Chapter II: Rome (4)

"The picnic party also broke up and fled, with the exception of one young man, with fair, curly hair, dressed in velvet, who, slipping on gloves and tying a handkerchief over his face, ran to liberate the poor little beast. I had started to do the same, but less resolutely, having no gloves; so I met him as he came back, and congratulated him, asking him his name. And in this way I first made the acquaintance of Frederic Leighton, who was then about twenty-two years old; but I was not then aware that he was the unknown admirer of my drawing in Rafaello's album. I remember that day I had the great honour of winning the donkey race, and Leighton won the tilting at the ring with a flexible cane; therefore we met again when sharing the honour of drinking wine from the President's cup, and again we shook hands. When I heard from Count Gamba, who was a friend and fellow-student of Leighton's, what great talent he had, I tried to see his work and to improve our acquaintance; for as I felt I must be somewhat of a donkey myself, because of the Franciscan education I had received, and because I was the fourteenth in our family, I thought the companionship of the spirited youth would give me courage."

And again it was on the Campagna that that choice and delightful company picnicked in the spring-time of the year, of which company Leighton wrote on April 29, 1854 (see p. 146).

Who knows but that it was at one of these notable picnics that Browning was inspired to write his wonderful little poem on the Campagna?

"The Champaign, with its endless fleece
Of feathery grasses everywhere,
Silence and passion, joy and peace,
An everlasting wash of air--
Rome's ghost since her decease.

Such life there, through such lengths of hours,
Such miracles performed in play,
Such letting nature have her way,
While Heaven looks from its towers."

Life was full to overflowing in those inspiring days, and Leighton was indeed "as happy as the day was long." Friendships grew apace. Many were made which were lasting, notably that with Mr. Henry Greville, the most intimate man-friend of Leighton's life. His friendships with Sir John Leslie, Mr. Cartwright, George Mason, Mr. Aitchison, Sir Edward Poynter, all began in those early happy days in Rome. Artists living there, who included this gifted brother-painter in their comradeship, showed more and more sympathy towards his work as they became more intimate with the delightful nature. Leighton had arrived so far forward on the threshold of his success that anxiety about his pictures was outweighed by hopeful expectancy; but it was while still standing on the threshold--that really most inspiring of all stages in the journey, during the two years from 1853 to 1855, before the great triumph of signal success crowned him--that we catch the happiest picture in Leighton's life. To use his own words, "In this world confident expectation is a greater blessing, almost, than fruition."

In a letter he wrote to Fanny Kemble on February 1, 1880, Leighton refers to a conversation he had with her at this "outset of his career"--a conversation which recurred to him, he tells her, when he first addressed the Royal Academy students from the presidential chair in 1879. He offers a copy of his discourse for her acceptance, ending his letter by the words: "If you remember that conversation, you may perhaps feel some interest in reading the Lecture, of which I ask you to accept a copy. If you do not remember it, nevertheless accept the little paper for the sake of old days which were not as to-day."[33] How much can a few words say! If gratified ambition could ever make an artist-nature happy, how transcendently happy Leighton ought to have been in 1880! But the fibre which strung the highest note in his nature never vibrated to worldly success. Though his ambition may have sought success, and his passion for fulfilling to the utmost his duty towards his fellow-creatures may have greatly welcomed it, he remained to the end of his life ever on the threshold of that kingdom, the possession of which could alone have satisfied what he "_cared for most_."

The following letters mention the progress of the _opus magnum_ to its completion, also of the "Romeo" picture, and his visits to Florence and the Bagni di Lucca. The first begins by his expressing his ever-growing dislike of general society.

[_Commencement missing._]

Miss ---- is no less than ever, and no less agreeable, as far
as I can judge; I have only called once as yet, I have an
ungovernable horror of being asked to tea; my aversion to
tea-fights, muffin-scrambles, and crumpet-conflicts, which has
been gathering and festering for a long time, has now become
an open wound. The more I enjoy and appreciate the society and
intercourse of the dozen people that I care to know, the more
tiresome I find the commerce of the others, _braves et
excellentes gens du reste_; the Lord be merciful to the
overwhelming insipidity of that individual whose name is
Legion--the _unexceptionable_--the _highly respectable!_ My
great resource is, of course, Mrs. Sartoris, whom I see at
some time or other every day, for it would be a blank day to
me in which I did not see her; God bless her! for my dearest
friend. I warm my very soul in the glow of her sisterly
affection and kindness. Little baby is the same sunbeam that
he always was; did I tell you I painted his likeness in oils
as a surprise for his father? as a picture it is not
unsuccessful, but any attempt at a portrait of that child is a
profanation, and will be till we paint with the down of
peaches and the blood of cherries, and mix our tints with
golden sunlight; still, it pleased _them_, and that ought to
be enough; but I am an artist as well as a friend. A very
interesting acquaintance I have here in the shape of Rossini,
the great Rossini! Poor Rossini, what a sad fate is his, to
have lived to see the people on whom the glory of his splendid
genius has shone turn away from him in forgetfulness,
neglecting his classical beauties to listen to the noisy
trivialities of a ----, who has made the Italian name in music
a by-word of ridicule; with the music of course, the singers
have degenerated also; a singer no longer requires to be an
_artist_, it is no longer necessary that he or she should
study his or her part till every note has a meaning and a
character expressive of the words of the libretto, and
accompanied by musical and impassioned _mimica_; no, let the
_prima donna_ only squall out her never-ending _fioriture_
with sufficient disregard for the safety of her lungs, or the
_primo tenore_ shake the stage with a _la di petto_, and all
is right. This is a digression, but as an artist I can't help
taking it to heart, and wanted to have it out. Amongst Mrs.
Sartoris' few "intimes" at this moment is a Neapolitan lady,
la Duchessa Ravaschieri, daughter of Filangieri the minister,
who has given her himself an education almost unique amongst
Italian noblewomen, who are insipid and ignorant beyond
anything.

