Final Essay: DORÉ’S ASCENT INTO REALISM
Gustave Doré’s later paintings appear to be drawn upon his earlier allegories, thereby illustrating in reverse how an artist, like a critic, could, according to Benjamin, build allegories upon the ruins of history. I will trace this process, which I call reverse-allegorical representation, through various pieces he executed in a number of mediums ranging from 1836 through 1871, concentrating primarily on his woodcut illustrations of Dante’s Divine Comedy and the work produced immediately following the Prussian Siege of Paris and the rise of the Commune. Doré began his artistic career as a four year old using allegory, depicting himself as an ant and his instructor as a looming figure, a frightening, bug-eyed representation in which the larger insect’s proboscis looms threateningly over the smaller ant (Roosevelt, 1885, p. 3, 12, 19). As a child, he had colored a white hen green when he was given his first box of paint (Richardson, 1980, p. 19), developing an early appreciation of both line and color, elements that boldly appear on the final Doré piece I will discuss.
The allegorical representation of himself as ant reappears a year later as Doré commemorated the receipt of his first academic award, but this time the instructor is represented as a line drawing of a bust, imitative of those dedicated to dead Roman Emperors. The instructor, no longer a looming presence, appears as an afterthought on the page, a hastily scrawled, dead figure in the increasingly self-actualized representation of the student-ant. Doré’s first commissioned works at the age of fifteen were lithographs published in a cheap humor magazine (Malan, 1995, p. 19), thereby connecting him to those early revolutionary lithographers Benjamin noted in his Arcades Project. By the age of 21, he had published 1,880 illustrations, a number that reflected the success of his first serial publication launched the same year his father died in 1848, the year that also marked his debut in Paris’ Salon, establishing his position as an officially recognized artist (ibid, p. 21, 23, 27). The same year his etchings were accepted into the Salon, he produced one of his first oils, now lost, which was executed entirely in grey tones, the grisaille landscape imitating the same black and white tonal values he had achieved with his lithographs. Malan pointed out, “Doré refused to see any differences between illustrating and painting” (ibid, p. 31). Indeed, when Lacroix viewed the 25 large oil canvases he had produced in less than a year and criticized his refusal to paint or draw from live models, Doré exclaimed, “Models, forsooth! You old hobby! Bah! My mind is my model for everything” (ibid). His work, according to his own admittance, was self-referential, and his paintings were visibly drawn from the style of his lithographs, featuring nearly monotone colors and sharp, clear lines distinctive of reproducible images, whether lithographs, copperplate etchings or woodcuts, all of which he at one point or another in his life produced, as evidenced in his 1870 gouache and brown wash, Gathering of the Herd in the Bois de Bologne. The same monotone colors, in turn, were similar to his watercolors and sketches. As a prolific artist yielding over 8000 engravings, 1000 lithographs, 700 zinc engravings, 100 steel engravings, 50 etchings, 400 oil paintings, 500 watercolors, 800 mixed media sketches, and 30 major sculptures, one cannot help but expect his various mediums to blend one into another stylistically (ibid, p. 9).
The first published catalogue at AIC in 1895-96 echoed the 1895 Parisian reviews recounted in Benjamin’s yet unpublished, unwritten work. The catalogue established Doré as a “dissenter from the conventional dogmas of so-called ‘high art’,” and further noted Doré “is…a nonconformist whose earnestness, whose eloquence, whose pathos and whose puissance are patent to all men” (Catalogue emphasis, p. 16). The same catalogue hailed him as “having introduced a new style in art, developed a new taste in the public, and discovered artistic capabilities not previously imagined,” also noting he “startled the art world by the boldness of his versatile genius as a book illustrator” (ibid, p. 1). The AIC catalogue was arguably correct in identifying Doré as a non-conformist. Benjamin quoted Henri Bouchot, who wrote in La Lithographie (1895): “The social philosophy of the art of lithography at its beginnings…After the image makers of the Napoleonic legend, after the literary artists of Romanticism, came the chroniclers of the daily life of the French” (In Arcades, 1999, p. 786). Lithography, in which the image is incised in wax adhered to stone, allowed for quick production of inexpensive brochures to be distributed publically, pamphlets critically assessing political and sociological injustices.
