. Gustave took up his violin ; but, after
playing a few bars, put it down again.
" I am not in the humour," he said. And no one
urged him further. But M. Kratz still kept his place,
running his fingers idly over the keys, as a man would do
who was not exactly playing a set piece, and yet wished
to fill up a gap in a dull conversation.
How the evening passed may readily be imagined.
Gustave's low spirits seemed to weigh doubly on his
friends. The contrast between that soiree and others
previously passed under his roof was too great not to be
painfully felt. Every one thought of Madame Dore, the
goodnatured lady who had been so recently amongst
them. Her vacant chair seemed cause enough for her
son's sadness. The hours dragged tediously along until
the midnight bells rang out on the stillness of the night
air. The guests arose one after another, embraced Gustave,
and wished him a happy new year, last of all M. Kratz.
As soon as these greetings were over, the guests hurried
away, all excepting M. Kratz.
"What?" said Gustave half bitterly. "You are not
anxious to leave me ? This has been a dull evening ; I
felt very sad ; and yet you still stay on ?"

454 GUSTAVE DORE.
" You know that I will not leave you," said M. Kratz
tenderly. "I am glad, on the contrary, to be alone with
you. But what on earth is the matter ? Are you ill ?"
Then Dore began to unburden his heart. " This has
been a miserable year," he said. " My affairs do not
please me." He continued pouring out a string of
confidences, all more or less lugubrious. M. Kratz was
perhaps the only man in the world to whom the disap
pointed artist could freely disclose his innermost thoughts.
He talked and talked away, always in the same strain of
sadness, until one would have thought him the most
unfortunate wretch in the world.
M. Kratz finally said, " For the love of God, Gustave,
do not look upon life as such a failure ; you, of all men,
who have great honours yet in store for you ! Things
will look brighter soon. For my sake, for your own, for
that of all your friends, do not give way to these fits of
despondency. They are already telling upon you to
such an extent that you are greatly changed ; believe me,
you are. Shall we go out and walk ? It is a fine night.
Let us go to the Boulevards and see a little life and
movement ; it will do you good. Or let us drop into
some cafe, if you prefer that."
" Well, I will."
With that he lit a cigar and started to get an overcoat.
He took it up and then put it down directly.
" It is all of no use," he said. " I hate the world. I
do not want to see any one. Let us stay here and talk."
M. Kratz yielded, and Dore recommenced the tale of
his grievances. He spoke of his pictures, so many of
them unsold, and of the great vase upon which he had
built such a hopeful future. As he talked, he grew more
and more unhappy, until tears finally started from his
eyes, and he turned half apologetically to his friend.
"What can you expect?" he said, half covering his
eyes with his hands ; " c'est plus fort que moi. Another
year gone, and the same old disappointments over again,
besides other new ones." He then began speaking on
several subjects of too private a nature to find any place

" I AM HALF DEAD WLTH FATIGUE:' 455
in this recital, but which to one of his sensitive nature
were enough, each one in itself, to cause profound un-
happiness. M. Kratz let him talk on uninterruptedly,
knowing that attentive silence was the best consolation
he could offer.
After a few moments had passed thus, Gustave sud
denly stopped.
" Come," said M. Kratz ; "it will do you good to take
a walk. You must not brood over these matters. I feel
that everything will come round to your satisfaction.
Let us go out and get a breath of fresh air. Accompany
me to my house, if you will not go to the Boulevards.
Allons!" Gustave arose. " My friend," said he, " I will tell you
the truth. I am half dead with fatigue ; I cannot keep
my eyes open ; je tombe de sommeil. I did not sleep
well last night. I think I will retire at once."
M. Kratz was so stupefied by this excuse that he had
nothing more to say ; in truth, Gustave did look tired,
and his eyes were glazed with weariness. He yawned
once or twice, and passed his hand over his face with a
movement, however, which was more indicative of pre
occupation than of fatigue. He looked bored, but per
fectly wide awake. His friend was puzzled ; but knowing
that of all living human beings Gustave Dore was the
most erratic and incomprehensible, he decided upon
leaving him. Their parting was an affectionate one.
They embraced each other in foreign fashion, and M.
Kratz went away with these words, —
" Good night, old boy. Sleep well, and may God
bless you in a happier new year ! "
The following Sunday was as gay as this one had been
sad. Gustave gave a dinner, the guest of the evening
being M. Vallerand de la Fosse ; indeed, the feast was
organized in honour of his having been recently deco
rated. It was like one of those old jollifications when
wit flowed as freely as champagne, when the old studio
echoed and re-echoed to the sounds of music, laughter,
and happy voices; one of those pleasant soirees that

456 GUSTAVE DOR A.

Dore's friends remembered with such delight and pride.
Gustave, who was in his wildest spirits and richest vein
of humour, absolutely outdid himself in gaiety and grace.
His guests said again and again, "There is only one
Dore in the world. Who else ever embodied such talents
and was gifted with so irresistible a personal charm ? "
And when the early hours of morning came, they were
still loth to depart. M. Vallerand, on his way home,
decided upon returning Dore's dinner within a fortnight,
and, out of compliment to him, to invite only those who
had been present on this occasion. He remarked that
he should remember it as one of the pleasantest days of
his life. " I knew that Dore was a charming man," he
said, " but never realized before what a veritable en
chanter he could be. It is really too much that one
person should unite all the agreeable qualities of mind,
manner, and person. Gustave Dore is the most brilliant
and most sympathetic great man I have ever known."
Now I must speak of another occasion when Dore's
friends gathered once more round his hospitable board.
It was Sunday night, January the 14th, and the circle
was unusually small. Dore was neither so brilliant as
he had been the Sunday before, nor so sad as on the
occasion of December the 31st, when he saw the
new year in with such strange feelings of apathy and de
spair. This time Dore seemed almost his old self. There
were present, amongst others, M. Jundt, the celebrated
painter, M. A. Kratz, M. Paul Joanne, and Dr. Robin.
Dore had been prompted by some strange caprice to
decorate the dinner-table with white lilacs and white
roses. These he had placed under an enormous globe,
with a " Guide to the Pyrenees ;" and the effect was both
unnatural and depressing.
" It is not gay," said M. Jundt. " It looks exactly
like a tomb."
Dore brightened up during dinner. Each time he
raised his glass to drink he began to parody the dis
courses pronounced on the occasion of Leon Gambetta's
funeral. He would begin, "Upon this tomb, still open,

A QUARTER OF AN HOUR'S GRACE. 457
an expectant world hangs desolate," and so on. Then he
would break off into some jest, having the grave for
its subject, and end by alluding to the flowers already
covering the tombs of distinguished dead men.
" Strange to say," observed M. Joanne, " none of these
pleasantries could dissipate the depressing effect of those
pure white flowers. It was impossible not to say, with
Jundt, ' Cela a tout-a-fait l'air d'un tombeau.' "
The Saturday evening following was fixed for M.
Vallerand's dinner and reception. All the other guests
assembled, but there was no Dore. M. Kratz came in
last, and looked about him. "What!" he exclaimed,
"Gustave not here yet?"
" We will give him a quarter of an hour's grace," said
the host, smiling ; and the conversation continued in that
disjointed fashion which is common to all dinner-parties
when the host is ready, the guests are waiting, and the
one who should have been there first of all is the only
one who has not yet put in an appearance.
The quarter of an hour passed — twenty minutes, half
an hour — still no Dore.
" I cannot think what keeps him," observed M. Valle
rand. " Can anything have happened ? It is so strange
that he of all others should not be here. Has any one
seen him to-day ?"
No one had seen him.
"I dined with him last night," said M. Kratz; "he
was then perfectly well, and said ' a demain ' when I left
him ; so of course I expected to find him here. The
dinner was got up expressly for him, as he knew ; and of
course he will be here directly."
Another quarter of an hour passed, and still he did not
come. M. Vallerand began to look annoyed and uneasy.
" It is too bad of him !" said some one. Speculation
was rife as to what could have occurred.
The feelings of the master of the house may better be
imagined than described. To make matters worse, many
of the gentlemen present were strangers to him, specially
invited out of compliment to Gustave Dore. He was

458 GUSTAVE DORE.

deeply mortified, and when an hour had passed in fruit
less expectation, he grew really alarmed. M. Kratz
proposed that they should dine. He was secretly wor
ried, but out of deference to M. Vallerand, endeavoured
to help him out of his difficulty.
" The dinner is ready," he said, and we have all waited
long enough. I say let us wait no longer. Dore has
been detained, perhaps by a street accident ; but he will
surely turn up presently."
M. Vallerand then insisted that his guests should seat
themselves without further delay. They had barely
finished their soup when a sharp pull at the bell was
heard. "At last ! " ejaculated the host, and a smile of relief
spread over his features. " We will scold him well, and
then forgive him for keeping us waiting so long, now
that he is here at last."
But it was not Dore. A messenger had brought a
note for M. Vallerand, on opening which he seemed
scarcely to understand what it meant. He then read it
aloud without comment. It ran as follows : —
" M. Dore presents his compliments to M. Vallerand,
and begs he will excuse his not being able to dine with
him. He is very much indisposed, and not able to go out.
" (Signed) Martin, valet to M. Dore."
The suspense was over. He would not come. But
what was to be made of such an excuse, and why had it
been sent at such an hour ? Every one was fairly
puzzled, and for a moment it was thought that perhaps
Dore had been playing one of his practical jokes. No
one could apprehend anything serious from such a luke
warm letter ; and M. Vallerand began to feel extremely
ill at ease. Presently, he could stand it no longer, and
burst out, —
" Have I offended him in anyway? I' cannot imagine
that I have ; but his is such a sensitive nature, that per
haps without my knowing it something has occurred to
change his feelings towards me."

"COME AT ONCE. GUSTAVE IS ILL:' 459
A strenuous denial was his answer. M. Kratz re
peated that he had seen Dore the night before, when
he was full of the notion of the dinner and of the plea
sure it promised to afford him.
Nothing more was said about Dore, and the dinner
dragged on to its end as best it could.
Most of the company retired early ; and as to M. Kratz,
he was extremely anxious about Gustave ; but, having
brooded over his strange conduct throughout the evening,
began to lose his temper as well, and, instead of going
to see Dore, as he always did late or early in the day, he
went straight home.
As soon as he reached his door, his housekeeper,
Madame Pillaud, stopped him on the threshold, saying, —
" M. Kratz, here is a despatch for you ; and a mes
senger came beside just after you had gone out to dine."
He tore open the envelope of the telegram, and his
heart stopped beating as he read, —
" Come at once. Gustave is ill. Apoplectic fit. Very
serious. " (Signed) Dr. Robin."

460

GUSTAVE DORE.