FLORENCE, HOTEL DU NORD,
_September 20, 1854_.

DEAREST MAMMA,--I was much surprised, as we very naturally
measure time past by the number of events that have taken
place in it, the interval between this your last letter and
the previous one seemed to me doubly long, for I have changed
scene so often during these last four or five weeks, and have
moved so much from place to place, that it seems to me an age
since I last despatched a letter to England; from which you
will naturally and correctly infer that it was a very great
pleasure to me once more to see your handwriting. Your kind
anxiety and advice about the cholera I shall remember when I
get to Rome (which will be in a week or ten days), where that
disease prevails, although mildly, for what are thirty cases a
day in a town of that size? In the meantime, both at the baths
where I have been, and at Florence, where I am, the cholera
has not dared to show its face; indeed, such a prestige of
salubrity attaches to the name of the baths of Lucca that
eight days' sojourn at that place is considered tantamount to
a "_quarantaine_!" It is a very strange thing, this exemption
from disease, for in a number of the surrounding villages the
number of people carried off has been frightful. As for that
after apprehension of yours, dearest Mamma, about my being
alone and uncared for in case of illness, I am happy to say
that nothing can be more unfounded; I have in Mrs. Sartoris
that genuine friend, and, especially, genuine _woman friend_
that in such a case would leave nothing undone that you, the
best of mothers, and my own dear sisters, would do for me. It
is her habit, when any of her bachelor and homeless friends
are poorly, to go and sit with them and nurse them, and do you
think that I, who have become one of her most intimate circle,
should need to fear neglect? In the friendship of that
admirable woman I am rich for life. Poor thing, she has lately
received a great blow in her own family from the sudden
calamity which has befallen her. This shocking news reached me
here, at Florence, where I had come on from the baths, and
ascertaining that her husband was gone off to England to
inquire into the matter, and that by a chance her boy's tutor
was absent at the same time, I instantaneously went off to
Lucca, where I stayed a week (till the return of the tutor),
taking care of her boy, hearing him his lessons, and
especially keeping him out of the way; in the evening I used
to walk or drive with her, and to my infinite gratification
was able to be some little comfort and distraction to her; my
only regret in the whole business was that I was making no
material sacrifice of my own time and pleasure, so that I had
not the satisfaction of comforting her at my own expense. In
adopting the resolution, which I have communicated to you, of
retiring from society, I have taken into consideration all
that you say, dear Mamma, and more too, for I feel I have of
my nature a very fair share of the hateful worldly weakness of
my country-people; still, I have found no sufficiently great
advantage or compensation for the tedium of going out; the
Roman _grand monde_, a small part of which I know, and which,
had I chosen to push a little, I might have known all, is of
no _use_ whatever in reference to my future career; added to
which I believe I told you that I never by any chance got
introduced to anybody, so that whomever I know, I know by
chance, or by their own wish. For instance, last winter I met
the Duke of Wellington constantly, both at the Sartoris' (he
is a very old friend of hers) and at the Farquhars', and
though he is the most accessible of men, I made no attempt to
make his acquaintance, and so it is with everybody. But for
the _tableaux charades_ which Mrs. S. gave last winter, in
which I was joint-manager with herself, and was therefore
brought into contact with her numerous co-operating friends, I
should probably have known few or none of those who were at
her house every week; always excepting our own intimate
circle, to wit, Browning, Ampere, Dr. Pantaleone, Lyons, Count
Gozze, Duke Sermoneta, &c. You know, when I say I shan't go
out, it is in so far a _facon de parler_, that, as I shall be
at least every other day at Mrs. Sartoris', I shall not be at
home, trying my eyes. I quite agree with you in thinking this
business of ----'s a most awkward thing; I cannot understand a
man having once gone into the army and made his profession to
be honourably killed for his country, should not jump at the
idea of going to the scene of war; I have felt a very strong
desire to lend a hand myself, but one cannot drive two trades.
My singing (in particular, and music in general) I have
avoided mentioning, because, dear Mamma, it is a subject on
which I have _no_ reason to dwell very complacently; my first
disappointment was finding my voice, instead of strengthening
in an Italian climate, getting if possible weaker than it was.
It is the merest "fil de voix." I have therefore as the onset
very insufficient "moyens"; this is owing, not only to the
insufficiency of my "organe," but also to an unpleasant
visitation in the shape of swollen and irritated tonsils, the
very ailment, I believe, under which Gussy labours. This
symptom, which I have carried about some time, is, I fancy,
not likely ever to leave me permanently; add to this that as
soon as I sit down to thump with elephantine touch a most
ordinary accompaniment, the little voice I have vanishes; thus
between two stools ... you know the rest. Still, I am bound to
add that Mrs. Sartoris (who could not flatter) has great
pleasure in hearing me coo a little song or two that I know,
and says I have what is better than voice, which is a musical
"accent," and that (she is pleased to add) to a rather
remarkable degree; my voice is weak and powerless, but true
and facile. I will tell you exactly what to expect when you
see me again. I shall be able to sit down to the piano and
whine some half-dozen pretty little ballads, with a
rum-tum-tum accompaniment of affecting simplicity. Gussy
dreams of me as "very handsome" and "are my whiskers growing?"
I am _not_ very handsome, none of my features are really
_good_. My whiskers _have_ grown, they are undeniable, there
is no shirking them, or getting out of the way of them; _I
wear whiskers_ though you were short-sighted; _but_ they are
modest ones; as for moustaches, the seven hairs which I have
(and wear) are not worth mentioning, but still I have none of
that delicacy which you profess on the subject. In my opinion,
_if_ gentlemanhood is a thing dependent on the scraping of
four square inches of your face, and residing only in the
well-shaved purlieus of a (probably) ugly mouth, I feel equal
to going without it, in that shape at all events. A moustache,
and even a beard, if kept short enough to be in keeping with a
not very flowing costume, is both becoming and convenient, and
I fear that the whole prestige of respectability hovering
around Mr. and Mrs. ----, or the withering contempt of the
irreproachable Sir John and Lady ----, would not make me
shave, unless, indeed, I felt too hot about the chin. I have
gone through your letter, and shall wind up with a few words
about my doings, which, by-the-bye, might be compendiously
characterised by one word: _nothing_. My holidays are drawing
to a close, and I shall be in Rome, working very hard to get
my pictures done for the Exhibitions. Meanwhile I am enjoying
Florentine sunsets, the gorgeousness of which defies
description. The other day, in particular, I was on the
heights near the Miniato, I thought I had never seen anything
like it. I remembered Papa's fondness for that spot, and
wished he had been there to share my enjoyment; the lanes were
cool and pearly grey; over them hung in every fantastic shape
the rich growth of the orchards and gardens that crowned the
lengthened walls; the olives, strangely twisted, flaming with
a thousand tongues of fire; the wreathing vine flinging its
emerald skirts from tree to tree; the purple wine flashing in
the fiery grape; the stately _mais_ flapping its arms in the
breath of the evening; the solemn cypress; the poetic laurel;
the joyous oleander--all glorified in the ardour of the
setting sun, that flung its rays obliquely along the earth;
you would have been enchanted.