Jann Matlock (1994) provided an interesting study of how these types of pamphlets shaped revolution in France, explaining that Parisian prostitutes played an important role in the 1830 Revolution following a decree proclaiming “Prostitutes are expressly prohibited from appearing in public,” (p. 60). She discussed how these pamphlets, often illustrated with lithography similar to Doré’s early works, were published from the time of the edict through the July Revolution, lifting up the prostitute as an example of oppressed people, inciting rebellion against tyrannical Bourbon regime. Lithography resulted in cheaper, quicker production than the more traditional woodcut or copperplate etchings, allowing for inexpensive dissemination of ideas through print. Preceding the revolution, Matlock noted, the pamphlets represented four percent of all printed material from April through July, and every pamphlet printed during the ten weeks prior to the July Revolution all addressed the plight of the prostitute (p. 79), a figure frequently represented on French canvases throughout the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, as evidenced in Delacroix’ 1830 Liberty Leading the People.
It is perhaps for this reason, in part, that Bouchot noted, “The first group unwittingly paved the way for political upheavals” the lithographic artists who wrote the pamphlets in 1830, “the second [that] hastened the evolution of literature” including Alexander Dumas, who was later exiled for his revolutionary fiction, “and the third [that] contributed to the profound demarcation between the aristocracy and the people” (In Arcades, p. 786). Although Doré was born two years after the first wave of lithographers, as a young artist living in Paris, he couldn’t have helped but to be influenced by the second wave of graphic artists, since he also witnessed the Revolution incited by this group. He observed as “Paris was in the throes of the Revolution of 1848; and the young artist watched the tumult, the fighting, the barricades, the grim processions—not as partisan, but as a student” (Jerrold, Blanchard, 1891, p. 28). The devastation, in which 1500 died during the initial riot and 3000 were killed in the aftermath (King, 2006, p. 217) had a lasting impact on Doré’s art: “He attributed his early mastery of crowds to the careful observation of Paris streets in that year,” (Jerrold, Blanchard, 1891, p. 28) evidenced years later in his crowded illustrations of Dante’s Divine Comedy, including his depiction of Thieves from Canto Twenty-Four, which I will return to later. Likewise, the Revolution served to activate his experimentation in other mediums, including his work in oil, mentioned above. In the same way his early art was influenced by Revolution, it would later shape his overall style.
Lithography, Doré’s first published medium, as well as wood or copperplate engraving, as with any other inexpensive, technically reproduced graphic art, was (and still is), the medium of rebellion. Benjamin noted that woodcut, introduced in the Middle Ages, was introduced “long before written language became reproducible” (1936, p. 20). Graphic art spoke to an illiterate public, effectively communicating its message to the masses. As Bouchot noted, graphic art was dismissed by Salon favorite, Jean-Jaques David who “expressed only the haughtiest disdain for engraving; at most, he had a few kind words for the copper-plate technique,” which, because of its increased number of reproductions from a single plate, had, with its likewise increasingly nuanced artistic representation because of its hard surface, for the most part, replaced the less expensive woodcut (In Arcades, p. 787). This distinction is relevant; because copperplate was more expensive, during the nineteenth century, both woodcut and lithography were more popular among the less prominent, yet more fractious publications. As a means of potential rebellion, printed word and image was rightfully scorned by anyone who laid claims to power, whether aristocrat or revolutionary, as evidenced when Louis-Napoleon Bonaparte, who had come to power in part upon the “second group” of these aforementioned pamphlets, himself in turn implemented one of the harshest systems of censorship yet seen in nineteenth-century France. Freedom of expression of ideas, in whatever form, whether academic, political, or social, may be perceived as potentially dangerous to a dictatorial, tyrannical or fascist regime—whatever its guise may be.
Yet it may not have been rebellion or revolution that incited Doré to take on his first self-financed project, the woodcut illustrations of Dante’s Divine Comedy (The Doré illustrations, 1976, p. v). He approached the project with remarkable vigor and expertise, carving the images directly onto the wood blocks (ibid). While the spirit of Revolution may not have specifically stirred him in his choice of material, one must note the Inferno and Purgatorio is rife with Dante’s condemnation of his peers and contemporary political leaders into the pits of hell. Perhaps it isn’t without a sense of rebellion that Dore’s representation of Dante’s Beatrice as she stands before the heavenly hosts mirrored those same statuesque-like figures gallantly leading France’s Revolution. Whatever Doré’s motivation, this work fascinated him, and he returned to the ekphrastic moment of the lovers Francesca and Paolo on a number of occasions even after dedicating more illustrations to this single passage than he did to any other in the Inferno, devoting six plates to just over 100 lines of Dante’s Fifth Canto to the lovers.
