face of official obloquy by a more or less considerable æsthetic
movement of which he was really but the leader and exponent. But his
fame is not dependent upon his revolt against the Institute, his
influence upon his successors, or his incarnation of an æsthetic
movement. It rests on his individual accomplishment, his personal value,
the abiding interest of his pictures. "The Raft of the Medusa" will
remain an admirable and moving creation, a masterpiece of dramatic vigor
and vivid characterization, of wide and deep human interest and truly
panoramic grandeur, long after its contemporary interest and historic
importance have ceased to be thought of except by the æsthetic
antiquarian. "The Wounded Cuirassier" and the "Chasseur of the Guard"
are not documents of æsthetic history, but noble expressions of artistic
sapience and personal feeling.

What, I think, is the notable thing about both Géricault and Delacroix,
however, as exponents, as the initiators, of romanticism, is the way in
which they restrained the impetuous temperament they share within the
confines of a truly classic reserve. Closely considered, they are not
the revolutionists they seemed to the official classicism of their day.
Not only do they not base their true claims to enduring fame upon a
spirit of revolt against official and academic art--a spirit essentially
negative and nugatory, and never the inspiration of anything permanently
puissant and attractive--but, compared with their successors of the
present day, in whose works individual preference and predilection seem
to have a swing whose very freedom and irresponsible audacity extort
admiration--compared with the confident temerariousness of what is known
as _modernité_, their self-possession and sobriety seem their most
noteworthy characteristics. Compared with the "Bar at the
Folies-Bergère," either the "Raft of the Medusa" or the "Convulsionists
of Tangiers" is a classic production. And the difference is not at all