Chapter IV: Watts--Success--Failure

1855-1856

It was in the summer of 1855, in consequence of his father having summoned him suddenly back to England, that Leighton first became known as a notable person to the London world. His picture of "Cimabue's Madonna" had preceded him, and gave him an introduction to the art magnates; while the fact that the Queen had bought it of the young and, till then, unknown artist, raised the curiosity of those to whom the intrinsic value of the work was insignificant, compared to its having received this mark of Royal approval. Hanging on the walls of the Academy throughout the season and being much talked about, the picture, combined with the painter's charming personality, won for him at once a prominent position. His friends of the happy Roman days, however, remained the nucleus of his real intimacies. As can be gathered from his letters, he had already in Rome felt general society to be fatiguing and unremunerative, the interest in it never having compensated him for the physical exertion and weariness it entailed. Health--and a more or less stolid temperament--are requisite in order to combat, with any satisfaction, the wear and tear of late hours, and contact with mere acquaintances and strangers whose personalities carry with them no special interest. Leighton found no pleasure in such intercourse sufficient to overbalance its sterility, for he possessed neither robust health nor much equanimity of temperament. He could enjoy with ecstasy those things which delighted him, but had little of that even current of patient contentment, the normal condition of those who can tolerate cheerfully--and even with pleasure--the herding in crowds with mere acquaintances. Circumstances combined in making Leighton's disinclination to indiscriminate visiting often misunderstood. His extreme vitality when in company, his notable gifts as a talker and as a linguist, the high social standing of many of his most intimate friends, naturally gave the impression that he was made for the sort of success which is the aim of many living in the London world. That he never availed himself of all the opportunities that offered themselves was considered by many as a sign of conceit and superciliousness. Nothing could have been farther from the truth. That he was ambitious for Art to take her legitimate position on the platform of the world's highest interests is certain, and that he resented the position which was but too often accorded in England to her earnest votaries, and had a keen discernment in tracing evidences of self-interest and snobbish proclivities in those who would have patronised him, is no less certain; but that Leighton himself was ever personally otherwise than the most modest of men, all who really knew him can attest. To whatever class in society a man or woman might belong, whether a Royal or a quite humble friend--once a friend, Leighton gave of his very best and worthiest. No time or trouble would he spare in such service; though he was too eager a worker, and felt too keenly a responsibility towards his calling for him to allow any moment of his life to be frittered away by claims which were not in his eyes real or of any serious advantage to others.

It was during this summer that he made the personal acquaintance of Ruskin, Holman Hunt, Millais, and Watts. While in London he found a home with his mother's relations, Mr. and Mrs. Nash, in Montagu Square, for whose affectionate kindness he was ever grateful. It was while staying there that Watts and he first met, or rather on the pavement outside the house. Watts recounted how he had ridden one afternoon to Montagu Square, and having asked for Leighton, the artist himself came out to greet him. Watts was much impressed at the time, he said, by the extraordinary amount of vitality and nervous energy which Leighton seemed to possess. This acquaintance thus begun was continued for forty years.[48]

As regarded Art, the supreme interest in the lives of these two famous painters, their relations remained intimate to the end of Leighton's life. Before Leighton definitely settled in London, Watts invited him to show his work in the studios of Little Holland House, which invitation he gratefully accepted. In a letter to his mother Leighton writes: "Watts has been exceedingly amiable to me; the studio is at my disposal if I want to paint there. I am still of opinion that Watts is a most marvellous fellow, and if he had but decent health would whip us all, if he does not already."

It is interesting to trace the influences which developed alike in Leighton and Watts, the feeling for form which in both artists is analogous to that of the Greek. Before going to Italy, Watts had studied the perfection in the work of Pheidias in the Elgin Marbles, a perfection rediscovered by Haydon; and a visit to Greece later only confirmed his conviction that the Pheidian school of sculpture made a higher appeal to his artistic sense than did any other. That was "_the indelible seal_" which, in the case of his brother artist, had been stamped on Leighton's artistic nature through the guidance of his master, Steinle. When Watts lived in Italy, from the year 1843 to 1847, he found that it was the work of Orcagna and Titian that appealed most to his imagination, and to his sense of form and colour--Orcagna's great conceptions, which struck notes stranger and more widely suggestive than those dictated and restricted by special religious creeds; Titian, the glorious Titian of the Renaissance, whose sense and modelling had the breadth and bloom of Pheidian art, and whose colour was triumphant in qualities of richness and subtlety combined. The pure beauty in the early religious painters made a much slighter and less personal appeal to Watts during those four years he lived in Italy.