CHAPTER XXXIX.

death of dore.
On Saturday morning, January 20th, Dore arose as
usual, at seven o'clock. It was cold, bleak, and scarcely
daylight. He went into the dining-room, and sat down
near the window. Francoise utilized the privilege of long
friendship to scold him, exclaiming, —
" Here you are, M. Gustave, as usual, prowling about
before daybreak ! You take no rest. It is inconceivable
how you can work until two or three o'clock every
morning with those blessed blocks, and never compensate
yourself by sleeping a little later the next day. Yesterday
you looked tired to death, and mortally pale. Now, to
please me, go back to bed. Do. I will bring you your
breakfast there."
"Nonsense, Francoise," he replied. "I am all right,
only my head feels a little heavy. I must have taken
cold last night. Back to bed, indeed ! I should think
not. I shall be all right after I have had my coffee."
Francoise did not quite like his looks. He was fear
fully pale ; his eyes were bright and restless, with deep
black dents under them sinking into his cheeks, and con
trasting strangely with their deathlike pallor. But she
might as well have talked to the wind ; he laughed at her,
and went on jesting about her proposal that he should go
back to bed.

" AM I IN M Y DOTAGE ? "

461

" Voyons, Francoise!" he said. "Do I look like a
man who needs to cosset himself ? Am I in my dotage ?
Did you ever know me to go back to my bed when once
I had got up for the day ? Francoise, you are old and

¦ ONE OF TWO SKETCHES MADE BY DORE ON FRIDAY AFTERNOON, JAN. I<JTH, 1883,
THE LAST HE EVER EXECUTED. SUBJECT AT PRESENT UNKNOWN.
(Unpublished.)
crotchety ; but I am young, and cannot permit myself the
indulgence you so eagerly recommend. No ; I have a
great deal to do to-day, and must begin at once."

462 GUSTAVE DOR A.

He drew his chair nearer to the window, and sat for
some little time without saying a word, seemingly thinking
deeply, and about something important, for he passed his
hand several times over his forehead, and finally leant
his cheek on his hand with a grave and preoccupied
expression. Old Francoise bustled about and soon brought him his
cafe-au-lait. Seeing that he made no effort to move, she
drew a little table forward and placed his breakfast beside
him. He took his coffee without a word, ate part of a
roll, and, when he had finished, rested his elbows on the
table and supported his head with his hands for several
moments. It kept drooping lower, until his arms were
crossed on the table and his hair fell over his coat sleeve.
Francoise was about to rouse him, when he suddenly
threw back his head with the old impetuous movement,
yawned, and stared blankly out before him.
" Ah ! enough of this," he said. " Let us be off to
work ;" and he arose briskly. Francoise seized his hand ;
a feeling of inexplicable dread came over her.
" My poor Gustave ! " she exclaimed, " what has hap
pened ? Are you ill ? Your hand is like ice, and your
face looks like that of a corpse. Do go back to bed."
" Nothing is the matter," he said feebly. " I only
feel very cold ; that is all. I shall be myself again as
soon as I get to work." With those words he arose and
shook himself with evident effort, as if to dispel a certain
lethargy. Then he went to his studio, muttering, —
" It is strange. I never was so cold before in all my
life. Allons ! a little movement will wake me up. I shall
soon be all right again."
Francoise knew him too well to insist upon anything
further. He always had his own way, and she set about
putting the house to rights, well aware that he would be
offended if she paid any more attention to him. Besides,
he hated being thought ill, and above all being told that
he looked out of sorts.
He had been in his studio about an hour or more, when
he came carelessly through the passage and went straight

" WHEN SHE HEARD A HEA VY FALL. 463
to his bedroom. Francoise was at work in the salon and
saw him as he passed. He had no sooner closed his
door and got out of sight — certainly not two minutes had
elapsed — -when she heard a heavy fall and a crash. She
ran to the bedroom, flung open the door and saw Gustave,
who had fallen on his face, stretched out insensible on
the floor. The wash-basin and pitcher were broken in
pieces, and he was lying in a pool of water. Francoise
screamed with all her might, and tried to raise him ; she
dragged him, still unconscious, a little way, and then had
to leave him in order to call for help. She threw up the
sash of the window which looked over the front court,
and brought Martin from his room with her cries.
" Come quick," she screamed, " my child is dead !
Gustave is dead ! " Martin was in the bedroom before she
had time even to close the window. Although Dore was
so strongly built, Martin took him in his arms and put
him on the bed. He remained unconscious for some
time, but they finally brought him to. He opened his
eyes and looked at them with a mute, agonized gaze ; but
his lips were dumb. He shivered constantly, and they
began rubbing him to try and promote circulation ; they
put hot flannels on his body and hot water to his feet.
Brandy and camphor, everything in the way of spirits
they could lay their hands on, was poured upon his .body,
and both Francoise and Martin rubbed him till his skin
became blistered. Still he did not speak; so Martin started
for the doctor. While he was away, and old Francoise
was still trying to restore circulation, Dore seemed to
grow colder instead of warmer. She was in despair, but
kept on at her painful task. Finally she saw he was
coming to, for his features worked with agony. Her
heart leapt into her mouth when he muttered his first
word. Before Martin got back he could speak coherently,
and told Francoise how it all happened.
" I stayed for some time in the studio, but could not
work ; my head felt too bad ; so I thought I would go
and dip it into some cold water, and had just plunged
my face into the basin when I lost consciousness and

464 GUSTAVE DORE.

knew no more. En effet," and he glanced at the floor,
" I should think I did lose consciousness ! and the wash
basin is broken, too, that is a pity ! " He ceased speak
ing, leant back on his pillow, and for a moment seemed
very much better. Francoise got over her fright as soon
as she heard him speak, and thought she would scold him
for his imprudence.
" Did I not tell you to go back to bed ? You see that
you have to finish by obeying me. You are still a great
baby. You looked ill, and I knew you felt so. Why did
you wish to frighten me ? I always knew what was best
for you. I said, go to bed ; you would not, and now you
see what has happened. Je te l'avais dit ! "
Francoise was a faithful friend, but only a woman after
all. How could she resist the temptation of saying, "I
told you so " ? She went on alternately petting and scold
ing him ; but after the first few words he spoke but little,
and seemed to be getting worse.
His eyes never left her face, and at last he laid his
head on her old withered bosom, just where he had
placed it so many times when a child. He put his hand
on his chest and kept murmuring, " I feel so ill here,
Francoise ; it hurts me here ; try to do something for
me." Like a sick baby he turned to her for comfort, just as
he always had done since that Twelfth Night when snow
hung heavy on the Schwarzwald. He seemed to think that
telling her about his ills was a guarantee that she could
cure them. All his life long he had gone to her with his
little ailments, and after his mother's death Francoise
was the strongest link that bound him to the happy past.
For once in a way he did not complain because she and
Martin had treated his illness seriously. He kept on
saying —
" I haVe only taken a severe cold; but it is just as
well to have sent for the doctor. Robin is a friend, and
will really tell me what ails me. Of course it is not
serious ; but I am glad he is coming."
The morning was not far gone when a doctor came

/ WANT KRATZ— HIM YOU MAY TELL. 465

back with Martin ; but it was not Robin. Dore's con
dition had grown worse instead of better, and he could
not speak. Dr. Blavet was horror-stricken, for he at once
saw that Dore had had an apoplectic stroke, brought on
by a cold and severe indigestion. He worked over him
nearly the whole day until Dr. Robin arrived, and at
one time they thought that he would not last till sundown.
However, he rallied and brightened up considerably. He
did not want any one to know that he was ill, and
absolutely refused to send for any member of his family.
" I want Kratz," he said. " Him you may tell ; but
no one else." He remembered his engagement to dinner
with M. Vallerand de la Fosse when it was already late ;
but with all the cunning of a sick man, and the extreme
delicacy of a well-bred one, he determined to say nothing
which could lead his friends to suppose that he was
seriously ill, fearing to break up the party. Rather than
spoil the evening for M. Vallerand and his friends, he
preferred to pass for a capricious fellow once more. It
was the only thing under the circumstances to be done.
To the last he was a strange but thorough gentleman.
During that long Saturday afternoon Gustave Dore
believed that his time had come. Who can tell all the
bitterness and sadness of his thoughts ? Thus suddenly
to quit a world that had grown so hateful to him ; and
yet to leave undone his great work of Shakespeare — to
think that another would take up the task which for
years had been the dream of his life — to die without
having seen his statue to Alexandre Dumas placed in
one of the city squares ! This, his last ambition, again
to be rendered uncertain of fulfilment ! What would
become of it when he should be no more ? To be sure,
it had gained the competition prize, and had been ac
cepted ; it was completed, if not perfected. He had given
his heart's blood to this tribute to an old friend, but he
had often seen the sun rise and set on so many hopes !
Good-bye would have to be said to his brothers and
to his friends. Ah ! that would be hard ; and as he
thought of it bitter tears coursed down his pallid cheeks.
H h

466 GUSTAVE DORA.

His friends — those other companions, children of his
heart and fancy, silently awaiting his coming, even now,
in the studio ; and those new ones, D'Artagnan, Dantes,
and the fair Mercedes sitting in sunlit bowers, midst
acacias and waving palms. Ah, yes, the palms ; the
palms for the base of his statue ! The men had not
yet brought the cast from the first moulding ; one of the
many things left undone. Oh, only to be able to arise
from this hideous bed which was keeping him there help
less, in the very moment of all others when he had so
much to do. " I have not time to be ill," he murmured to
himself, " I have not time! " Then the million fears,
fancies, and ambitions which teemed in his over-wrought
brain struggled like so many demons to overcome the
last remnant of his fading strength. He tried in vain to
rise, to make the least movement, to utter even a loud
cry ; but, alas ! the once mighty will was subjugated to
the sterner and more unbending one of Fate.
Indeed, he had much to think of in those hours which
dragged so slowly on, with no one but old Francoise
softly moving about, or Martin coming backwards and
forwards to see if M. Dore wanted anything.
It had just gone midnight when M. Kratz arrived, and
to his joy found Dore much easier than he had expected.
He passed part of the night there, and a young medical
student from one of the hospitals kept watch until Dr.
Robin came on Sunday morning. The doctor found
his friend better, and told him that he had nothing more
to fear. However, he said to M. Kratz, " I am going to
telegraph to his brother, Colonel Emile, in order to
bring him here on some pretext. I shall feel easier when
he knows that Gustave is ill ; but I shall not tell him
that the illness has been so serious."
So Colonel Emile Dore was telegraphed to, and
answered that " by chance " he would be in Paris to dine
on Sunday evening.
This was famous good news. The doctor went away,
leaving Dore so much better that even M. Kratz had
overcome his feelings of alarm.