His first illustration in this series, The Lustful, depicts a diaphanous trail of what appears to be smoke wafting across the entire engraving. In the center middle ground, the reader is able to distinguish that the trail, compared to a storm in Dante’s poem, is composed of couples clinging to one another, adrift on the wind, slowly circling across the entire landscape, reaching as far as the eye can see. Doré’s depiction of the masses throughout the entire poem serve to remind the reader of the Bible verse in Romans, “For all have sinned and come short of the glory of God. And after this, the judgment.” Doré’s representation sensitively mirrors Dante’s own love for the married Beatrice, who in the poem serves as Dante’s guide once he crosses from Purgatorio into Paradisio. As Doré pictorially takes us further into Dante’s Fifth Canto, we get a closer look at the lovers swirling through space, always clinging to one another, and in the next illustration, Doré highlights Francesco and Paolo. According to the poem, they were led astray as they read the tale of Guinevere and Lancelot. Like Dante’s Beatrice, Francesca had been forced into an arranged marriage. But unlike the chaste Dante and Beatrice, she later committed adultery with her brother-in-law. In this second illustration, the emphasis is entirely on the couple, with Dante and his guide fading into the background, a similar scene found in the third illustrations as well. The swirling masses still hover in the background; the judgment, though, is belied by the way the “sinners” bodies are melded into a single figure, filling the concave spaces of their lovers’ forms. In the fourth illustration, we see not just Paolo and Francesca, but also all the adulterers of all eternity, eternally swirling, eternally frozen in one another’s embrace with not even an attachment to earth reminding them of their connection to anything but one another.
The fifth illustration depicts the ekphrastic moment of the two lovers with the book slipping from her hand. This illustration features the typical tropes of Madonna representations. An empty vessel sits in the background, symbol of how the Virgin Mary became a willing vessel for God’s design. Mary, at the moment of conception, is often depicted with her finger pointing to Isaiah 7:14, “Therefore the Lord himself shall give you a sign; Behold, a virgin shall conceive, and bear a son, and shall call his name Immanuel,” the verse prophesying Christ’s birth. An open window serves the same pictorial purpose as the empty vessel, and the light of the Holy Spirit flows through the window. Typically Madonna is enthroned, and Francesca likewise sits upon a regal chair. The scene unfolds as though it were a Passion Play, and the curtains are pulled aside as the trope typically representing the revealing of the Mystery of God’s salvation. His piece serves as a warning against lust, and in the sixth illustration, Dore emphasizes the impact the unfolding scene should have on us as viewers by placing the figure of Dante, who has fallen into a faint, in the right foreground. His prostrate body conforms to the shape of the earth in the same way the lovers’ forms conform to one another; he, alone, in his acknowledgment of “the wages of sin,” is grounded. Dore would continue to depict these same types of swirling masses that he learned to draw during the 1848 Revolution throughout the remainder of his illustrations, as evidenced in The Stygian Lake, or Thieves, which I referenced earlier, and will discuss further in my conclusion. He returns to the theme of swirling masses repeatedly both stylistically and subjectively, drawing upon these same types of figures in his later work.
A decade after financing the publication of his illustrations of Dante’s poem himself, Doré was as horrified by the destruction of both the 1870-71 Siege of Paris as well as the temporary establishment of the Commune as he had been during the Revolution of 1848. Like the Realist Manet, with whom he had collaborated in a formal petition protesting Salon Directeur-Generale Nieuwerkerke’s decision to limit artist’s submissions to only three pieces in the 1863 Salon (King, 2006, pp. 34-35), he was too old to actively engage in fighting during the Siege (Fantasy and faith, 2007, p 47). Like Manet, Doré wandered the streets of Paris throughout the Siege, sketching scenes as he did, observing upon one occasion, “As I write, I have before me immense volumes of smoke, rising from the heavens. In the whole history of the world, I don’t think there is a parallel instance…of such ruin” (ibid, pp. 44, 61, 63).
