good masters must be left to conjecture, although his paintings
carry with them a clear confession that naturally he did not possess a
good eye for color. He was always impatient of criticism which made him
feel that there was any lack of _technique_ in his works. "He has it all
in him, but lacks 'school,'" was the verdict of the critics.
Undoubtedly, wishing to do all that man has done, Dore would have liked
to focus his powers on marvels of refinement and exactness, like
Meissonier's; but he was proud of his distinctive characteristics, and
wanted the least block he touched to show something Doreish.

"Now you will give us some Velasquezes," a lady said to him during his
journey in Spain.

"No, madame," he replied; "I shall give you some more 'Dores.'"

What he enjoyed was an audacious and gigantic experiment, a subject
which allowed him free and bold handling and a mystic, half-grotesque
attitude toward what he found in it of poetry or strength. The feverish
and hurried character of his work is sadly evident in many of his most
ambitious designs. His illustrations of Milton, Dante, and the Wandering
Jew may be said to show his powers at their best,--and perhaps we ought
to include his Bible-pictures. Too often he uses without apparent motive
feeble allegory and fantasy; and many of his later works must be
considered by his most charitable critics not only obscure, but almost
insane.

To turn from Dore to Delacroix is to take up the very different career
of one of those "immortals" among whose works the great designer was
eager to see his own unlucky paintings enrolled. Opposite as these two
artists were, they had nevertheless certain things in common: their work
was their life,--all personal gratification was subordinated to
art,--each denied himself marriage, and yet enjoyed the untiring
devotion of some sort of womankind. Dore had both his mother and his
nurse to humor and spoil him. Delacroix endured the affectionate tyranny
of his housekeeper, who watched over him as a lioness over her young.
Delacroix, who was frail, sensitive, feverishly carried away by his
work, needed just the careful intervention which this woman imposed to
save him from the depressing influences of every-day life. She kept all
uncongenial visitors from him. He was fastidious to a degree,--could not
use a spoiled palette, and Jenny learned to prepare his palette, colors,
and brushes with the nicest care. Delacroix began with a masterpiece