It was in Italy, when a child of twelve, that Leighton drank a deep draught from the fountain-head of mediaeval and modern art; and this established once and for all the high standard towards which he ever aimed. But though his true artistic preferences were aroused at this early age, the full and complete passion for his calling was not developed till he met his master some years later in Frankfort. Belonging to the brotherhood of Nazarenes, the early religious Italian art appealed more strongly than any other to Steinle; and, doubtless, the earnest study Leighton devoted to Duccio, Cimabue, Giotto, Buonfigli, Perugino, and Pinturicchio, and the delight he took in their work, was originally started by Steinle. The following list, which exists in Steinle's handwriting, of the paintings which he wished Leighton specially to study in Florence is evidence of this.

_Translation._]

FLORENCE

_St. Croce._--The choir by Angiolo Gaddi, pupil of Giotto. The
chapel on the right by his uncle, Taddeo Gaddi. The altar
by Giotto himself, in the sacristy the Taddeo Gaddi, in the
refectory the Last Supper, all by Giotto.

_St. Marco._--Outside Fiesole, where particularly should be seen
in the cloister-cell and choir-stalls a Last Supper by
Ghirlandajo.

_St. Maria Novella._--The choir by Domenico Ghirlandajo, chapel
by Giovanni and Filippo Lippi, a Madonna in marble by
Benedetto da Majano, the great Madonna of Cimabue. The Hell
and Paradise of Andreas Orcagna. Opposite the court of this
chapel grey in grey by Dello and Paul Ucello; from the court
into the Capello dei Spagnola, to the left the picture by
Taddeo Gaddi; all the rest by Simon Memmi.

_Capella di St. Francesco_, by Dom. Ghirlandajo.

_St. Ambrogio._--Fresco by Cosimo Rosetti.

_St. Spirito._--Built by Brunelleschi; altar-pieces by Filippo
Lippi and Botticelli.

_Al Carmine_, dei Massacio's.

_St. Miniato._--Chapel by Aretino Spinello.

_Palazzo Riccardi._--The lovely chapel by Benozzo Gozzoli.

_In the Chapel of the Foundling Hospital._--Beautiful
altar-piece by Ghirlandajo.

After visiting Padua, Siena, Perugia, Assisi, however, the pupil became a keen admirer of this early art, independently of any influence other than the inherent beauty, dignity, and purity of the feeling in the works themselves.[49] Moreover, the natural sympathy which Leighton felt for the art of Greece, discovered in this early Italian work records of her influence, and that, in a very striking manner, it was allied to that of the great ancients. In his Academy address of 1887 we find this alluded to in the following passage:--

"The production, both in sculpture and painting, of the middle
period of the thirteenth century has a character of
transition. In painting, the works, for instance, of Cimabue
and of Duccio are still impregnated with the Byzantine spirit,
and occasionally reveal startling reminiscences of classic
dignity and power, to which justice is not, I think,
sufficiently rendered. In sculpture, the handiwork of Nicolo
Pisano is full of the amplitude, the rhythm, and virility of
classic Art. I see in it, indeed, the tokens of a new life in
Art, but little sign of a new artistic form--it is not a dawn;
it is an after-glow, strange, belated, and solemn. In the Art
of Giotto and the Giottosques, the transformation is
fulfilled. It is an art lit up with the spirit of St. Francis,
warm with Christian love, pure with Christian purity, simple
with Christian humility; it is the fit language of a pious
race endowed with an exquisite instinct of the expressiveness
of form, as form, but untrained as yet in the knowledge of the
concrete facts of the outer world; an art fresh with the dew
and tenderness of youth, and yet showing, together with this
virginal quality of young life, a simple forcefulness
prophetic of the power of its riper day. Within the outline of
these general characteristics individuality found sufficient
scope."