DORE PASSES A FAIR NIGHT.

467

Dore passed a fair night and fell into a deep sleep at
daybreak. By the time he awoke, at 10 a.m. on Sunday,
M. Kratz was already at his bedside. The first thing he
spoke about on opening his eyes was not his health, but
his work. He inquired if the casters had brought the

wv«iv tLm^i J*c& fr**- &<*£«. «mj

A^. '\H^J^xi^ I

sfpfnft.JCUJy/
palms for the base of the Dumas statue, and an answer
in the negative annoyed him sorely.
That was so like him, to think of his work before his
own well-being !
Sunday being the day on which Dore was usually to
H h 2

46S GUSTAVE DORE.
be found at home, several friends dropped in after break
fast ; amongst others MM. Leieux and Pisan: they were
painfully shocked to find him confined to his bed. He
would not allow them to tell any one that he had been
ill, and seemed delighted that no one, so far, had heard
of his apoplectic attack.
When his visitors had gone he talked a great deal and
very freelv with his dear friend Kratz — " ce cher Arthur,"
as he called him — and even confided to him how he had
felt on the Saturday, when he had thought he was going
to die. M. Kratz cheered him up, and begged him to
banish from his mind such lugubrious ideas. M. Kratz
then told him about the dinner-party, how it had passed
off. Afterwards thev conversed upon family affairs, for
at that time, it will be remembered, Dore had a great
many griefs, which weighed heavilv on his mind.
M. Kratz, again, was a comforter and consoler, and
begged him not to fret over these troubles.
" Things will come round all right, Gustave," he said.
" Your only object now is to get well. Your health is the
first question ; we shall have plenty of time to discuss
other matters when you are better."
He said au revoir affectionately, and went home.
A little before 5 p.m., Colonel Emile Dore arrived,
and could scarcely realize how ill Gustave had been, for
he found him bright and unusually cheerful. The colonel
dined alone, and during the evening Dore was so well
that the precaution of employing a nurse or extra night
attendant seemed almost unnecessary. He felt well
enough to get up, and quite counted upon being his old
self again on the morrow. After a good night's rest he
awoke early and took some slight nourishment. Monday
passed in much the same manner as Sunday, except that
there were fewer visitors. M. Kratz, who had been there
in the early morning, came back after dinner and found
the patient very little like a sick man.
" I am all right now," said Dore gaily -, " and the
proof is that I want some champagne." So Martin went
and fetched a bottle, and gave him a glass. He found it

" HIS NEXT VISIT W ILL BE ONE OF PURE AMITY." 469
good, but it had not the old relish for him, because he
was obliged to drink it with water. He grumbled a little
at that, but gave in rather than not have it at all.
He sipped it several times, and each time he put down
his goblet, remarked how natural it seemed to be drinking
champagne. Poor Dore !
He was so fond of it. Then, too, it brought back
agreeable recollections. How many times he had drunk
health and happiness to his friends, and how many more
his own successes had been toasted in deep draughts of
the sparkling wine !
While Dore now and then refreshed himself with his
favourite beverage the evening wore on apace. He was
in the blue saloon ; the candles were lit in his bedroom,
and cast flickering shadows on the pictures, the furniture,
and the long low table nearly covered with white blocks —
those square pieces of wood which slept until the master's
hand should awake them and give life to a thousand
creatures, each one perfect of its kind. Portraits of his
ancestors were hanging round his couch, and in a side
panel of the wall reposed " Venice," with her bowed head
and silent, slumberous beauty. Good Francoise flitted
hither and thither, whilst M. Kratz sat constantly by the
sick man's bedside. Colonel Emile went out for a walk.
The family physician, who had been called in at first,
also left his patient, telling every one present that all
danger was positively past. He said to Dore, as he went
away, —
" Now, monsieur, I am happy to leave you so well.
Good-night ; sleep well, and do not get up early. To
morrow morning I shall come in to see you, but late.
Bonne nuit ! Do not get up early."
Dore promised obedience with a smile. When the
doctor was gone he said, —
" It is just as well. I like to have doctors come to see
me, but in a friendly way. His next visit will be one of
pure amity."
He seemed pleased with this idea, and began talking
to M. Kratz, who kept faithful watch at his bedside. He

47° G US TA VE DOR A .
looked anything but a sick man, sitting up supported by his
pillows, his eyes glowing and his face animated, as it always
was when he was speaking. Except for a slight pallor
and for two shadows lying on the upper part of his
cheeks, M. Kratz saw the Gustave Dore of old, as cheery
and bright as could be. He talked a great deal during
the evening ; so much, indeed, that his friends begged
him not to overdo it. Then he closed his eyes with a
sort of happy obedience, and, sighing like a tired child,
lay back on his pillow.
A few moments passed. No sound broke the stillness
save the measured ticking of a clock and the almost
inaudible hum of life in the street. Now and then a
solitary vehicle would pass by, carrying some gay and
happy, or perhaps some careworn denizen of Paris to a
midnight ball or supper. Then the noise would cease
and quiet would again prevail. The candles were burning
low and the shadows were deepening in the room, deepen
ing and lengthening, while the night wore on. The
invalid's breathing was soft and regular ; his head was
slightly resting on one hand, his eyes were open, gazing
with the far-away look of one who contemplates unreal
things. M. Kratz looked at him and said to himself,
" Gustave is dreaming."
Yes ; he was dreaming. He heard not the wind
which moaned in the chimney, nor the soft footfall of
old Francoise as she came ever and anon to his couch,
nor the hushed night-cries of ever-wakeful Paris ; he saw
not the friend at his bedside, for why should any one be
at his bedside ? He was not ill ; he— Dore — oh, no ! far
from it ; on the contrary, he was rich in the strength of
happy manhood, and his dreams were those which are born
of vigour in the noonday of life. Perchance, he thought
again, "Oh! those palms; not yet come;" and of his
statue. If Dumas could only see that it was not his
fault !— Dumas— a great man— and Shakespeare— ah !
his Shakespeare ! — Cjesar — Calphumia — the musketeers
— a jolly man, that D'Artagnan, and a brave one. Then
Macbeth— thatbanquet— horror-stricken? Of course that

HE HAD SEEN BRIGHTER ONES AT CHISWICK. 471

must be the right expression ; besides, what the witches
had told him was enough — the witches — the three hover
ing together — not the three Graces ! The tree, the caul
dron, and the rose-crowned infant. Ah, that child ! He had
seen one with a face just like it, in Petticoat Lane.
Petticoat Lane, where he had watched a hawker making
soda-water. What a curious apparatus ! What a morn
ing ! He had seen brighter ones at Chiswick. There
is the Pavilion, there sits her Majesty ; he hears her
gracious words murmuring in his ears. She speaks of
one of his works ; such praise was worth having ! In his
own country, his " Dante "• — bah ! It was after all a weary
life ; work, work, work ; but there had been some happi
ness ! Now perchance he is walking again beneath the
acacias of the Bois de Boulogne, a fair woman leaning
on his arm. The night is still, the leafy trees murmur their
orisons, and the violets' scent is sweet and strong. The
moon casts a broad belt of silver in their pathway, the
sand gleams, and their footfalls make music upon the
fine gravel. " Ah ! when one is shod with happiness !
but that was long ago. Who could have been like
Dante, like Tasso ? Beatrice — Leonora — these women
may also have been in the world, but more likely
Messalinas and Lucrezias ; and as to men, why Rabelais
was a man ; he knew what men were like. Why, any man
understands that book." Dore moved slightly, and his
eyes gleamed with a still more rapt expression. " He
is .still dreaming," thought his friend ; " still dreaming.
I shall not disturb him." Yes, he was dreaming still,
thinking of his Rabelais success, perhaps whispering to
himself, —
" Understand it — well, that was my first success. Why
should I not think of it now ? How many years ago that
was ! It cannot be possible, for it seems but yesterday.
I can just see myself now as I was then. Mamma was
so happy ; so were Emile and Ernest and Arthur and M.
Lacroix — M. Lacroix, who scolded me and loved me too.
I shall never forget his surprise about those Vilanies de
LParis — dear Gautier understood me always, and so did

472 G USTA VE DORA .
Dalloz ; dear Paul, how we enjoyed those trips through
Spain and the Tyrol ! I can hear Gautier laughing now.
Ah me ! no wonder I sigh ; his laugh has been stilled
for ever, as mine will be some day ; and now I think of
it, I came very near the end on Saturday last. But,
nonsense ; I am so well now. I shall go back to Alsatia
again for my holiday, or to see the Alps. What good
they did me last year ! Or to Scotland — perhaps that
would be better still — to Scotland with Teesdale. I
wonder how my pet owls are coming on ; shall I ever
forget how Paul laughed when he saw them ? No, not
Scotland. I will go to Alsatia, dear Alsatia — to St.
Odile and Barr. Oh, my God ; only the sound of those
names takes me back to the days of my youth. There
are all the old faces before me ; papa, grandma, Madame
Pluchart ; how beautiful she was ! and Madame Braun
and M. Daubree, and Graffenstaden. What fun we boys
used to have there on Sundays ! Yes, I will go back
there this summer, and that soon. I shall see the old
place, the Minster Square, our Fete de Gutenberg. I
wonder if Professor Vergnette's schoolhouse is still there !
Ah me ! how long ago is it since papa gave me five
francs for my first prize at school — how small I was. I
can't think of it all without crying. Oh ! the days of
my boyhood, those happy days when I ran and walked
and played; when Arthur and I bathed our eyes in
Hohenwald fountain. Oh for a sight of St. Odile, of my
Vosges, of my dear Strasburg, and the cathedral " — he
sighed and closed his eyes, for he saw himself at his
mother's knee — he, a child angel, and she robed in light.
It is dark in the fortressed town, the gates have long
been shut. Erwin von Steinbach has gone to a troubled
rest — and pretty Sabine's filial tears have changed her
coarse pillow to an immortal fabric for seraphs to touch.
There is no sound in the city, the good Strasburgers
sleep the sleep of the just ; the night is clothed with
majesty, its thousand eyes gleam from the frame of no
earthly tenement. The blue ether opens and a swift
messenger comes sailing earthward through space. She