ROME, VIA FELICE 123,
_February 10, 1855_.

DEAR PAPA,--I hasten to answer your kind letter and to thank
you for the willingness you express to advance such a sum of
money as I shall require to cover the heavy expenses I am
incurring. I forgot to mention in my last letter that my
picture will be directed straight to the frame-maker's who
undertakes the exhibiting of it.

In approaching the other points which you touch in your
letter, I feel that my letter will unavoidably have a
combative colouring, which I sincerely hope you will not
misconstrue, and beg that you will consider whether the
reasons I advance for not conforming to your suggestions are
not sound ones. If I particularly object to accompanying my
picture, it is because I think that the small advantages that
might accrue from so doing would in no way make up for all I
should lose; whatever can be done to my picture on its arrival
in England will be kindly done for me by my friend, Mr. T.
Gooderson, who is in the habit of receiving and varnishing
Buckner's works on similar occasions; with respect to the
interest to be made amongst the Academicians in behalf of my
op. magn., I have neglected _that_ on the _express advice_ of
Buckner, who has great experience in those matters and is a
most kind and honest man; he says, such is the party spirit of
R.A.'s, that the best chance of securing impartial treatment
(in the case of a work of merit) is to be _completely unknown_
to all of them, a condition which I am admirably calculated to
fulfil. You are also perhaps not aware that my picture will
reach England _five weeks_ before the opening of the
Exhibition, so that by accompanying it I should completely
lose all the best part of the year here in Rome. There are a
great number of things which I propose doing now that my
pictures are about to be off my hands. There are here several
very remarkable heads of which I wish to make finished
studies, and especially also I am loth to go without having
drawn anything from Michael Angelo and Raphael, which is one
of the chief objects for which one comes to this city of the
past; but, I do not hesitate to say, the principal task which
I propose to myself is a half-length portrait of Mrs.
Sartoris, to which I wish to devote my every energy that it
may be worthy of perpetuating the features of the last Kemble;
irrespective of the enormous artistic advantage to be derived
from the study of so exceptional a head, you will easily
understand my eagerness to give some tangible form to my
gratitude towards those whose fireside has been my fireside
for so long a time; nothing would grieve me more than missing
so good an opportunity. I confess, too, that I wished to see a
little more leisurely the glorious scenery that lies all round
Rome, and which I have hitherto hardly glanced at, and partly
indeed not seen at all. I had indeed contemplated before
leaving Italy, making a trip to Naples, Capri, Oschia, Amalfi,
and all the spots about which artists rave. This, however,
will I fear be under all circumstances a financial _chateau en
Espagne_.

_Translation._]
ROME, VIA FELICE 123,
_February 12_.

