The Arkansaw traveler., 1883-02-24
ous.ave Dore Dies Broken Hear,ed.

4 almost be said tha, in spite of his great success he died of broken heart at his failures. He was perhaps, take him for all in all, the greatest illustrator the world has ever known, but he wanted to be the greatest painier-and he could not paint al all. His coloring was something un- namable the faults of his drawing were too glaring when he worked, as he loved 10 work, on large scale His painting, in fact, was his general incompetence in technique seen through a power ul tele- scope. Yet he would be a painter or nothing. It was useless to remind him that he had illustrated Rabeiais as no man had ever illustrated him before that his .. Contes DrolAtiques" was mas terpiece, and that in ' Don Quixoter and Tennyson he was inferior oniy to him. self. He would shake his head sadly that was not 1t. He worked to the last on his illustrations, but only as pot boilers" All day long he WAS climbing about over the surface sf some huge can vas in his large studio on the Rue Bay ard, and at night he came home to earn his bread by the work he despised, though the public considered that his sole tue to glory. He worked half the night, and he was up early the next morning to paint once more. His want of rest, hls prodig- ious energy. must have shortened his life, | but the Chief thing that shortened IL w.s sorrow. No one could doubt that for a moment at the sight of him. He had heavy, anxious look. All the old boy ish beauty of his face, which lasted long after he became man, was gone: the smooth plump cheeks seemed 10 be fall ing with their own weight the corners of the mouth went down. His talk was worse than his look he was absence of mind personhed. He could hardly an- swer you he was too much absorbed Tn his own grief. There was no human be- i ing who had less concern in the world than this man who lived by illustrating everything in II. He was the most pro- digious worker of this or any other time. His original drawings were to be counted by the thousand. They were ali wrong in costume or local color, but in the feel ing of the situation they were unsurpassed. He stood m abou; the same relationship To accuracy ct historical observations as Victor Hugo. and indeed he was a TO- mantle of the pencil, and was altogether out of his element if this our poor day of
 
 the medium of his wonderful masination. and this. which Was his success. has also ln measure been ms ruin. for he saw his own achievements and his own fame III the same way; and the sight was a l misery that weighed him down. IL be- came towards the last something of an insult to remind him that he had done good illustrations he would look at you ! <.ft th ~f see If you were simply stupid or if you were laughing in your sleeves, and would then lead you up to one of his paintings and wait for the verdict like a shy boy. If you knew anything at all of painting you could give but one answer. His pictures went into the Salon because the Salon could not refuse them-he was h0ys eon6oHrs. but no one looked at them. They found market, however, as things to exhibit in London, where all i the country parsons took them in very good faith indeed and led their children by the hand to see the judgments of scrip ture illustrated to the life by this gifted Frenchman. There was plenty of red in the = Dream of Pilates Wife" if there was nothing else. and the Destruction of the Heather Gods by Triumphant Christian ity' was wonderful show of fantastic invention. though the eo.oring and the whole treatment put it clean into the cat egoy Of merely decorative art-it was scene painting, nothing more. Tenieui- Der Dore when he was young and joyous. and think once described his life al that time in ,ie HorM He lived with his mother until she died and after that he still occupied the quaint old family house in the Rue S,. Dominique in which he had passed 50 many happy years. He never married: he once had consuming tenderness for Patti and in being disap- pointed of her never cared about another woman. but his affection for his mother must have had much to do with his life of cellbacy. She always treated him as I great boy. The relations between them were something beautiful to see; he was not only gay but larkish" when she was by. and she used to check him with d Hush. Gustaye. Be quiet, Gustase," as though he were still on her knee. He was seen at his best on Sunday evening, the day of his informal reception. First there used to be dinner in the extraor- dlnary dining-room that you reached from the door of the apartment without the ghost Of an ante-chamter then after din- her fiends dropped m and everybody went into the large studio beyond Mime Dores drawlng-room. Here it was the lrishman : Liberty Hall everybody did as he liked and those who would not do II were made. Dore hddled. sang, stood or chairs and played practical jokes with his friends. fasano, the opaniard, would sing too then one of the Dore brothers played. Sometimes Munkaczy would drop in. al that time very secondary light in art compared with Dore. can distinctly remember thinking it was kind of Dore to receive him. But now, of course, Munkaczy is the acknowledged master of all contemporary art. His as- founding success must have had some thing te do with Dore's disappointment What he Is Dore had intended to be, and the sight of him was a continual memo rial of frustrated hopes This, think,