The smoke he noted couldn’t help but remind him of his own whirling images he depicted in his illustrations of Dante’s Divine Comedy since the same application of swirling affect in his Overturned Cradle is applied to the smoke that surrounds the mourning mother, enwrapped in diaphanous lines, whose statuesque figure is reminiscent of Doré’s earlier depiction of Dante’s beloved Beatrice. The “ruins” he depicted following the Siege were a sharp departure from his earlier humorous and allegorical subjects, but, other than the actual scenes of destruction he recorded, stylistically they remain undeniably similar to his previous work, an analysis I further explore in my conclusion. The same churning masses of people, those figures at which he had excelled and attributed to the early lessons learned on the streets of Paris during the Revolution of 1848, rather than inhabiting Dante’s heaven or hell, were now reserved for real-life scenes of tragedy and despair.
At this point in his life, while he was residing in Versailles and remained close friends with Nieuwerkerke, Gautier, Goncourt, and Thiers, artistic and political leaders aligned with France’s conservative right (Roosevelt, 1885, p. 200; Richardson, 1980, p. 64), his work transformed from allegorical illustration into realistic representation of everyday scenes of poverty and devastation. A number of political cartoons were published during the same period, like Paul Hadol’s 1870 Le Vautour, in which Napoleon III is depicted as a vulture with a helpless figure of liberty grasped in its beak. Likewise, Doré offered a critique of the political leaders, depicting the lawyers in Versailles suing for an end to the Commune as angry predators looming over a fallen representation of French Liberty in the same way his instructor with the threatening allegorical proboscis had once loomed over the ant. Yet the allegorical representation does not mask his sharp criticism; the lawyers are represented in caricature, and the fallen figure is clearly victim of a blatantly aggressive attack.
It is here we see a shift in Doré’s work, with simple, clean lines featuring an absence of illusory allegorical representation.
Although not specifically mentioned by Gustave Geffroy’s 1926 essay in L’Enfermé and reiterated in Benjamin’s Project, Doré’s work may be counted among the similar technologically reproduced “drawings by Charlet and by Raffet” whose graphic arts “were sold, a few days after a battle, for the benefit of widows, orphans, and the wounded” (In Arcades, p. 787). Although Doré’s work may not have been published for the same purpose as Charlet and Raffet, during the Siege, Doré “Filled a journal with hastily sketched images specifically for the purpose of publication” (Fantasy and faith: the art of Gustave Doré, 2007, p. 47), including his 1870-1 pen, ink and watercolor Siege of Paris and A Military Encampment, produced the same year. Allegory is entirely absent, and the production of the works, like those of Charlet and Raffet, were inspired by the battles that had been fought. Doré’s depictions have slipped into brutal, journalistic-style Realism, illustrated in two of his most poignant sketches during this period, which include an interior scene in shambles, a result of the nightly bombing that Prussia inflicted upon Paris, as depicted in his 1870, L’explosion d’obus from his Album relie.
Geffroy, in his analysis of these types of cheaply printed lithographs, added, “The Paris worker in revolt appears, in books and in illustrations, as a veteran of the street wars, a seasoned revolutionary, going about…penniless, worn out, magnanimous, blackened with powder and sweating from the sun” (In Arcades, 787). These “types” of Parisian workers that had first appeared in Doré’s sketchbook from the Siege continued to haunt his later work, including the scenes he depicted while visiting London. In his 1870 Night Scene with Two Beggars, for example, Doré illustrated his increased awareness of the indigenous crowds inhabiting the street. Geffroy continued, describing these workers as one who had assumed a lordly attitude, “installing himself comfortably on the upholstered throne” (ibid). It is in nearly this same pose that Doré depicts the subjects in his Couple with Two Children Sleeping on a London Bridge. The figures in Doré’s etching are as comfortably established on a bench along the London Bridge as the workers sitting upon the throne Geffroy described.
