DOI Page / Citation link:
https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.36582#0032
6
THE DO RE GALLERY.
but its efforts in this respect are rare, and speedily exhaust the agent. Nothing is more
astonishing in M. Dore than the continuity and permanence of his greatness. Since he
has taken to the higher walks of art, he has produced no work which has not abounded
in largeness of conception, in force of thought, in strangeness and even awfulness of
imagination, and in mastery of style. Of course, he has his higher and his lower levels,
and every one of his great collections will show less happy inspirations by the side of
special masterpieces. In all you may find particular faults; but you likewise find an
amount of intellectual power which appears as yet to have no determinate measure or
arbitrary limits. Some men attain a species of greatness by the slow accretion of trifles ;
others become famous by a few commanding successes, purchased by sharp toil and life-
long sacrifice. To this man only it seems reserved to pour forth his genius at the demand
of the public, as commoner men pour forth those average productions which are born to
perish.
The multiplicity of M. Dores works has led to some wonderful, and perhaps mythical,
stories. It is certain, however, that his drawings on the wood alone must be counted by tens
of thousands, to say nothing of his designs for steel engravings, or of his paintings, some
of which are on a very large scale. When it is recollected that he is even now barely
thirty-eight years of age, the amount of work which he has performed per day since
the commencement of his career must have been enormous. Many of his sketches, it is
true, are of small size, especially in the books and periodicals which he illustrated during
his earlier years; but the number of large designs, elaborately wrought in every detail,
is also great, and the aggregate of labour on the total work of his hands would be startling,
if we could only put it into any tangible form. Already there are Dorb collectors ; but it
would probably be impossible to recover everything that proceeded from his pencil ere he
was yet famous. Perhaps it would be the kindest and most respectful thing to this great
artist not to attempt to do so. Much of his earlier work was crude, and in some respects
objectionable. Like many other clever young artists, he used his pencil as a means of
gaining his livelihood, and in the less reputable scenes of Parisian life he found some
inspirations which not even genius could render othewise than distasteful. He made
sketches for the cheap periodicals, and produced an immense number of social caricatures
for the comic journals, of which it must be said that, if they represent French
nature at all, they represent the worst part of it. Ugliness and degeneracy characterise
the figures; a jaded air of Bohemianism—of late hours, and questionable haunts, and
stale tobacco-smoke — of mirth that is not happy, of suffering that is not pathetic,
of poverty that is not honourable — breathes out from them. There is no more
remarkable contrast between English and French humour than that which is afforded
by a comparison of the social sketches of Leech with those of Dore. The Englishman is
hearty, cheerful, and, above all, healthy ; the Frenchman has a morbid extravagance, such
as turns fun into mournfulness. The illustrations supplied by M. Dore to the
THE DO RE GALLERY.
but its efforts in this respect are rare, and speedily exhaust the agent. Nothing is more
astonishing in M. Dore than the continuity and permanence of his greatness. Since he
has taken to the higher walks of art, he has produced no work which has not abounded
in largeness of conception, in force of thought, in strangeness and even awfulness of
imagination, and in mastery of style. Of course, he has his higher and his lower levels,
and every one of his great collections will show less happy inspirations by the side of
special masterpieces. In all you may find particular faults; but you likewise find an
amount of intellectual power which appears as yet to have no determinate measure or
arbitrary limits. Some men attain a species of greatness by the slow accretion of trifles ;
others become famous by a few commanding successes, purchased by sharp toil and life-
long sacrifice. To this man only it seems reserved to pour forth his genius at the demand
of the public, as commoner men pour forth those average productions which are born to
perish.
The multiplicity of M. Dores works has led to some wonderful, and perhaps mythical,
stories. It is certain, however, that his drawings on the wood alone must be counted by tens
of thousands, to say nothing of his designs for steel engravings, or of his paintings, some
of which are on a very large scale. When it is recollected that he is even now barely
thirty-eight years of age, the amount of work which he has performed per day since
the commencement of his career must have been enormous. Many of his sketches, it is
true, are of small size, especially in the books and periodicals which he illustrated during
his earlier years; but the number of large designs, elaborately wrought in every detail,
is also great, and the aggregate of labour on the total work of his hands would be startling,
if we could only put it into any tangible form. Already there are Dorb collectors ; but it
would probably be impossible to recover everything that proceeded from his pencil ere he
was yet famous. Perhaps it would be the kindest and most respectful thing to this great
artist not to attempt to do so. Much of his earlier work was crude, and in some respects
objectionable. Like many other clever young artists, he used his pencil as a means of
gaining his livelihood, and in the less reputable scenes of Parisian life he found some
inspirations which not even genius could render othewise than distasteful. He made
sketches for the cheap periodicals, and produced an immense number of social caricatures
for the comic journals, of which it must be said that, if they represent French
nature at all, they represent the worst part of it. Ugliness and degeneracy characterise
the figures; a jaded air of Bohemianism—of late hours, and questionable haunts, and
stale tobacco-smoke — of mirth that is not happy, of suffering that is not pathetic,
of poverty that is not honourable — breathes out from them. There is no more
remarkable contrast between English and French humour than that which is afforded
by a comparison of the social sketches of Leech with those of Dore. The Englishman is
hearty, cheerful, and, above all, healthy ; the Frenchman has a morbid extravagance, such
as turns fun into mournfulness. The illustrations supplied by M. Dore to the