HONOURED AND DEAR FRIEND,--That you, who know me so well and
are so well aware of how I carry your image in my heart, could
misinterpret my silence I did not fear for a moment, for
rather will you have thought to yourself that the stress of my
occupations in the course of the day, and my incapacity to do
anything at night, have hitherto prevented me from writing;
and so it is; for, be you assured, dear Friend, that, as long
as I pursue art, you will be ever present with me in the
spirit, and that I shall always ascribe every success which I
may possibly attain in the future to your wise counsel and
your inspiriting example, for "as the twig is bent the tree's
inclined."

First I will tell you about my health; thank Heaven, as
regards my general health, I have nothing to complain of; if
not exactly strong, still I am lively and in good spirits, and
look out upon the world quite contentedly. My eyes--well, yes,
they might be better; otherwise I am always in a condition to
work my seven or eight hours a day without over-exertion, in
return for which I dare not do anything in the evenings. To
tell the truth, my position is not an agreeable one; I am not
bad enough to follow the course prescribed for me by Graefe,
but on the other hand not well enough to be able to feel quite
tranquil....

Time has slipped away in stress of work since I commenced this
letter. I throw myself again upon your goodness, dear Master,
and beg you will not measure my love by my readiness in
writing, for then I should certainly come off a loser. I told
you that my affairs have pressed upon me; I have finished my
"Cimabue." I am dreadfully disappointed, dear Friend, that I
cannot, as I hoped, send you a photograph, but it has been
impossible for me to have one taken, since the picture is so
large that it could not be transported to a photographic
loggia without fearful ado and unnecessary risk to the canvas;
I will therefore exert myself to write you what it looks like.
First you must know that I changed my intention as to the
respective sizes of the two pictures, for I perceived that my
eyes could not possibly permit the Florentine composition to
be carried out on the proposed scale. I therefore took a
canvas of 17-1/2 feet (English measure), in consequence of which
my figures have become half life size (like Raphael's "Madonna
del Cardellino"), and do not look at all ill. The other
picture (which I shall send to London) will be something over
7 feet long by 5 feet. If I am to get them both finished by
next January, I must set to work in earnest. I have made the
following alterations: first, those prescribed by you, viz. I
have made the picture which is being carried larger, the
chapel smaller, and have suppressed the flower-pots on the
walls. A further alteration I have made by the advice of
Cornelius; he said to me that the foremost group (the women
strewing flowers with children) seemed to him somewhat to
disturb the simplicity of the rest of the composition, and
suggested that I should put in a couple of priests, especially
as the portrait is of a Madonna and is being taken to a
church; he further advised me, in order to prevent the picture
from being too frieze-like, to allow this foremost group to
walk up to the spectator. It now looks something like this:

(Slight sketch of the design for "Cimabue's Madonna.")

I hope with all my heart that you will approve these
alterations. I have drawn a quantity of heads and hands, which
are all finished, like the "Chiaruccia" which I gave you;
drapery is not lacking. How I regret, dear Friend, that I
cannot show them to you. Gamba also is very industrious; he
has made endless studies, and has also got his record ready.
He sends you most hearty greetings. Of his diligence there is
always plenty to tell, and you will not be surprised when I
tell you that he has made very gratifying progress.

I could still tell you a great deal, my dear Master, of what I
have seen and experienced! but time and, alas! especially eyes
compel me to be laconic, or this oft-begun letter will never
be finished. Therefore I will only briefly narrate what
happened to me in the imperial city; my goodness! how long ago
that seems. My first impression, as I alighted from the train,
was very pleasant. A lovely autumn morning, the Prater with
its beautiful trees, the Jaegerheil in the sunshine, all
together welcomed me gaily. I alighted in the Leopold suburb,
and set off on foot the same morning in quest of Kuppelwieser,
a cordial, charming man. Through him I became acquainted with
Fuehrich and Roesner, who both received me no less kindly. They
all remembered with warm affection their dear comrade,
Steinle, and sent most hearty messages to him. Of their works
(for to you, best of friends, I write frankly) I cannot,
candidly, speak very highly, but perhaps I might of the
tenacious maintenance of their opinion in spite of the
boundless, oppressive indifference of the Viennese towards
high art. Now, the dear friends are somewhat ascetic
representatives of their mode of thought--a mode of thought
which can be combined, as we have seen in the great days of
art, with the greatest charm of representation; but this
quality is unfortunately too often absent from our friends. Of
the two, Kuppelwieser is the less offensive; he is perhaps
rather antiquated, but not without cleverness; Fuehrich is far
too ornamental for me, and as a painter, God save the mark!
Good gracious! what is nature there for? What can the people
make of all this! how is it possible that one can get so far
in spite of a perverted training! that people do not perceive
their fearful arrogance! They plume themselves upon piety and
humility, and in God's beautiful creation nothing is right for
them; do they then ever admit, these gentlemen, that they do
not want nature any more because they are aware that they no
longer know how to use her? Would they feel happy if they saw
a Masaccio, a Ghirlandajo, a Carpaccio? But they in their
drawings are pretentious and puffed up, but there is no
learnedness in them, and that which God has made so lovely
with all the brilliancy of colour, they daub with any dirt,
and call it a picture; some even (that was still lacking)
shrug their shoulders spitefully and mock--at the
unattainable. And whence does all that arise? How is it that
even sensible, clever men are so ill equipped? It is due
solely and alone to the topsy-turvy, involved principle of
education, to the fact that the people, while they are still
young, labour and worry day and night at the representation of
unrepresentable ideas, instead of drawing from nature and from
nothing else for ever and ever amen, till they are in close
harmony with her; that would be a soil from which the tree of
their art could grow upwards, fresh, powerful,
ever-herbescent; that they might not stand there in their old
age as high, proud, upward-aspiring trunks without leaves,
without sap. Naturally all this is not aimed at the good
Fuehrich, but in general against all those who in their
infatuation allow themselves, behind the shield of severe
sentiments and high efforts, to throw overboard all the
difficulties of art. How gladly my thoughts turn away from
such unpleasing reflections to you, dearest Friend, who take
nature for your model in every part of your pictures, and with
your high degree of ability are always the devoted pupil of
_nature_! Keep, I beg you, _your_ grateful pupil in
sympathetic remembrance, and never doubt the devotion of your
loving friend,