THE SERAPH AND SABINE WORK A T THE PLANS. 473
reaches the city ; the gates are closed. What matter !
Mortal bolt or bar cannot shut out God's envoy. She
spurns the crest on the outer wall, and flies swiftly,
swiftly, straight to Sabine von Steinbach, upon whom she
breathes the breath of her celestial presence ; she con
verses in accents that mortal ears have never before heard,
she smiles with a sweetness that has never hitherto honied
earthly clay, a perfume of sanctity emanates from her
radiant garments, and the halo of pure inspiration crowns
her head with a supernal diadem. Gustave's hand
clutches his mother's gown ; he draws nearer and nearer,
at last ! May he not also enter the sphere and bask in
the light of this Divine glory ? Madame Alexandrine
stirs and shivers softly ; — does she, too, feel an invisible,
angelic presence ! Together the mother and son draw
nearer, till at last they reach the hallowed pillow. Gus
tave's baby breath comes hard, and his baby fingers
tremble as he sees the angel draw forth a scroll from her
seraphic garments. She speaks, she raises her hand,
she holds in her fingers a pencil which she has fashioned
from heavenly lightning. Yes, she speaks and Sabine
stirs, wakes ; half blinded by immortal light, she lifts her
charmed lids, and sees the angel. Gustave strains eye
and ear. Now the seraph and Sabine work at the plans ;
the cloud-like being dazzles the mortal with her art and
smile. She talks with Sabine ; Gustave sees all, hears
all, and his child-nature yields to its first unearthly
intoxication. Fascinated, awe-stricken, dazed, his eyes
are riveted upon this supernatural spectacle ; he, too,
feels inspired, and with a loud cry stretches out his arms
to the angel, begging to be admitted to the sublime and
holy council, to the genesis of genius. As he entreats, the
angel turns and looks upon him, she smiles with ineffable
ecstasy, and a calm, never seen upon earthly visages,
settles on her celestial features. She looks once at
Sabine, then at Gustave, and before he can lift his hand,
she floats away, spreading her wings in one last cycle of
benediction and grace. What, gone — gone— gone !
Dore uttered a stifled groan; his body moved con-

474 G USTA VE D ORE .
vulsively, and his head sank deeper into his pillow. M.
Kratz started forward and laid a hand upon his shoulder.
" Gustave, Gustave ! " he exclaimed ; " what is the
matter ? what are you thinking about ? "
Was Dore still dreaming ? He suddenly lifted his head
and replied, —
" Arthur, you are still there ? that is right," and he
looked straight before him into his friend's eyes.
" Yes, I am here — do you want anything? What were
you thinking of ? You are trembling."
Dore looked tenderly at him, stretched out his right
hand, and answered in a voice half-choked with emotion, —
" Arthur, dear, I — I have been thinking of my past,
of how we played together as children ; and — and I
thought of our youth — my youth, and my childhood at
Strasburg." His head dropped again on the pillow as
he ceased speaking, and a faint sigh parted his lips.
M. Kratz drew nearer to the bedside and looked at
him with a world of affection in his eyes.
"Yes, Gustave," he answered gently, "we had been
talking of home, and that brought it into your mind.
Now do not think or talk any more. It is so late that I
am going away myself. I shall see you the first thing
to-morrow ; good-night. God keep you. It is late ; try
to sleep."
He pressed Dore's hand and turned away, but came
back to bid the friend of his youth a last good-night.
Was Dore dreaming again ? He half roused himself,
and at that moment his brother, Colonel Emile, came
into the room and approached his couch.
" Good-night," murmured the artist drowsily ; " good
night, Arthur, old boy. Come early to-morrow morning.
We will breakfast together and go out to — to the studio.
God bless you ! good-night. I am perfectly well, but so
sleepy." Even his brother did not disturb him ; a soft good
night, and M. Kratz is really gone, and Francoise shuts
the outer door upon him.
Colonel Emile sleeps as soldiers only know how to

THE ANGEL WRITES THE LAST LETTER.

475

sleep. The moments pass ; the lights burn lower ; the
hush of midnight falls on the hcuse. Francoise starts as
she goes on her accustomed night-round. Now she has
looked at him once more ; how quiet he seems, how still,
how pale ! Martin goes to his bedside ; ah ! Dore stirs,
moans feebly, and mutters, " Some drink ; I am choking.
I — Francoise must go to bed ; she is tired, and you, too,
Martin.*' He drinks and seems better. " Leave me now ; good
night," and Martin follows old Francoise out of the
room. Why howls the wind so pitifully ? Why so mournfully
prates the uncanny rook on the roof ? Why hovers the
bat o'er the silent gables of the house in the Rue St.
Dominique ? Why seems the air heavily freighted with
impending woe ? Ah ! Martin, do not leave your master,
tum back once more ; cannot you feel that your post will
soon be filled by another ?
An irresistible power stays his footstep, and prompts
him to turn once again to gaze upon his master.
He looked and saw a man's eyes glazed with the awful
film that obscures the vision when we look our last on
earthly sights ; he heard an ominous rattle, to which the
rooks' dismal prating was a celestial music ; he saw a face
covered with the grey veil that approaching dissolution
so warily spreads on mortal features. Martin saw this,
and rushed headlong to throw himself into his masters
arms ; then he called out in a despairing voice for
Colonel Dore to come at once.
Martin lifted his dear master's head ; as he did so
Colonel Dore hurried towards them ; but, alas ! a swifter
messenger outran even a loved brother's fleet footsteps !
Paris was sleeping; her gates, too, were shut; yet the angel
of death had scaled the mortal walls and was come with
her pencil to inscribe one more name on the eternal
scroll. Gustave Dore's head rests on his brother's
breast, his eyes look fondly into the face of his dear
Emile ; those eyes gaze and gaze while the angel writes
and writes. Ah ! she reaches the final letter, Dore's head

476 GUSTAVE DORE.
drops, his eyes close, and Colonel Emile clasps a dead
weight in his arms. Only one voice breaks the fatal
stillness of that sad chamber; one voice, his own, ex
claiming passionately, —
" Gustave ! Gustave ! can't you hear me ? Ah, God !
he is dead, dead, dead ! "
*****
Paris could scarcely believe its senses when it heard that
Gustave Dore was no more. I pass over the grief of his
family and friends, and the general excitement aroused
in the city. The one theme in private houses, clubs,
theatres, artists' homes and artists' studios was Gustave
Dore's sudden, unexpected death.
*****
The funeral reception took place at noon on the 25th
of January, 1883, at No. 7, Rue St. Dominique, the house
in which he had passed so many years of his life.
Thousands of persons gathered in the rooms, corridors,
and court fronting the house. The coffin was barely
visible through the mass of flowers, wreaths, and inscrip
tive coronals which covered it. Amongst many floral
tributes we may mention those sent by the water-colour
society, the wood-engravers and etchers, the committee
of Alexandre Dumas' s statue, the Monde lllustre", Figaro,
the Moniteur Universel, and the publishing houses of
Hachette, and Cassell.
Dore had too many intimate friends to have his pall
bearers chosen amongst them. This sacred office was
entrusted to the members of his family : his brothers,
Lieut. -Col. Emile and M. Ernest Dore, his nephew by
marriage, Dr. Joseph Michel, and to the family physician,
Dr. Robin. Some of the most distinguished persons in
France followed the cortege ; amongst others, MM.
Daubree, Kratz, Madame Braun, MM. Jules Ferry,
ancien ministre des Beaux-Arts, Camescasse, Prefet de
Police, Kcechlin-Schwartz, Maire du VIII. arrondisse-
ment, Alexandre Dumas fils, Leo Delibes, Munkacsy, De
Blowitz, le Baron Larrey, Calmann Levy, Bonnat, Dalloz,
Jundt, Quatrelles, Hebert, Albert Wolff, Charles Comte,

GUSTAVE DOR A'S FUNERAL. 477

Faure, Guillemet, Jules Huyot, Feyen-Perrin, Louis Ratis-
bonne, Louis Leroy, Hebrard, Edouard Pailleron, Gustave
Droz, Vaucorbeil, Nadar, le Docteur Fauvel, Pierre Veron,
Charles Risler, Maire du VII. arrondissement, Saint-
Germain, Gille, Bourdelin, Pisan, Leieux, Edmond About,
Campbell Clarke, Giacomelli, Grevin, Pagans, Paul La
croix, Joanne, Widor, Bourdin, Edgar Courtois, Richard
Whiting, Henri Meilhac, Abbe Roussel, Baron Davilliers,
Paine, De Rothschild, and many others. Dore was buried
with full military honours, as one bearing the grade of
Officer of the Legion of Honour.
The religious service was held in the Church of the
Sainte-Clotilde, and a requiem was being sung as the
funeral train approached, preceded by the grand mas
ter of ceremonies of Sainte-Clotilde, bearing a crape-
veiled cushion, on which were the various decorations
and orders received by the lamented artist during his
lifetime. The mass was said by Abbe Gardey, and the
touching " Libera" of Plantade was chanted ; after which
the body was borne to the cemetery of Pere-la-Chaise.
It was a beautiful day, but bitterly cold, as the proces
sion made its way along the principal streets of Paris,
most of the artist's friends following it on foot with bared
heads. Amongst the passers-by how many were there who
knew that they were looking their last on the mortal
remains of Gustave Dore ? And yet he received from
every person who gazed upon his bier the last silent
homage that Paris invariably pays to her dead ; for the
women, rich and poor alike, signed their breasts with a
holy cross, and the men of high and low estate bared their
heads as the corpse passed by. It is a long way from
the Rue St. Dominique to Pere-la-Chaise, and every foot
fall of that weeping band awoke a dread echo in the hearts
of some one of the populace, and stayed alike the steps
of the curious and the pleasure-seekers who thronged the
streets and famed boulevards. At last the funereal train
reached the Rue de la Roquette, and passed the doors of
the famous prison, the very air about which is heavy with

478 GUSTAVE DORE.
the unspoken orisons of those who are destined to spend
their morrow in another world ; La Roquette, whither
Gustave Dore had so often gone to contemplate the
glazed eye, the despairing look, the trembling form, in
order that he might be enabled to show the world how
the living looked who were already as dead. Even now
Dore passes this place for the last time, and as he arrives
at the great doors of his last earthly home, the sun casts a
bright gleam upon the words encrusted on the stone arch
way, and reflect on the pall covering his coffin : " He that
believeth in Me, though he were dead, yet shall he live."
Here, in this famous necropolis, where lie the bones of
some of the world's greatest and most renowned, where
Madonna and Magdalen, saint and sinner, prince and
peasant, men of deeds and men of letters, now all sleep
the great sleep, Gustave Dore took up his abode, to wake
with his companions at the sound of the last trumpet.
He was laid side by side with his mother in a new but
consecrated grave. Amongst all whose hearts that day
were filled with grief and voiceless speech, to two persons
alone was vouchsafed the honour of bestrewing his coffin
with immortelles and ever-verdant laurel, and of uttering
their last words of love, praise, and reverence for the
dead. Those two men were M. Alexandre Dumas and
M. Paul Dalloz. After a few preliminary words, Alexandre
Dumas said : —
" However celebrated, loved, necessary to the world
one may be, none dare believe in the morrow. All that
lives is unquiet, and in the present moment he who con
ceives a project or lays a plan seems to be a madman,
seeking to call down upon him the wrath of that impas
sible and mysterious Master who disposes of human
hopes and fears after a fashion of his own choosino-. If
ever in this world a man had a right to count upon the
present and believe in the future, that man was the pro
digious artist whom we have just lost. Never have
volition, energy, grace, and talent, never has life itself —
that life which seems to come direct from God in human
guise — been crowned with more radiant and convincing