Even when this transformation is fulfilled in the frescoes of Giotto, any intelligent study of his art at Padua and Assisi, while keeping in mind the manner in which Pheidias felt and treated the human form in his sculpture, would prove to the student how distinctly visible is the link between the ancient and this mediaeval art; though the fact of the latter being fired with an ecstasy of spiritual emotion of which the Greek had no experience, may disguise the link where feeling in art is of more interest than form. There is the same detachment of one form from another, each being given its full expression and intention--which induces a feeling of simplicity and serenity in the greatest work. The form of the head is not smudged into the throat, nor the throat into the chest, nor the chest into the arms. Even in the smallest Greek coin or _intaglio_ of the best period this separate individuality of form in each part of the human frame is accentuated, and with it a sense of size and breadth. The same fundamental principles also, adhered to by the great Greek workmen in their treatment of drapery, is to be traced in the work of Giotto.

But the great Greeks did not invent the beauty they immortalised, any more than did Leighton and Watts; the Pheidian school intuitively chose the noblest form it found in nature.[50] The notable gift with which nature endowed the artists of the Periclean epoch consisted of eyes to perceive, and taste to _prefer_, the form which, intrinsically and most convincingly, inspires admiration in those imbued with the finest sense of beauty--not a gift to invent something new and different from nature. In like manner the gift nature bestowed on Leighton and Watts was the same, a perception and a preference for noble form; and in this choice they had been educated by legacies from Pheidias and his school, but only so far as these legacies induced them to seek and perceive in nature herself the elements of such nobility. In painting the magnificent head and shoulders entitled "Atalanta,"[51] or the reclining figures in "Idyll,"[52] Leighton copied as directly from nature as when he painted the portrait of "Miss Mabel Mills,"[53] where a similar beauty of form in the throat existed as in Miss Jones, who sat for "Atalanta" and "Idyll." When Watts painted his superb "Lady with the Mirror," one of his really great achievements, it was the model before him whose beauty he was recording, though his own sense in recognising it had been further inspired by his study of Pheidias. We need not go out of England to find types which are as completely noble as are those in the most inspiring art ever created, but the sense as a rule is wanting in English artists to select and to prefer such nobility.

Leighton writes to a friend in 1879:--

"I have just remembered a circumstance which might be worth
mentioning: I painted pictures in _an out-of-door top light_
and with realistic aims (of course, subordinate to style) in
the old Frankfurt days before I came over here, and long
before I heard of 'modern' ideas in painting. In this,
perhaps, more than in anything, the boy was the father of the
man, for it is still the corner-stone of my faith that Art is
not a corpse, but a living thing, and that the highest respect
for the old masters, who are and will remain supreme, does not
lie in doing as they did, but as men of their strength would
do if they were now (oh, _derisim_!) amongst us."

Leighton taught Watts to appreciate the Greek inheritance to be found in early Italian art; and I have frequently heard Watts comment on the evidence of this legacy in Giotto's work. Watts, by ventilating the results of his studies of Pheidian art with Leighton, and analysing the elemental principles on which it was grounded, aided his brother artist in securing a faster hold on the sources of his individual preferences.

No two characters could have been more dissimilar than those of Watts and Leighton, no two men could have led more different external lives; Leighton's great and varied gifts requiring for their full exercise the whole area of life's stage, Watts' genius demanding seclusion, and days undisturbed by friction with the outer world. Watts' first and great object in life was to preserve his work, and to bequeath it to his country, which he, happily for his country, was enabled to do; Leighton's object was to complete a work as far as industry and his gifts would enable him to complete it, then--as he would say--"to get rid of it and never see it again; but try to do better next time"! The one was frank, free, courageous; the other almost morbidly self-depreciative, sensitive, and timid. All the same, no two workmen could have had more sympathy with one another in their true aims and aspirations, or more mutual admiration for each other's artistic gifts.

Watts, to his credit, had from his first acquaintance with Leighton discerned that "the unusual position" which Leighton undoubtedly held from his first appearance in the London world to the day of his death, was due to the possession of unusual gifts, exercised in a very unusually generous and public-spirited manner, and not to reasons invented by those who were envious of this prominent position.