While Doré was not part of the Commune, following the Siege and the Commune’s aftermath, many of Doré’s works addressed these typical “Realist” subjects. He slipped from allegorical representation, work built upon the older “ruins” of literature, into a new, progressive, non-conformist, “critical” style, the process I have identified as reverse-allegorical representation (Benjamin, 1928, p. 177-8). I return again to illustrations from the Divine Comedy and compare them with his oil, Sister of Charity Saving a Child, an Incident During the Siege of Paris, from the same period. The silhouette of Charity carrying a child echoes the lines of the wrathful doomed to The Stygian Lake depicted in the Seventh Canto of Inferno a decade earlier. The affects of hatching in the left background in his illustration are texturally reproduced by brushstroke in the same field, but now the environs of hell have been realistically transformed into a solid wall found along the streets of war-ravaged Paris. In the same way that the hatchings surrounding the earlier central figures become upright, emphasizing the strength of the subject, the swirling brushstroke seen at the right is at once transformed into an opposing verticality, a line continued across the canvas repeating the strokes of the nearby forest of hell that fills the left plane of the illustration. Charity’s shadow possesses the same outline as the prostrate figure of the wrathful in his earlier illustration, indicating that the struggling yet powerful figure of compassion is a tangible presence within the illustrated space to which Dore alludes as well as the actual contained space within the painting. By choosing to mirror the image from this level of hell, Doré subtly reminds the viewer that war is a product of uncontrolled anger and its consequences are felt eternally.
On his canvas, Doré additionally references his beloved Francesca and Poalo theme by employing the same swirling motion of the lovers in the swirling brushstrokes of the right surface of the wall. The separate yet unidentified forms of the lovers to the left of the central figures are repeated in the lines of the brick contained in Sister Charity, while the snow covering the top of the Parisian wall imitates the lines of the swirling sinners in the illustration, a reminder once again that “all have sinned,” underscoring that war, particularly the ravages of the Commune, affected and was perpetrated by all Parisian citizens. Yet in the same way that the poem was meant to be a didactic warning against sin, with the upright instructional and instructed cross-generational figures of Italian Dante and Roman Virgil intersecting the swirling mass of the confused damned thereby actively learning a valuable lesson in the face of trauma, the French Charity guides a Parisian child to safety, wrapping her arms protectively around him as Virgil does with Dante in the illustration. The lesson of compassion and Charity must be learned across all ages, across all time, across all nationalities, across all cultures.
In the Twenty-ninth Canto of Purgatorio, Doré depicted three figures in a composition that reflects the traditional representation of the three Greek Graces, allegorizing them as the Christian attributes of Charity, Hope, and Faith. For my final analysis, I take my reader from right to left, beginning with Faith, whom Dante describes as “snow but newly fallen” (The Doré illustrations, 1976, p. 113). Although Dante depicts the group as equally led by each figure, with the other two at times following the other, then quickly shifting leadership to another, in his illustration, Doré depicts Faith as the most demure, least visible presence of the trio. She is turned slightly away from the viewer, indicating that she may perhaps be the next one to assume the position of leadership, yet she seems to falter. In the illustration, at first glance, Hope is the central figure, whom Dante had described as “if her flesh and bones / Had all been fashioned out of emerald” (ibid). Although her hard, determined body nearly faces the viewer, a position seemingly lending her strength within the group, she averts her gaze away as she looks toward Faith for guidance, and her body is likewise slightly turned away from us, rejecting us, the viewers. Charity, whom Dante noted was “so very red / That in the fire she hardly had been noted” in the darkness of Purgatory, seemingly fades into the background (ibid). Yet in Doré’s illustration, because of the deep crosshatching producing bold shadow, the viewer’s eye is drawn toward her darkened imposing, enigmatic figure. The shadows upon her face and garment give her a commanding presence, and her strength, even in the pits of Purgatory, cannot be denied. She alone steps directly outward from the picture plane, fully engaging the viewer with the boldness of her posture, while the shadow upon her face, as well as her turned head indicates her angry displeasure with the devastation surrounding her. Yet in the throes of desperation, in spite of her anger and because of the strength of her gesture and the purposefulness of her step, it is compassionate Charity alone that leads the viewer to redemption.