DORE THE VERITABLE ANGEL 01 WORK. 479

symbols. Who amongst us shall ever forget the face of
this young man, with his noble forehead, his hair thrown
back, his large limpid eyes, soft yet proud; his voice,
warm and tender, yet breaking out into contagious
laughter ; this man with lineal traits as those of a Roman ;
features which, after half a century, and even in death,
gave him the aspect of a beautiful adolescent ?
*****
" To those who knew him at twenty, when he had
already been a celebrity for nearly ten years ; to those,
Gustave Dore will be ever present with his slender figure,
agile limbs, boyish, youthful, beardless cheeks, shapely
hand, always armed with a pencil, a pen, a brush, a
chisel, or a graver. When he walked — -I should say
rather when he flew — towards a large table, where he has
composed thousands of drawings on wood ; to his ladders
on which he has executed thousands of pictures ; to his
scaffoldings where he carved his statues and groups ; at
such moments Dore seemed the veritable angel of work.
"What rapidity! What originality of conception! What
an inexhaustible, far-seeing imagination ! What a mira
culous knowledge of cause and effect ! What a grandiose,
dramatic, troubled appeal from earth to heaven of lights
and shadows, of chaos, of the fantastic, the invisible, the
visionary ! What a world of gods, goddesses, saints,
martyrs, apostles, virgins, archangels, heroes, giants,
fairies, spectres of celestial and monstrous types, divine
or droll, taking all at once birth, form, colour, movement,
and life in this luminous brain for ever blotted out and
obscured !
******
" Let us console ourselves by thinking of the enchant
ments which such an imagination must have felt when it
found itself in direct contact with Rabelais, La Fontaine,
Milton, Chateaubriand, Balzac, Cervantes, Dante, Shake
speare, and the Bible. Why should we be astonished by
his versatility, by his audaciousness, by his faith, when
we see him every hour and every day drinking at the
eternal founts of the beautiful, the great, and the true?

480 GUSTAVE DORE.
" Remark, also, how the horizon of the draughtsman is
continually enlarging ; how his ideal expands, how he
aspires unceasingly, how he feels the need of the immense
and the infinite in its physical as well as in its intellectual
order ! Dore needed constantly to multiply and enlarge
his fields of labour, which never sufficed to his fever of
productiveness. In his works he has made horizons
which lose themselves to the view, infinite forests and
inaccessible mountains. When he left his studios in
Paris or in London, he travelled from Switzerland to the
Pyrenees, from Scotland to the Alps ; he descended
precipices, and abode in vast solitudes ; he communed
with himself on mountain summits ; and from these
magnificent haunts and superb visions he brought us back
life-like landscapes that are known to all of us, now inun
dated with light, now lost in shadow ; with sinister pines
and transparent lakes ; with vertiginous heights and un
fathomable abysses ; with heavens of sapphire, opal, and
gold ; with snowy peaks reddening under the sun's last
kiss ; now one of those great eagles ' creating space
with one flap of their wings,' as the poet has said,
traversing the canvas and bearing us away with him !
" What creations this mortal creature leaves after him !
Think you that the calm and silence which lie beneath
our feet will be too much to recompense him after so
much unceasing labour?
" In France, in France alone, people often passed
ironically, or, what is worse still, indifferently before those
grand canvases of which the composition and the idea
were always majestic. Dore suffered horribly through
not having been understood. Who was wrong ? He who
suffered or he who did not understand? The painter who
aspired to the applause of the world, or the passer-by who
refused it to him ?
" Who, then, amongst the contemporaries of a great
artist may be able to decide upon his merits and pro
nounce a definite sentence upon him ? How many have
quitted this world, deceived by a success which the
masses have voted to them, with the certitude that they

CONTINUATION OF M. ALEX. DUMA'S ORATION. 481
leave behind them imperishable work, the remembrance
of which has only survived by a few years the acclama
tions of which they were so proud ? Who could not
define the difference between works which were too easy
of comprehension and a crowd which was but too easily
deceived ? On the other hand, how many of the mis
understood, how many who have been scorned and
ridiculed, long since dead of despair, we must come to
seek here, in order to entice them to achieve the glory
which their own epoch refused to them ! Our French
Pantheon is paved with our repentances. Do not let us
pronounce upon Dore too hastily ; let us be patient ; let
us leave something to posterity to do ; above all let us be
respectful towards those who, like Dore, having lived but
fifty years, have been able during forty to give the greatest
example that can be given to mankind, namely, that of
incessant work, the passion of the ideal and the eagerness
of its eternal pursuit. It is not only admiration, not
friendship alone which prompted me to discourse by the
tomb of this great artist. When others hesitated, Dore,
with the enthusiasm and generosity which were the basis
of his nature, in testimony to his admiration for the father
and his friendship for the son, spontaneously and modestly
offered to execute the statue of the author of ' Henry III.,'
' Mademoiselle de Belle-Isle,' ' Impressions of Travel,'
and the ' Three Musketeers.' Dore would accept nothing
for this work except the pleasure of doing it, the tardy
glory, or, perhaps, after having finished it, the accustomed
insult offered to anything he did. He gave all his time
and all his talent to this great composition. He gave,
perhaps, even his life. Who can tell whether or not this
monument, which absorbed him from morning until night,
and sometimes from night until the next morning, and
which he has executed in six months, brought on the
malady from which he died, a malady which is the
prerogative of the ardent and passionate only ?
" And so for the last six months he lived face to face
with that other grand producer, whom he resem
bled in so many ways ; in invention, fecundity, variety,
I i

482 GUSTAVE DOR A.

power, disinterestedness and goodness. His heart, which
fate so ruthlessly ordained should break after the fulfil
ment of his work, this filial heart beat in unison with
mine to the consecration of a glory which to me is most
sacred. The writer and the artist were well made to
understand each other ; and indeed all the soul of the
artist has passed into and illuminates not only the face
of the writer, but the poetic figures with whom the artist
has surrounded him.
" There they are, publicly and for ever united in the
remembrance of man, for happily the statues of poets are
not those which are razed to the ground. At last the
unacknowledged sculptor defies indifference and injustice,
forces every passer-by to look at his work, and is carried
violently by death into the terrestrial immortality which
he has just bestowed upon another. At last here we are
together, Dore and myself ; become of the same family
by the same love ; and thus it is that I bring here to his
dear memory the homage of my sincere admiration ; of a
pious and almost useless gratitude, which alas ! I cannot
like him fashion and mould in bronze.
" Alexandre Dumas fils."
M. Dalloz, one of Dore's dearest friends, whose name
has so frequently occurred in these pages, pronounced
the closing address at the tomb of the great artist. All
that M. Dalloz has hitherto spoken or intimated in these
pages was combined in the eloquent discourse which he
pronounced over his dead friend. Were I to repeat all his
words verbatim, I should be going over old ground.
Suffice it to say his speech was a worthy companion to
that of Alexandre Dumas. A few passages, however,
may not unfitly be reproduced in this place, ut seq. : —
" My heart is too sore and my head is too much
troubled to enable me to render the homage he merits to
the incomparable, exceptional, and unique artist who
has been taken from us. Since the beginning of this
year, Death, with sudden and vertiginous fury, has
stricken down men who, in various ways, have illustrated

" DEATH IS RELENTLESS." 483
and celebrated their names. Death is relentless ; he scales
the highest summits, and seems to choose by preference
those of supreme intellectuality and intensity ; those to
whom were promised many long days. Thus it is that
no matter how highly tempered the steel, every sword must
break ; no matter how enduring the brain, it must burst ;
flashes of steel, flashes of thought, are a waste of force
which death economizes to her own profit. To rear up a
monument to Gustave Dore, durable and worthy of his
genius — he had more than talent— my fugitive words will
be unable.
" What eloquent phrases would not be requisite to
celebrate the inexhaustible faculties of this prescient
imagination ? What richness of words could ever equal
the variety of the subjects which he treated of in the
universal language of art, to which the birthright of talent
had given him the golden key ? What precise nouns of
common sense, what adjectives of lively and supple colour
could ever designate the creative and interpretative
faculty which was the predominating characteristic of his
nature ? What terms can we find complimentary enough
in the dictionary of enthusiasm to characterize this
visionary and faithful worshipper, this man of the most
overwhelming instantaneousness, completed by a perse
verance carried to the last extreme ?
" What suitable expressions can we find to praise this
day-dreamer, whom dawn of day found already at work,
and whom the shades of night overtook still labouring by
lamplight. ? What literary form can we find wherewith to
personify and formulate the invisible and half-seen, which
this trusty hand, working without intermission, forced
from the ideal and converted into reality for all of us ?
No ! I find myself very much below my task ; but I call
upon the masters of all time and of all countries who
have re-lived in our thoughts, who have peopled our
dreams, who have put action to our words, and crystallized
our visions; I evoke them all around this tomb— all,
Dante, Cervantes, Rabelais, Ariosto, Chateaubriand,
Balzac, La Fontaine, Perrault, Tennyson, Coleridge—
I i 2

484 GUSTAVE DORA.
without excepting Shakespeare, whom for long years he
cherished in his potent brain, and for whom he reserved
the coronation of his labours ; — without excepting our
great Dumas, whose statue in his studio awaits the
honours of its public exhibition in Paris. All these
masters are here ; each one bears a palm-branch and lays
it upon the coffin of this man who, although dissatisfied
with himself, yet had the honour to please them all.
They all thank this posthumous fellow-worker; and
genii, priestesses of dreams, accompany this radiant
host, while I seem to hear midst cypress groves the irre
sistible foot of the Wandering Jew, who comes in person
from the end of the world to honour this human assem
blage and the illustrator of this symbolical legend. I see
a luminous hand trace the sign of a white cross on
the portentous blackness of this beatific tomb : it is the
Saviour, just as Dore has shown Him to us in his Bible,
the holy book which was more the inspiration of his soul
than the work of his talent.
" This is the apotheosis that I see for Gustave Dore ;
this the immortal choir which I hear sing his glory ; the
sound of my mundane voice would but trouble this con
cert, for in the midst of supernal praise I can only
murmur in plaintive wailings the echo of my undying
friendship. To the man whom I have loved and whom I
shall love beyond this life I address, not a farewell, my
faith promises me a more lasting hope, but an au revoir
too deeply treasured in my heart to find fitting expression
by my lips. " Paul Dalloz."
M. Dumas's speech had inspired and electrified the
vast throng of Dore's mourners ; the words of M. Dalloz
penetrated and touched the hearts of all present. The
last rite was then said, the last word was spoken, the last
handful of dust, and the last flowers were strewn upon
the mortal remains of Gustave Dore. As the band of
faithful friends prepared to quit his tomb, the wintry sky
broke and the sun gleamed forth in golden glory upon the