FRED LEIGHTON.

Please remember me most kindly to your wife; also to my other
friends. If you see Schalck, will you kindly say to him that I
have received his letter, and will answer it when my eyes
permit. I am longing to hear what pictures and drawings you
are making! Will you forgive my silence, and write to me?

My picture is under-painted grey-in-grey (_grau in grau_); I
finished it in a week; it was a great effort.

ROME, VIA FELICE,
_February 19, 1855_.

DEAREST MAMMA,--As the body of the letter I have just received
is written by Papa, I have thought well to address to _him_
the important part of mine; you will therein see all the
business news that I have to give, and will, I know, be much
pleased to hear that my picture has had great success here; I
hope it may not have less in London. As the picture is of a
jovial aspect and contains pretty faces, male and female, I
think the public will find _leur affaire_; the "Romeo and
Juliet" (also nearly finished) will, though perhaps a better
picture, probably be less popular from its necessarily serious
and dingy aspect. Dear Mamma, I am much tickled at your
comparison between the Campagna and the environs of Bath; it
is like saying that strawberries and cream are equal and
perhaps superior to a haunch of wild boar! _l'un n'empeche pas
l'autre_, but they can never be compared, nor can they answer
the same purpose. The Sartoris are well; I am there every
evening of my life.

The next page is Papa's. Good-bye, dear Mamma. Best love from
your affectionate and dutiful son,

FRED LEIGHTON.

_P.S._--My resolution not to dance I have kept (excepting in
the case of quadrilles), and have avoided making new
acquaintances, as I intend next winter not to go out at all;
but if I have no longer agitated the fantastic toe, and have
acquired a cordial dislike to balls, I have been all the
oftener to my dearest and best friends, the Sartoris, to whom
I go about four times a week, and of whose sterling worth it
is impossible to speak too warmly; at their house also I have
made several interesting acquaintances; Fanny Kemble (as you
know), Thackeray, Lockhart, Browning, the authors; Marochetti,
the sculptor, and so on; as for Mrs. Sartoris, I look upon her
as an angel, _ni plus ni moins_, and I feel terrified at the
idea of how much more exacting she has made me for the future
choice of a wife, by showing one what opposite excellencies a
woman may unite in herself.

_To his Father--Part of letter missing._]
1855.

It is with very great pleasure that I announce to you the
completion of my large picture, which I have exhibited
privately to my English friends and a crowd of artists of all
nations. You will, I am sure, be gratified to hear that it had
a remarkable "succes"; artists of whatever school seem equally
pleased, some admiring the drawing, others the colouring. I
hope that what I say does not savour of vanity; I simply tell
it you from a conviction that it is agreeable to you to hear
what people say of your son, and to anticipate in some measure
the verdict of a larger public. As for the positive _value_ of
it, we all know what to think about _that_. It amused me to
hear that several people compared my picture to the works of
Maclise, and came to conclusions considerably in my favour.
Swinton paid me the compliment of requesting to be introduced
to me, and seemed very sincerely to admire my picture, as also
a portfolio of leads which I have drawn at different times,
and which are much admired by everybody.

Of course you did perfectly right in not dreaming of
exhibiting Isabel's likeness. Pray do not think from what I
said about my lengthened stay in Rome, that I undervalue the
delight of seeing you all again, but still I think that if by
a little postponement I can have that pleasure without losing
my spring, it would be better. My idea is to remain in Italy
till the end of May, and then visiting Paris (to see the great
Exhibition) on my road to get home by the middle or end of
June, which will still leave me a long summer's holiday.