In his oil, with its muted colors reminiscent of the technologically produced black and white graphic art, green is the predominate hue, reminding the viewer of Doré’s earliest exploits as a budding painter, an allusion that he has perhaps carried his earliest childhood lessons in allegory into adulthood, applying them to this powerful, realistic canvas. His Sister Charity faces the exact same direction as his earlier depiction of Charity, and her face, too, is covered in shadow. Where his earlier Charity’s crooked arm is extended in dance-like gesture, his later Charity’s veil likewise trails away from the commanding figure, hooking immediately back toward the subject, not allowing the viewer’s eye to wander away from the central action. The bold lines of the swirl of her garment embrace and echo the lines of both Charity and Hope in his earlier illustration; combined together, they serve as the single redemptive power of the Parisian figure. And the child she rescues? It is hardly child-like at all, but appears to be nearly grown, a citizen who has fallen from the ravages of anger, of wrath, of war, a cloaked, unidentifiable figure whom, statuesque-like, she compassionately, confidently carries toward shelter. She offers an example in strength, in compassion, in valor, a message everyone should learn, if only they take the time to study Doré’s crucial lesson.
Benjamin, W. (1928). The origin of German tragic drama. Osborne, J., trans. (2003). New York, NY: Verso.
Benjamin, W. (1935). “The work of art in the age of its technological reproducibility.” The work of art in the age of its technological reproducibility ant other writings on media. (2008). Jennings, M. W., ed. Jephcon, E., Zohn, H., trans. Cambridge, MA: Belknap Press.
Benjamin, W. (1999). The arcades project. Eiland, H., McLaughlin, K., trans. Cambridge, MA: Belknap Press.
Brombert, B.A. (1996). Edouard Manet: Rebel in a Frock Coat. Boston, MA: Little, Brown. Ciseri, Ilaria. (2003). Romanticism. New York, NY: Barnes and Noble.
Clark, T.J. (1999). The Painting of Modern Life: Paris in the Art of Manet and His Followers. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press.
Dahesh Museum of Art, NY. (2007). Fantasy and faith: the art of Gustave Doré. New York: Dahesh Museum of Art; New Haven, CT: Yale University Press.
Descriptive catalogue of Gustave Doré’s great paintings. (1896). Chicago: Art Institute of Chicago.
Doré, Gustave. (1855). The Doré illustrations for Dante’s Divine comedy: 136 plates. (1976). New York, NY: Dover Publications.
Doré, Gustave. (1866). The Doré gallery: containing two hundred and fifty beautiful engravings selected from the Doré Bible. (1870). New York, NY: Cassell, Petter and Galpin.
Jerrold, Blanchard. (1891). Life of Gustave Doré. With one hundred and thirty-eight illustrations from original drawings by Doré. London, EN: W.H. Allen.
King, Ross. (2006). The judgment of Paris: The revolutionary decade that gave the world Impressionism. New York, NY: Walker Publishing.
Malan, Dan. (1995). Gustave Doré: adrift on dreams of spendor: (a Comprehensive biography & Bibliography. St Louis, MO: Malan Classical Enterprises.
Matlock, Jann. (1994). Scenes of Seduction: Prostitution, hysteria, and reading difference in nineteenth-century France. New York: Columbia University Press.
Retrospective exhibition of Gustave Doré. (1981). New York, NY: Garland Pub.
Riand, Emmanuelle. (2011). Gustave Doré. Paris: Somogy Editions; Le Havre: Musée Malraux.
Roosevelt, Blanchard. (1885). Life and reminiscences of Gustave Doré; compiled from material supplied by Dorés relations and friends. London, EN: Sampson, Low, Marston, Searle & Rivington.
List of Appendices:
A: Doré, G. (1837). A Boy Who Expects to be First in His Class. Roosevelt, B. (1885). Life and reminiscences of Gustave Doré, p. 3.
B: Doré, G. (1840). A Boy Who Expects to be First in His Class. Roosevelt, B. (1885). Life and reminiscences of Gustave Doré, p. 12.
C: Doré, G. (1870). Gathering of the Herd in the Bois de Bologne. Dahesh Museum of Art, NY. (2007). Fantasy and faith, p. 46.
D: Delacroix, E. (1830). Liberty Leading the People. Ciseri, Ilaria. (2003). Romanticism, p. 132.
E: Doré, G. (1861). Thieves. The Doré illustrations. (1976), p. 53.