THEY WEEP AND SAY, ' THAT IS POOR DOR A. '" 485

marble sepulchre, so that those who came in sorrow and
a sunless sky to bid their last farewell to the dead artist,
left the irradiated precincts of Pere la Chaise with words
of hope and of divine benediction echoing in their hearts.
There are many and precious relics stored away in
Pere la Chaise. In that consecrated ground lie the bones
of philosopher, wit, and fool, of queen and courtesan, of
monk and nun, astronomer and astrologer, poet and
politician, tragedian and comedian, of betrayed men and
heart-broken women. When you visit this ossuary realm
with curiosity in your mind and a guide-book in your
hand ; when you shall have looked at Grecian cross and
marble sarcophagus ; when you shall have wandered
through interminable alleys and umbrageous avenues in
this city of the dead ; when you shall have re-lived the
past in memory, and to the throbbing of your own heart
shall have echoed the name of hero and heroine, you will
think of one more denizen in this world-famous necro
polis, whose ashes are scarcely cold beneath their mor
tuary tablet ; whose immortelles take root in this
hallowed soil of immortality, whose golden blossoms shall
flower with each new spring-time, of the man whose
name yet is on everybody's lips. You will turn to your
guide and pronounce this name, and he will say with
respectful accents, as he lately said to one of Dore's
friends, —
" Gustave Dore ? Oh, yes, sir ! Go up the Allee des
Pins, traverse the rond-point of Casimir-Perier, go to the
end of the Allee du Bassin, and stop before the Mausoleum
of Pradier. There you will find him, lying beneath the
granite monument that he raised to his mother. His vault
is part of the Desaugier's sepulchre in the twenty-second
division to the right, near the chapel. There is no name
on the tombstone yet, sir, only a plain white marble slab ;
but everybody seems to know it. There is a head there,
carved in the stone, and those who see it weep, and say,
' That is poor Gustave Dore ! ' "

t>

486

GUSTAVE DOR A.

CHAPTER XL.

gustave dore s will.
GuSTAVE Dore in his death as in his life had been
generous. He left by will remembrances to all his
friends ; to Colonel Teesdale the choice of two of his best
works, and the same to Canon Harford. To the several
public institutions in which he had taken so deep an
interest he bequeathed large sums, of money. Of these
institutions I may particularly mention the Orphelinat des
Arts, which received the sum of forty-five thousand francs
from Dore's executors. This asylum, of recent founda
tion, was devoted to the interests of his native province,
Alsatia. Dore could never speak of his birthplace with
out emotion, and after the disasters of 1870-71 he was
foremost in. his aid to all who were in need, and to those
Alsatians who remained faithful to France.
The textual elementary conditions of his will need only
be made known in part to the public. I copy verbatim
from a letter recently received by me from Colonel
Emile Dore : —
" Gustave Dore instituted his brother, Emile Dore,
officer of artillery, his universal legatee and testamentary
executor. He particularly favoured the institutions
of L'Orphelinat des Arts and L'Orphelinat des Alsaciens
et Lorrains, the Association of Painters, the Association
of Sculptors and Engravers, and other charities. He
largely assured the future of all the old servants."

POSTHUMOUS LETTERS. 487

Dore left behind him a modest fortune, having freely
spent the large sums he had received. He helped his
brother artists right and left, and few men have given
more solid proofs of real goodness and unselfishness.
This was never generally known during his life, but after
his death innumerable letters were found amongst his
private papers, letters of gratitude for services rendered,
the knowledge of which was confined to donor and reci
pient. M. Albert Wolff, the clever and justly celebrated
Parisian critic and essayist, has dedicated some touching
words to the memory of Gustave Dore, bearing public
witness to the almost unexampled kind-heartedness of the
artist. Dore's will was signed about eighteen months previous
to his demise, just before his trip to Switzerland in 1881.
He had had some unhappy differences with one member
of his family, which were never healed ; hence the non-
mention of the latter's name in his will, and yet, on that
Saturday, when Dore thought that he was really going to
die, his heart cried out in longing towards the brother
whom he feared to wrong in deed as he had wronged him
in thought. He begged his physician to write down at
iiis dictation another will, and in trembling accents spoke
the words that should have made his brother Ernest
co-heir with Colonel Dore, his youngest brother. The
doctor wrote as requested, but for lack of sufficient wit
nesses, the paper was invalid. Of this circumstance the
dying artist could not well be aware. So he slept soundly,
thinking himself at peace with all the world. Before
Dore could commune with one from whom he had been
estranged, the hand of death made the reconciliation
impossible, save in thought. Surely this was reparation
of the kind that goes to the heart more directly than
bequests of gold or land.
It will already have been inferred that the artist's
unhappinesses were not alone confined to his artistic
disillusions. And yet, when Paris awoke to the fact that
he was dead — that his cheery face would no longer be
seen at home or abroad, that the magical pencil of the

488 GUSTAVE DORE.

" Gamin de Genie " was dropped for ever, it said, " Surely
he should have been content, if not happy. He had much
to live for; we only denied him one thing."
Dore had been dead but a little over a year when one
of his posthumous works, so to speak, was "brought out by
Sampson Low and Co., in London, and Harper and Co.,
in New York. This was "The Raven," the immortal
lyric of America's greatest poet, Edgar Allan Poe. As
might have been expected, Dore's imagination here again
found great range, and yet not such limitless opportunity
as in other works of more varied sentiment. The luxury
of melancholy affords scope to the poet where word-
painting can multiply effect. It restricts the draughts
man, who with all his art can have but certain lines to
express certain sentiments. It is evident that Dore, with
all his genius, was hampered by the monotone of
sadness which permeates this great poem. Always the
greatest artist in black and white of his time, the trained
fancy and fingers could not well betray this accom
plished illustrator into palpable error. There are certain
sketches which might have been drawn by any ordinary
talent. There are others that only Dore could have done ;
masterpieces of thought and fancy, splendid efforts in
line, form, and detailed execution. Notably the first, of
which we give a faithful reproduction. The next illustrates
the lines, " Doubting. Dreaming dreams no mortal,"
&c, " Surely, said I, surely that is," &c, " Open
here I flung the shutter," "A stately raven of the
saintly days of yore," and the truly magnificent "Wander
ing from the nightly shore," "She shall press, ah!
never more," "On this house by horror haunted,"
"Tell this soul with sorrow laden," and the last a grand
design in foreshortening and figure-drawing to illustrate
the lines, " And my soul from out that shadow," &c.
The fault I find with Dore's work is slight, perhaps
unreasonable, but why did he not trace in the features of
the love-lorn singer a suspicion of the features of the ill-
fated Poe ? The man and his life are so identified with
this poem that on seeing it illustrated one almost

THE RAVEN.
(Sampson Low and Co., 1884.)

Page ^

EDGAR ALLAN POE. 489
expects to recognize the bard himself, beautiful, unhappy,
despairing ; and yet we should scarcely make Dore re
sponsible for a fault which is at best a national one. An
American or an Englishman might have done justice to
this sentiment. Even Chas. Baudelaire's cleverness has
only shown the world how utterly original and how widely
different from all men was this man, his genius and
works, and with all that Dore has drawn — -a Frenchman.
The work has met with a great reception, and not the
least interesting thing is Stedman's brief but telling
introductory biography. It is not an infelicitous circum
stance that the last work by Dore's hands should only
render his name one degree more memorable to England
and America. He has linked it in a last bond with that
of one whose genius was, alas! but too meteor-like an
apparition in the world of literature. Like the fairest
star falling from the farthest heaven, it has been caught
up again, and sheds its reflection in rays whose brilliancy
is fed from the flame of the eternally nourished lamp of
immortality in the name of Edgar Allan Poe.
A long time after his death, casually noticing the name
of Gustave Dore on a page of print, I came across these
lines published by his faithful London editors, the Cassells,
in their Household Magazine of February, 1883 : — ¦
"GUSTAVE DORE.
" OBIIT JANUARY 23, 1883.
" Dore' is dead. Still is the wondrous hand
That seemed to run with Time, and win the race ;
And now no more will his keen fancy trace
The glorious visions of each age and land.
And lo ! the mourners meet in concourse grand :
Dante and Milton, one in lasting fame ;
Cervantes, too, and many a one whose name
Upon a later muster-roll will stand.
Dore is dead ! alas, that it is so !
But though the giant powers rest with night,
The giant works remain with us to show
That Genius dies not with Life's fading light,
But lingers ever, while the world shall last,
Linking the Present to the mighty Past.
"G. Weatherly."

490 GUSTAVE DORE.

As I read I remembered old Francoise, and wondered
how she fared, not having seen her for many a day. No
sooner had I thought of her than I determined to try and
find her at her home, that is to say, in the Rue St.
Dominique, for according to Gustave Dore's last wishes,
she is never to leave the old place until God or she so
wills it. Dore's tender heart foresaw many things, but
never that his faithful old nurse when lying down to sleep
at night, or awaking in the morning, should fix her dim
eves on new scenes, or have to weep at the sight of an
unfamiliar, unhallowed habitation. Ah ! no. Francoise
is in her old home, in the midst of her household gods,
For her only one idol is shattered, only one voice silenced,
only one hand stilled ; the rest make up all her past,
present, and future. So in the old place I determined to
seek her.
When I reached the Rue St. Dominique, Francoise
came to the door of the house in answer to my summons,
and offered to take me over the rooms I had visited in
happier days. She drew a bunch of keys from her girdle,
while she preceded me up the long flight of cold stone
steps leading to the house proper. It seemed to me that
she was more bent than when I had last seen her. Her
face was the picture of despair, her eyelids were red, and
the poor old eyes beneath them much faded from constant
weeping. Her cheeks were pinched and withered, and
her mouth drooped pitifully at the comers. She was no
longer the cheery Francoise that Gustave had painted
only a short time before in a beautiful portrait which gave
her such pleasure and earned him so many compliments
from the most famous masters and critics in Paris. I
could not but notice the change, and it struck a painful
chill to my heart. The next one thrilled me when she
turned the key in the lock, which grated with that harsh
sound given out by locks when the master of a house has
quitted it for ever, and doors open on a deserted dwelling.
She ventured a few words as she went before me.
"Francoise, I don't want to bother or disturb you,"
I said, " but I have come to see the old home once more.

ii,:i:Wllll!iil'li.iPil III till

ii

I I |l
i 1 ffilillllllllt
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FRANCOISE.
(From the portrait made by Dore in 1880.)