This letter from his mother contains the news of Leighton's father's joy at the success of the picture in Rome:--

_February 18, 1855._

Now I think of it, you have probably some signs of spring
about you--how enviable! My dear Fred, I did not compare the
artistic resources of Bath with those of Rome, well knowing
that the transparent atmosphere there imparts beauty to the
country which, without it, might not be remarked; equally
bright and clear the sky is not in England, but I assure you
that many parts of the country near us and in Devonshire, and
doubtless in many other counties, may for beauty challenge a
comparison with many most admired spots in Italy and
elsewhere, though the character of the landscape is different.
Nevertheless, I shall be very glad to see again Switzerland,
Southern Germany, &c. &c. Pray, dear Fred, if you do go to
sketch in the Campagna, take care not to expose yourself to
any disagreeable adventures with Brigands; I _entreat_ you, be
prudent. Not to tire you with repetition, I have not alluded
to the success of your picture, but I must tell you that your
father was radiant with joy as he read your letter and gave it
into my hands with the words, "That _is_ a satisfactory
letter." I am curious to know _when_ we shall see your Paris
picture, and whether we shall winter in that delightful town;
Papa and I have always wished it. I must just mention, what I
had nearly forgotten, that a great treat is in store for the
inhabitants of Bath, as next week Mrs. Fanny Kemble is to read
some of Shakespeare's plays in public, with appropriate music.
A great treat is expected. God bless you, love, I can no more.
Our united affectionate greetings.--Your attached Mother,

A. LEIGHTON.

ROME, _January 3, 1855_.
(_Recd. January 12._)

DEAREST MAMMA,--Let me hasten to reassure my poor dear
progenitor on the subject of his anxieties; if I spoke
doubtfully and despondently of my performances, it was owing
to the lively feeling that every artist, whose ideal is beyond
the applause of the many, must entertain of his own
shortcomings; once and for all let me beg him never to feel
any uneasiness on the score of mechanical processes, as in
such cases one always has the resource of cutting the Gordian
knot by painting over again the unsuccessful portions, an
expedient indeed to which I have many a time been forced to
resort; the result of such failures is called experience;
through such failures alone one arrives at success. Nor am I
wanting in the applause of my friends, who all speak in praise
and encouragement of my works, and it is not a little
gratifying to me to find that those whose opinions I most
value are the first to speak favourably of my endeavours; as
agreeable as is to me this testimony on their part, so
indifferent am I, and must I beg you to be (for better and for
worse) to the scribbling of pamphleteers; the self-complacent
oracularity of these _pachidermata_ is rivalled only by their
gross ignorance of the subjects they bemaul, and the
conventional flatness of all their views; I speak without fear
of being considered partial, as the article which you
communicate to me contains more of praise than of blame; it
is, however, my practice never to accept (inwardly) the praise
of those whose blame I don't acknowledge. I happen to have
seen other articles from the pen of this same Mister ----, and
know _a quoi m'en tenir_. The notice on myself I had heard of,
but not seen. It may amuse you to hear that my draperies have
been considered (alas!) the most successful part of my
picture, and I am at present labouring hard to bring the
heads, &c., _up to them_! In about a fortnight, the large work
("Cimabue," the "canvas of many feet") will be, D.V.,
finished, with the exception of the ultimate glazes and
retouches; by the end of February, both pictures will start
for their respective destinations. One thing has caused me
some annoyance and anxiety; I wrote a month ago (or more) to
one Mr. Allen, carver and gilder, 31 Ebury Street, Pimlico,
sending a design of my frame, and requesting him to let me
know at once what would be the cost of such a frame, whether
he would undertake it, and asking many questions important to
me to know; I have received no answer; I therefore must take
for granted that either he has not received my letter, or his
answer to me has been lost; now, as there is no longer any
time to correspond on the subject, I must, on the supposition
that my letter has gone astray, send another design together
with an unconditional order to begin at once at whatever cost;
now I grudge the time of writing a duplicate of my old letter,
and especially that of drawing a new diagram for his guidance.
With regard to the price, Fripp, who recommended him to me,
says Allen is a very respectable man, and will no way take
advantage of my awkward position; I calculate the frame can
hardly exceed five and twenty pounds; then there will be the
bill for exhibiting the picture of which he will take charge;
I expect that the framing, packing, sending, &c., of the two
canvases together will cost about fifty pounds "tant pis pour
moi!"

(Here the letter breaks off.)

(_Cover_--Madame Leighton,
9 Circus, Bath, England.)

ROME, VIA FELICE 123,
_March 2, 1855_.
(_On cover--Recd. April 12._)