F: Doré, G. (1866). Beatrice and Dante Rising to the Fifth Heaven. The Doré gallery. (1870), Plate cxxvi.
G: Doré, G. (1861). The Lustful. The Doré illustrations. (1976), p. 14.
H: Doré, G. (1861). Descriptive catalogue of Gustave Doré’s great paintings. (1896), Plate 23.
I: Doré, G. (1861). Poalo and Francesca. The Doré illustrations. (1976), p. 15.
J: Doré, G. (1861). Francesca and Poalo. The Doré illustrations. (1976), p. 16.
K: Doré, G. (1861). No Further Did We Read. The Doré illustrations. (1976), p. 17.
L: Doré, G. (1861). I Swooned Away. The Doré illustrations. (1976), p. 18.
M: Doré, G. (1861). The Stygian Lake. The Doré gallery. (1870), Plate cxxvi.
N: Anonymous. (1871). Paris in Ruins. Richardson, J. (1980). Gustave Doré, p. 102.
O: Doré, G. (1870-1). Le Berceau renverse (The Overturned Cradle). Dahesh Museum of Art, NY. (2007). Fantasy and faith, p. 48.
P: Hadol, P. (1870). Le Vautour. Dahesh Museum of Art, NY. (2007). Fantasy and faith, p. 55.
Q: Doré, G. (1870-1). Versailles et Paris en 1871. Dahesh Museum of Art, NY. (2007). Fantasy and faith, p. 54.
R: Doré, G. (1870-1). Siege of Paris. Dahesh Museum of Art, NY. (2007). Fantasy and faith, p. 47.
S: Doré, G. (1870-1). A Military Encampment. Dahesh Museum of Art, NY. (2007). Fantasy and faith, p. 46.
T: Doré, G. (1870-1). L’explosion d’obus. Riand, Emmanuelle. (2011). Gustave Doré, p. 23.
U: Doré, G. (1870-1). From Album relie: 26 dessins. Riand, Emmanuelle. (2011). Gustave Doré, p. 23.
V: Doré, G. (1870-1). Night Scene with Two Beggars. Dahesh Museum of Art, NY. (2007). Fantasy and faith, p. 102.
W: Doré, G. (1870-1). Couple with Two Children Sleeping on a London Bridge. Dahesh Museum of Art, NY. (2007). Fantasy and faith, p. 102.
X-Z: Doré, G. (1870-1). Sister of Charity Saving a Child, an Incident During the Siege of Paris. Dahesh Museum of Art, NY. (2007). Fantasy and faith, p. 102.
Y: Doré, G. (1861). Hope, Faith, and Charity. The Doré illustrations. (1976), p. 113.
A Boy Who Expects to be First in His Class
Gathering of the Herd in the Bois de Bologne
Gouache, brown wash, beige paper
Liberty Leading the People
Oil on Canvas
Dante’s Inferno, Canto XXIV, 92
“Among this cruel and most dismal throng
People were running naked and affrightened”
Beatrice and Dante Rising to the Fifth Heaven
Dante’s Paraidsio, Canto XIV, 77-79
Dante’s Inferno, Canto V, 31-2
Francesca and Paolo
Dante’s Inferno, Canto V
Francesca and Paolo
Dante’s Inferno, Canto V, 138
“No further did we read that day…”
The Stygian Lake
Canto VII, 118-119
“The souls of those whom anger overcame”
Le Berceau renvers
(The Overturned Cradle)
Brown and gray wash, white gouache and crayon on beige paper
Versailles et Paris en 1871
Siege of Paris
Pen, ink and watercolor on paper
Night Scene with Two Beggars
Brown ink, colored wash with white highlighting
Couple with Two Children Sleeping on a London Bridge
Silverpoint and watercolor on wood block
Sister of Charity Saving a Child,
an Incident During the Siege of Paris
Oil on Canvas
Sister of Charity Saving a Child,
an Incident During the Siege of Paris
Oil on Canvas
Francesca and Poalo
Sister of Charity Saving a Child,
an Incident During the Siege of Paris
Oil on Canvas
Charity, Hope and Faith
For a comprehensive look at Manet’s art, see Brombert, B. A. (1996) Rebel in a Frock Coat or Clark, T. J. (1999) The Painting of Modern Life.