Page 490.

" ALL THIS IS NOT IN MY LINE." 491
Don't let me hinder you in any way. I want to roam
about and look at everything, just as if I were seeing it for
the first time. I have been thinking a deal about you
lately. Are — are you well ? "
I did not dare to ask if she were happy ; her face spoke
for her as to that.
" I am well, yes and no," she replied faintly. " Colonel
Emile has been here again, trying to put things a little to
rights, but it is not easy ; besides, his heart is too sore —
it is like mine."
As she spoke I remembered that one day I had seen
the colonel moving restlessly hither and thither, endea
vouring to restore order to the apartment, and his brief
words recurred to me as, half in explanation, half in
apology, he gave me a portrait of his dead brother. Wish
ing to write a dedication upon the' photograph, he looked
about him for a pen. Every time his hand touched an
object it seemed to displace some other ; and he started
almost guiltily at each mishap. Then, pointing towards
the table, he said, —
" All this is not in my line. I understand" very little
about it, you see — I am a soldier."
He was a soldier ; but — he found the pen.
Before Francoise had ceased speaking we were in the
house, and I was astonished to find it still the same as of
yore. Have you ever been to the home of a great man
after his death — not immediately, but long after ; where
everything remains just as the master left it ; where
every inanimate object pays silent tribute to his genius ;
where everything speaks of him with a thousand tongues ;
where even the neglected dust but hallows and enhances
his memory ? If so, you will know what must have been
the aspect of Gustave Dore's home as I looked upon it
so many months after he had said his last farewell to
this world. So strongly did his memory and personality
pervade the place that I could not think of him as dead.
No, he was not gone from us, but was there, in his own
dwelling; and as I entered the dining-room I almost fancied
I could see him waving his luckless heels high in the air,

492 GUSTAVE DOR A.
could hear Madame Alexandrine's exclamations, and the
tinkle of the glass falling from the broken chandelier.
Two of his old friends seemed to see and hear it all with
me ; his pet owls, who stared at me with solemn eyes.
Then we went into the next room, and there what lively
imaginings came over me ! the room in which the Regent
had danced with the gay Duchesse de Berri, and St.
Simon had plotted his court scandals and jotted down
his reminiscences. In this very room, strange to say, I
could think of only one court, one king, one nobleman.
The remembrance of this latter swept away all thoughts
of another past ; for the memory of princes, dukes,
and even kingdoms pales before the remembrance of a
prouder and more sovereign lineage, the birthright of
genius, the heritage of a heaven-born talent. Thus it is
that when you see this house, rich in a historical past
though it be, you will never more think of Regents nor
revellers, but will only remember one man, who has set
the seal of a lasting nobility upon it, the stamp of his
creative ability and of a life devoted to noble thoughts
and grand aspirations.
I recollected every circumstance in Gustave Dore's life,
from the moment at which Dr. Goupil dropped him into
old Francoise's apron until that other when he bade her
a long farewell. When a man is dead, no matter how
gifted he may have been, in his own house one thinks,
first of the man himself, and afterwards of his works.
Thus, in imagination, 1 saw Gustave Dore, the man, not
the artist. I recalled to mind his sunny nature, warm
generous heart, hours of gladness and of sorrow, gnawing
ambition and insatiable thirst for fame, moments of
contentment and days of despair, ceaseless labour and
indefatigable perseverance.
The large chamber was littered with a heterogeneous
mass of objects. There were tables bestrewn with letters
and papers, and on one a broken packet of visiting cards
with " Gustave Dore " printed on them in script. The
cards were scattered here and there, as if he had just
filled his case, and hurried off to pay a visit. He had

"THAT WAS QUITE NEAR OUR HOME." 493
been much given to leaving those bits of pasteboard,
as they are termed. They were freely sown in the grand
faubourg, to be reaped in the Rue St. Dominique later on
in the shape of all sorts of flattering invitations.
Of all the things my eyes rested on I turned oftenest
to the pictures, of which there were a hundred I should
think. Pictures on the bed, on the floor, on the tables,
leaning against chairs and sofas, piled up in corners, and
propped up in angles. On the walls hung some of those
lovely woodland scenes in the Vosges where he had spent
many of the happiest hours of his life ; scenes which none
knew so well how to paint as he.
Can you not also see him, a cheery lad running by his
father's side in the forest amidst the slender pines ? They
are watching a silver rivulet which has forced its way from
some hidden source, and is leaping merrily in the bed it
has made for itself in the soft sward. The sun is gleam
ing through the trees and its glorious rays play amongst
the branches, striking downwards, dipping their gold into
the very earth, and flecking the trunks with patches of
gleaming yellow.
Francoise followed my eyes and said, —
" The Vosges and the pine forest he loved so well.
That was quite near our home. It is so natural that
while looking at it, I can smell the very perfume of those
trees." Her voice faltered with suppressed emotion.
" Francoise," I said, " don't talk about him."
" Yes, I must," she rejoined. " It will do me good."
Then she sat down ; I drew a chair close to hers, and
she began talking, twirling her keys and weeping, alter
nately wiping her eyes with her apron or the palm of her
withered hand ; talking of him, " her boy," " her poor
Gustave." As she dilated on his many virtues I glanced
away from her now and then ; and once I saw a face and
heard a voice which seemed to say, " Yes, a charming
tenorino too, if it so please you ! " I started : — Was
Francoise a sorceress ? Had she really called back dead
people from the past ? Were their voices still lingering
in the air, or only in my imagination ?

4Q4 GUSTAVE DOR A.

Presently she reached a point in her narrative to which
I listened with eager interest. It concerned Dore's last
illness. She talked on with faltering voice, and finally
told me all that I have already told you in words foregone.
" Yes," she continued, sobbing, " he walked past this
very spot for the last time."
At that moment the house-bell rang. She stopped
suddenly, looked at me half questioningly, and arose.
" Go, Francoise," I said. " Don't mind me. I will
look about me. I will go into the work-room and the
studio. You know I want to see everything. Take your
own time ; don't think of me ; I can find my way about
perfectly well."
Indeed I was not sorry for the interruption, for the poor
creature was well-nigh broken down by the painful weight
of her sad remembrances. She nodded a respectful but
friendly affirmative, and left me to my own device.
I wandered about the room ; I strayed into another
apartment ; I went into the Blue Chamber, of late his
work-room, and there took a peep into the tiny bedroom
where Gustave's little cot was standing, just as it stood
when he was a happy lad, drawing for Philipon, and his
mother used to come to him night and morning with
tender words of love and encouragement. There was the
little table on which Francoise used to deposit her cups
of tisane, those drinks concocted from sweet herbs and
the hearts of flowers, which the jealous, vigilant eye of the
old peasant woman had watched brewing into a soothing
beverage for her boy. Perhaps he was not ill, perhaps
he was neither tired nor thirsty ; all that made no differ
ence. He never dared nor cared to say so. She had
made the beverage, and he would not hurt her feelings by
refusing to drink it ; so the cups were nightly drained
and nightly replenished, for Francoise never forgot her
self-imposed task.
I left this sanctum and returned to the Blue Chamber,
where the greatest confusion reigned; and here I seemed
to feel his presence most, for it was his work-room
Perhaps after having wandered through those other

"DRY YOUR EYES, O DRY YOUR EYES." 495
apartments I was so filled with thoughts of Dore that my
imagination fairly broke bounds, and it seemed to me
that I saw him living and working amongst his house
hold gods. The room was warm with the breath of his
genius, and peopled with that host of the elect who had
thronged its precincts at the bidding of his pencil. You
have but to think an instant and you can see them as I
did. There they were, on a long table, sitting, standing,
or lying on their white couches, some with draped limbs
and others unclothed, save by virginal chastity ; some
with outstretched arms and others tranquil in the calm of
a perfect repose ; some laughing, some weeping ; and, as
I approached one maiden, whose face was veiled, she
pointed to the heavily laden work-table. I followed the
direction indicated by her finger, and, lo ! before me la\
all the master's implements, just as he had left them,
helpless and waiting for the hand that should restore
their cunning. The steel was tarnished, the crayons were
scattered and broken, lying purposeless here and there,
in piteous and mute appeal. It was very sad.
While I gazed upon them the chamber began to fill with
darkling shadows, and a soft voice, his own, seemed
to sound in my ears. It ought to have comforted them,
poor, forsaken creatures, as it did me ; for it said, — ¦
" Dry your eyes, O dry your eyes,
For I was taught in Paradise
To ease my breast of melodies ;
Shed no tear."
As the voice sang the shadows grew denser, and I hurried
into the studio, for my mind was already teeming with
strange fancies. It looked more desolate than any place
I had yet seen. I sat down and gave myself up to
thought. Many moments passed, and I was still thinking
—thinking and dreaming about Gustave Dore What
better place wherein to think of him than here in this
crucible-studio, where he had melted the gold of his rare
inspirations into pages, each one of which helped to make
up his book of life.
It was different from his work-room, though quite as

496 GUSTAVE DOR A.
sad and much more pitiful. People were standing about,
and seemed to turn to me altogether to beg for news of
him. As if I could give any ! I wished they would not
look at me with those tearless eyes and bloodless lips.
They made me shudder ! I felt a chill creep over me
which penetrated the very marrow of my bones. Perhaps
I should freeze into one of them, and should be left to
mourn for ever as they were now doing !
It was not strange that they were unhappy ; their faces
were covered with a grey pall of dust, their shoulders and
limbs had lost their fairness, and their draperies revealed
neglect in every fold. It must be hard, when one has
been cared for so long and so tenderly, all of a sudden
to miss such watchfulness.
The dust gave me great distress, for I felt that it
would have hurt his feelings ; it seemed so heartless.
There it was, resting on the musketeer's plumes, dim
ming the stars in Night's crescent, poor Night, who had
been holding aloft her gemmed circlet so long ; her eyes
searching in the past for what she hoped to read in the
future. Then " La Gloire," ah ! that was an even sadder
sight. You remember the statue, that of a young man
whose life had been given to fame ; and the laurels he
had won were never plentiful enough to cover his naked
ness ; they could not even hide the dart which struck
him his death-blow ; and now they had a scornful look,
as though they would say: "We are no longer fresh;
we are utterly worthless." It is a pity they had not
spoken sooner, and saved him so much trouble. It was
such a mockery that a little child — a beggar-girl, I think
— looked on and seemed to cry " Shame ! " She was in
rags, and her lips were unsmiling ; but said plainly, " I
do not envy you."
On the opposite wall shone a gleam of livid light, and
I had to draw quite near in order to make out what it
really was. In a moment I saw Dante and Virgil
standing near the open tomb of Farinata, with the flames
of the "Inferno" reflecting rubescent light on every
thing near. The spectral form, emerging from its tomb,