DEAR PAPA,--I received a day or two ago the kind letter in
which you inform me of the disposition you have made to enable
me to get the money I want, and for which I sincerely thank
you; your letter reached me just as I was driving the last
nail into the coffin of my large picture; the small had been
disposed of in like manner the day before. Delighted as I am
to have got them at last off my hands, yet I felt a kind of
strange sorrow at seeing them nailed up in their narrow boxes;
it was so painfully like shrouding and stowing away a corpse,
with the exception, by-the-bye, that my pictures may possibly
return to my bosom long before the Last Judgment. With regard
to the success of my picture with its little Roman public,
nearly all the praise that reached my ears was bestowed
_behind my back_, so that whether intelligent or no, I have
good reason to believe it was sincere; indeed, I should not
else have said anything about it; Cornelius, I am sincerely
sorry to say, did not see my daubs in their finished state; he
was prevented by ill-health; however, all the advice he could
give me I got out of him in the beginning, and indeed, as you
know, altered about a dozen figures at his request; in points
of material execution he is utterly incompetent; I am happy to
say that he feels very kindly towards me, as indeed he told me
in plain words, and added on one occasion, "Sie koennen fuer
England etwas bedeutendes werden;" I need not tell you that as
he is altogether without apprehension of the peculiar and very
great merits of some of our artists, he considerably
overvalues my (relative) value. You ask for _my_ opinion of my
pictures; you couldn't ask a more embarrassing and
unsatisfactory question; I think, indeed, that they are very
creditable works for my age, but I am anything but satisfied
with them, and believe that I could paint both of them better
now; I am particularly anxious that persons whom I love or
esteem should think neither more nor less of my artistic
capacity than I deserve; the plain truth; I am therefore very
circumspect in passing a verdict on myself in addressing
myself to such persons; I think, however, you may expect me to
become eventually the best draughtsman in my country; Gibson
and Miss Hosmer are, as you expect, amongst those who praise
me, but I warn you that they are both utterly without an
opinion in matters pictorial. Who is ----? He is, _entre
nous_, the worst painter I ever saw, but also the greatest
toady, in virtue of which quality he makes L5000 a year by
portraying the nobility of Great Britain and Ireland; however,
towards me he has been very pleasant and nice, and so long as
there is no lord in the way he is a sufficiently companionable
person. I certainly feel very little desire to have my
"Cimabue" hung in the little room you speak of, but I fear
that I must take my chance with the rest; the fact is that
although I personally have taken no steps in the matter, still
"ces messieurs" will not be unprepared for my picture, because
I know that old Leitch for one will speak to them about it and
will do everything that is friendly; he even offered to
varnish it, but _that_ another friend of mine has already
undertaken. One thing is certain, they can't hang it out of
sight--it's too large for that. I must leave myself room to
write afterwards to Mamma....

...I am glad that you have made up your mind to not seeing me
as soon as you expected; indeed I felt sure that when I told
you all the reasons which concurred to make me prolong my
stay, you would feel the force of them; I willingly confess,
too, that I was most strongly biassed on the matter by my
reluctance to part from my friends, but particularly _her_. I
am horrified at the use you make of the words "indefinite
time"; I shall certainly never live long anywhere without
going to see them, and I trust that our "intimes relations"
will not cease as long as I live. How sorry I am that I should
not have known in time that Mrs. Kemble was to read in Bath; I
should have liked so to introduce you to her; you no doubt
found her reading a rare treat. How beautiful is the
"Midsummer Night's Dream" with Mendelssohn's music! This
reminds me of dear Gussy and _her_ music; I suppose her new
master is a good one, or she would not have taken him;
generally speaking I have a sovereign dislike for the
_engeance_ of _pianistes_ with their eternal jingle-tingles at
the top of the piano, their drops of dew, their sources, their
fairies, their bells, and the vapid runs and futile conceits
with which they sentimentalise and torture the motive of other
men; we have a specimen here in the shape of the
all-fashionable ----....

Referring to a lady of his acquaintance, he continues:--

She has acquired by her melancholy and sometimes haughty moods
a character for misanthropy which she has not cared to refute;
but, my good sir, she is DIVORCED! Poor cowards! should they
not rather gather her to them, and "weep with her that weeps,"
Bible-wise Pharisees! Your letter is full of thrilling events:
children born among the Australian flocks of Mr. Donaldson;
little ----, too, taking to herself a husband--alas for the
Laird of (probably) Ballyshallynachurighawalymoroo! I must
think of answering dear Gussy's note, and close with a hearty
kiss, from your dutiful and affectionate son,

FRED LEIGHTON.

DEAREST GUSSY,--Many thanks to you for your kind note and for
the sympathy and interest which you both offer and ask. How
heartily sorry I am that you should still be persecuted by the
soreness in your throat, and should be prevented, poor dear,
from singing; you who have the rare gift of that which is
unteachable and without which the most brilliant execution is
dumb to the heart; I mean musical accent. I had hoped that we
should sing together, but I fear that if the air of Bath has
such a bad effect on the throat, I shall be invalided as well
as yourself. What is about the compass of your voice? or
(which is more important) in what _tessitura_ do you sing with
least discomfort? that I may see whether anything I sing will
suit us; unfortunately most part of my limited _repertoire_
consists of the first tenor part in quintettes and quartettes,
which are not available for us two. I don't know whether I
told you that I take a part in Mrs. Sartoris' musical
evenings, in which I officiate as _primo tenore_; you may
imagine how great an enjoyment this is to me. Dear Gussy, how
I wish you could hear _her_ sing! it would enlarge your ideas
and open out your heart; I am sadly afraid however, that she
won't winter in Paris, so that if you go there you must make
up your mind to not meeting her; but if you are in England in
October she may possibly be there by that time, and you might
make her acquaintance; if I sell either of my pictures, and am
"sur les lieux" at the time, I will take you and Lina to town
at my own expense and introduce you to the dearest friend I
have in the world; I long for you to know and love one
another. You ask me whether she is like her sister; in
_expression_, sometimes, strikingly like; in _feature_, not in
the least. She is the image of John Kemble, with large
aquiline nose and the most beautiful mouth in the world, a
most harmonious head, and, like Fanny, the hair low down on
her forehead; artistically speaking, her head and shoulders
are the finest I ever saw with the exception only of Dante's;
in spite of all this, many people think her barely
good-looking, because she has no complexion, very little hair,
and is excessively stout; _you_ will be more discriminating. I
am amused at Mamma's asking me in her letter whether I know
why ---- did not know the Sartoris! Pardi! I did not introduce
them,--in the first place I have been obliged to make a rule
to introduce nobody to that house, as I should otherwise
become a nuisance; people have constantly fished for
introductions knowing my intimacy; but the chief reason is
that Mrs. Sartoris has the judgment and courage to ask to her
house nobody but those she _likes_ for some reason or other,
for which reason her house is the most sociable in the world;
her "intimes" are a complete medley, from the Duke of
Wellington down to a poor artist with one change of boots, but
_all_ agreeable for some reason; I know that she would be kind
to _any one I_ brought to her, but I also know that the ----s
would have been in the way and a _corvee_ to her, which fully
accounts, &c. &c.

I am delighted, dear Guss, that you have a music master to
your heart, and that you have been considered worthy to play
Bach's Fugues, which are indeed monstrous difficult. With
regard to the pianistic style and the dewdrop-warbling school,
you need not fear that _I_ should throw sour grapes in your
teeth about _that_; _franchement_, the ---- after all is
commonplace enough, and the ----, though pretty, hardly
deserves such an epithet as beautiful; as for the ----, it's
just ludicrous. Did you ever hear ---- piano-doodle himself?

I was rather surprised at the judgment you pass on Fanny
Kemble's reading; if _anything_ seems at all coarse in it, it
is occasional bits in the _male_ part, and that only, after
all, because it is _too_ good and it seems discrepant to hear
male harsh sounds proceeding from the mouth of a woman. With
regard to her women, nothing can be more pathetic and touching
than her Juliet, or indeed all the women I have heard her do;
there is altogether in her style a certain amount of mannerism
belonging to the Kemble school, but in spite of all that, it
is quite unapproachable now and is grand in the extreme; the
Ghost in "Hamlet" is quite a creation. You seem, like Mamma,
to apologise almost for expressing an admiration for my
photograph; do you think, dear, that I don't value your
sympathy irrespectively of your art judgment? I shall send you
soon two photographs of portraits that I am now painting; one
of Mrs. Sartoris, the other of her little daughter May. I must
close.--With very best love to all, I remain, your very
affectionate brother,

FRED LEIGHTON.

The change Leighton made in his picture at the request of Cornelius, mentioned in his letter to his father, dated March 2, 1855, can be seen by comparing the pencil sketch of the complete design with the finished painting (see List of Illustrations). It consisted in his making the Procession turn at the left-hand corner to face spectator, instead of filling in this space and giving the required grouping of lines partly by the foreshortened horse and its rider which we find in the first sketch. In the Leighton House Collection there is a fine study in pencil of the undraped figure of the man riding which is not included in the final design. There are those who remembered the picture when first painted in Rome, also at the Exhibitions in Trafalgar Square and Burlington House, who were of opinion that it was never seen so advantageously as on the occasion when the King lent it for exhibition in the artist's own studio in Leighton House in the year 1900, and many seeing it there exclaimed, "Leighton never did a finer thing;" and, truly, seen, as it was then, placed across the end of the glass studio under perfect conditions of lighting and surroundings, the power and originality both in the colouring and design of the work were very striking and impressive. Leighton's friends felt specially grateful to the King, for an opportunity having been afforded for the public to see this early work under such favourable and appropriate circumstances. During those months when the picture was shown at Leighton House, it felt as if the very spirit of the young artist, at the time when he was starting on his notable career, had returned and was haunting the home of his later years. From the end of the large studio, looking through the darkened passage connecting the two rooms, the procession verily looked alive, a _tableau vivant_--no mere painting.

One of the salient virtues in the composition lies in the happy way in which the two central figures take a separate important position, without the moving on of the procession being interrupted nor their attitudes being in any sense forced. On the contrary, it is by their absorbed, modest demeanour, which contrasts with the rest of the gay crowd, talking, singing, and playing musical instruments as it moves along, that the sense of awe and reverence felt by the two artist spirits becomes accentuated. These recognise in this public ovation bestowed on the picture of their beloved "Madonna and Child" the union of a service offered both to Art and to Religion.

The happiness Leighton enjoyed during the two years when this subject occupied his thoughts seems to have been reflected in the vigour of the actual painting. It was evidently finally executed with an exuberant feeling of satisfaction. Careful studies having been previously made for every portion, the under-painting itself was, as he writes to Steinle, completed in one week, and the canvas once attacked, there appears to have been no hitch in the process of completion. The happy balancing of masses, the grouping of the figures, the beauty of the lines throughout the crowded procession are admirable. The picture was admitted by competent judges to be a work marked by a distinct individuality, yet possessing "style," a word which in recent years had been associated in England with art that lacked vigour and originality, and which flavoured solely of obsolete grooves and theories. The colour is richer and purer than in Leighton's earliest pictures, and arranged cleverly so as to give full importance and value to the beautiful white costume worn by Cimabue.[34] Sir William Richmond, R.A., writes: "Impressions of early years are not easily removed. As a boy at school I went to the R.A. Exhibition, and saw for the first time a work of Leighton's, the procession in honour of the picture by Cimabue in Florence, 1855. It stood out among the other pictures to my young eye as a work so complete, so noble in design, so serious in sentiment and of such achievement, that perforce it took me by the throat."

Leighton sent a photograph of the picture to Steinle with a letter dated March 1.

_Translation._]
ROME, VIA FELICE 123,
_March 1, 1855_.