" WHAT CAN YOU SAY FOR YOURSELF V 497
was speaking ; and these words seemed to float around
me : —
" Guardbmmi un poco ; e poi, quasi sdegnoso
Mi dimando : Chi fu gli maggior tui ? "
How can I tell the names of all these people, each one
of whom appealed to me for one look, one word, to
assure them that they were not forgotten ?
I felt for them deeply ; had I only been an inspired
messenger ! It was presumption even to think of such a
thing; and yet I did venture to murmur, quite under
my breath, " Be patient ! he summoned you from the
spirit land, and will surely call you back again to join
him." That was all the comfort I could give, and I believe it
helped them. " It grows late," I said, " and I must
soon leave you ; but before I breathe a farewell which
may be eternal, I must assure you again that he has not
forgotten you." As I spoke I started quickly, for I saw
that I had not noticed the monumental vase which should
be a lasting honour to his name and country — the work
which had cost so many hours of happiness and misery,
perhaps life itself, to its maker.
Thinking of this I half turned away ; and then a feeling
of pity came over me, although I longed to say, " But for
you, he would be here to-day. You have desolated many
hearts and homes ; what can vou say for yourself ?
Speak 1 "
As I uttered these words darkness seemed to fall upon
the earth ; and a moment later I was suddenly dazzled
by the blinding brilliancy of an unearthly light. The
room was transformed. Where I had looked at four
humble walls a palace now reared its stately columns of
marble and porphyry ; vines of gold and jasper clung to
their base, and the vast edifice itself rested on a cloud,
the texture of which had been fashioned from immortal re
splendence. A garden teeming with blossoms surrounded
it on all sides ; and before the door of this palace stood
the vase. And I had thought it a dead creation ! As I
' looked it stirred, it became alive, a golden nectar streamed
K k

498 GUSTAVE DOR A.
from its throat, diffusing itself in words which burned
into my very soul. And thus it spoke : — •
" I am the allegory of the vine of human life. From
my flower-wreathed pedestal to my slender neck and
cupid-crowned head there is not an atom of my clay that
does not typify some phase in the existence of the poor
enthusiast who fashioned me.
" The children of genius cluster round my feet, born in
the vine-seed of prosperity. Then begins the upward
course of youth and maiden, plucking the roses of illusion
which grow so thick in the morning of life ; children
drinking their fill of happiness. Then come the brambles
of discontent ; the serpents of envy and jealousy glide
sinuously amongst the flowers to poison the yet unborn
blossom with their venom. Then upward — always going
upward — midway to the goal begin the labyrinths of the
vine, grow the thorns of disappointment, where monsters
of desire crawl stealthily around to gloat on their victims.
One wretch by the wayside is already inebriated and help
less, caught in the toils of fair women, who represent
every form of hope and illusion. They float around him,
and at every turn temptation presents itself, now with the
innocent face of childhood, again with the fuller charm
of womanhood ; each temptress dragging him a different
way, but ever upwards. He has climbed high, but even
this momentary success is a torment instead of a joy.
Then do you not see countless lovely shapes clutching
and clinging to every bough which bears a bud of promise ?
This train of maddened and reckless nymphs is but lightly
poised on the hope of the immediate present. They
stretch their itching palms high above their heads, trying
to coax to a premature fall the coy golden fruits of
autumn, which ripen, alas ! only when summer has fled !
There is still the same train climbing upward, not in the
sterility of single aim, but luxuriating in the abundance
of lofty aspirations and fair ambitions. The thorns grow
thicker and the way becomes narrower ; yet up they
clamber, and the one who reaches the highest point is
she, who, to get there, has left the roses behind. She

GUSTAVE DORE DIED OF A BROKEN HEART." 499
clings to the neck — my neck — of this cup of life, and sees
triumphant at its summit, just above her head, not gods
and goddesses diademed with the laurel of immortality,
but the babes which represent our childhood ;. our child
hood, his, mine, and yours. Those poor little waifs of de
sire and exaltation, with their tinselled crowns, their loins
be-garlanded with the same flowers which bloomed in our
youth, and which shall bloom everlastingly for those who
stop to pluck them, who stop to inhale that cruel perfume
which emanates from the ever-swinging censers of ambi
tion and hope."
" In this allegory of ' La Vigne ' read all the life of
Gustave Dore, line by line and page by page. It was a
sad one, for all its successes ; for he was always hoping
for something he could not have. He had known all the
intoxication of early fame; all the bitterness of hope
less endeavour ; the sleepless nights and weary days of
waiting ; the fleeting moments of triumph, and the more
fleeting ones of popularity. He had fixed his heart on a
load-star that was for ever beyond his reach ; and he,
whom all the world thought a man to be envied, was
poorer than the veriest beggar who walks the streets, if
only that beggar be void of ambition. Gustave Dore died
of a broken heart ; of crushed ambition and ruined hopes ;
of the ever-corroding, ever-present thought that he was
not appreciated by his country. Let those who have been
tortured as he was, who have suffered disappointment in
all their fondest desires ; who have loved their country
with a passionate fervour, and in turn have seen that
country coldly critical and persistently indifferent — let
them look at my form and think, not of the genius who
created, but of the man whose life-blood oozed out from
his finger-tips while he wrote this human history there
upon. It cost him his life ; but it repays him with
immortality." The vase ceased speaking, and I was about to answer,
when its voice was heard again, —
"But do not wish him back on earth ; for here,
here amongst gods, he is a god ; here, amidst immortals,
K k 2

5oo GUSTAVE DORE.

he is immortal ; here, where life is one long dream
of happiness, he is happy ; here, where ambitions are
realized while yet unborn — here shall Dore finish his
inspirations where they first began. Do not wish him
back on earth. Here he walks in endless peace and
happiness. But see ! — he comes ! "
The voice ceased, and I felt my blood stop in my
veins ; for suddenly a mass of white shapeliness upreared
itself in front of the vase. A crowd of people surged up,
clothed in glorified and gorgeous attire. There were all
the creatures of Dore's genius and creation. There was
a sound of heavenly voices singing ; the air re-echoed
one long strain of celestial melody ; the children of
genius uplifted their voices in a hymn of joy, whose
accent awakened echoes from Pan's pipe and Apollo's
lute. They flung exotics in front of the white mass, and
the air grew heavy, surcharged with the essence of flowers
whose seed was sown in paradise. As the velvet leaves
fell in a shower of roses and lilies, a man stepped
forth from the front ranks of the crowd and, as he strode
proudly forward, was hailed with acclamations bursting
from a million unseen throats. He turned and saluted
with a sweet smile ; and I beheld — Gustave Dore himself !
bearing in one hand a wreath of palm leaves, and in the
other a chisel. He made a few mute gestures, ran lightly
towards the white mass, and began to strike sure and
quick blows upon it. It grew and grew, and, under his
inspired fingers, took upon it the shape and form of —
Alexandre Dumas.
What ! am I awake or am I dreaming ? Is this
Dore's studio in the Rue St. Dominique or have I
been transported to another world? I shall call — call
Francoise ! But the statue — yes ! there it is He is still
working at it; he himself! I hear fresh acclamations;
he has finished his work, and an angel places a crown of
immortelles upon his forehead. The children sing again ;
fainter perfumes pervade the air; the vase assumes an
eternal stillness, and, as I look, I hear the sound of
something falling, and a chisel rolls on the ground at my
feet.

" WHAT! IS HE GONE ? " 501
The palace fades away, the cloud disperses, the lights
die out; I am in the Rue St. Dominique alone, in the
studio, and night has nearly fallen !
I look at the vase and at the statue before which I
have just seen him standing. " What ! is he gone ? " I
call out, but my voice is stifled in my throat ; again I try
to utter a sound, but none comes. I see the sculptures
still and silent ; D'Artagnan gazes at me with speaking
eyes ; but I am alone. And yet I saw him — I saw Dore
as we see people in the flesh — and again my blood runs
cold and my heart stops beating.
" Francoise ! Francoise ! " I cry.
In a moment the good old woman is at my side. I
thought my voice had uttered a shriek ; and yet it must
have been no louder than usual, for she does not seem
in the least disturbed.
" Francoise ! " I gasped, " have you seen — seen no
thing? Did you not just now — Francoise — "
I looked hopelessly around me.
" You have been asleep, perhaps dreaming," said old
Francoise tenderly. " I did not know that I had left you
so long. I did not like to awaken you."
"Awaken me?" I gasped. "But I have not been
asleep. I just saw — him ! Have you seen nothing — ¦
no one ? "
" I see so little," interrupted the aged creature ; " my
eyes are no longer what they were. I am growing old.
Had I been younger I should have gone out on this day,
of all days."
"This day, of all days," I interrupted; "and why this
day more than another ? "
Francoise smiled, and the light of a beautiful pride
overspread her countenance : —
" Ah ! did you not know ? " How proudly she spoke !
" It is to-day — now, at this very hour, that the statue to
Alexandre Dumas is being unveiled in the great square
of Paris. All the world is there except myself. I — I
wasn't well enough. I could not go ; I, who would have
rejoiced so much." Her poor voice faltered and her
apron went to her eyes.

502 GUSTAVE DORE.

The statue — surely I had forgotten — and this was the
4th day of November, the very date fixed for the public
ceremonies. I had forgotten, but — he had not.
For as sure as I live and have my being, I saw him.
To think that after all he should not assist at his greatest
triumph, and yet —
Francoise's voice breaks in on my reverie, —
" I am getting old, but I should have been so proud to
have seen the great square, his statue, and all the people.
He was my child — but there is one thing I can do. I
shall go to bed early to-night, so as to be up early to
morrow morning. There is to be a mass sung to his
soul in the church at seven." Francoise raised her head
proudly, but her voice faltered. " That is all that is left
for me now. I have asked M. le cure to say it. This is
my mass, said for him ; besides, I am rich — he left me
rich ; to what better use can I put his money ? Ah !
you are going now ! perhaps you too will come to-morrow
morning. Martin is coming, but it — it is my mass," she
reiterated half vacantly, twisting her bunch of keys in her
fingers. " I have it said, and I know he sees that I have
not forgotten him. Nothing is left me now but to — to
weep and — and to pray for him. You are really going?
Au revoir ! perhaps it is adieu, not au revoir. Don't for
get him ; I never shall."
And I said au revoir to Francoise; but perhaps she
was right. My farewell has indeed been a long good-bye.
Who knows if we may ever meet again ?

THE END.

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