Watts wrote to Leighton after they became neighbours in Kensington:--

"I have been worrying myself by fancying you rather
misunderstood the drift of my observations respecting the
value of social consideration to a professional man, that I
meant to imply you sold your pictures in consequence of the
unusual position you undoubtedly hold; knowing me and my
opinions as you do, you could hardly think so, yet poets and
artists are proverbially sensitive beings. I know I am myself
to a degree that could hardly be imagined, though not with
regard to opinion of my work; I am resigned, if not contented,
to preserve what I can do for posterity, conscious that no
other judgment can really be worth anything; I am very often
unhappy, thinking that after all the best I can do may not be
worthy of being brought before the great tribunal at all; but
I do not allow myself to brood over the subject more than I
can help. However, I do not attempt to deaden the keen dread I
have of giving pain or offence, and am really miserable when I
think I have done so, or been unjust; I don't think I am often
the latter, but I may by clumsiness fall into the former
regrettable position. I should grieve indeed if any word or
deed of mine should ever be offensive to you, for you know me
to be always yours most sincerely,

"SIGNOR."

Immediately on his arrival from Italy Leighton paid a visit to his family at Bath, arriving on May 24. He returned to London shortly after, where his family joined him on June 15, and the introduction so long desired by Leighton took place between his parents and sisters and his great friends, Mr. and Mrs. Sartoris. In December 1854 Leighton's mother had written: "How delightful to see you again, and perhaps we may spend the next winter together, but of that I am uncertain. In England we shall not be, and both Papa and I incline to Paris, but Gussy has an anxious desire to go to Berlin. The Sartoris' being in Paris would be a strong inducement to us to go there, as we very much wish to make your friends' acquaintance, and we should most likely meet at their house agreeable people. I am exceedingly sorry I overlooked Mrs. Sartoris' friendly message, which I have since discovered in your former letter. Pray offer her my best compliments, and assure her I consider her great kindness to you gives her a claim upon my sympathy, and I shall rejoice to have an opportunity of giving her this assurance in person."

In February his mother wrote: "I hope you will not long be separated from your friends the Sartoris when you leave Rome. We all sincerely desire to become acquainted with the valued friends of whom we hear so much."

Later his father wrote: "With regard to your reasons for remaining at Rome during the spring, you have this time at least the best of the argument. If there were no other than your wish to give more tangible form to your gratitude to your kind friends, the Sartoris, it would be sufficient, to say nothing of the drawings from M. Angelo and Raphael."

And in the same cover his mother says: "I feel, with your father, great satisfaction at your undertaking a likeness of Mrs. Sartoris--I hope it may prove a satisfactory one. Give our love to Mrs. Sartoris." Leighton's younger sister kept a diary in those days. Written in this are notes which describe the keen appreciation which she and her family felt for her brother's friends. "In fact she is, as Fred says, an angel. She seems very fond of him, as she might be of a younger brother.... She is very stout, high coloured, and has little hair. But the shape of her mouth is very fine, the modulations of her voice in speaking are exquisite. She is a creature who can never age, and before whose attractions those of younger and prettier women must always pale." "August 1855.--Fred returned to Bath to stay with us a little while. Beautiful drives together. So generous in giving me several volumes of poetry." "Sept.--Left us to go to Paris."

While in London Leighton wrote the following to his master, Steinle:--

_Translation._]
10 MADDOX STREET, BOND STREET,
LONDON, 1855.

MY VERY DEAR FRIEND,--At last I am able to write to you again.
When I sent off my last letter to you I was busily packing for
my journey; now I have been already six weeks in England, and
it seems a year since I left Rome. I scarcely need tell you,
dearest Friend, that at first, in this London hurly-burly, I
hardly knew whether I was standing on my head or my heels: I
will not say that this condition has not had a certain charm.
I have made several acquaintances, have been cordially
received, and have had considerably more praise for my picture
than it deserves. However, I have already set seriously to
work again, and expect shortly to commence upon a new
composition. It is a real grief to me, dear Master, to have to
work without your guidance.

My _succes_, here in London, which, for a beginner, has been
extraordinarily great, fills me with anxiety and apprehension;
I am always thinking, "What can you exhibit next year that
will fulfil the expectations of the public?" When I have
settled anything definitely, I shall report to my master in
Frankfurt.

Now, however, as regards the photographs. Owing to unforeseen
circumstances, Mrs. Sartoris (whom I introduced to you in my
last letter) was obliged to alter the plans of her journey,
and will not leave this for Germany until the middle of
September. What now? Will you wait so long, or shall I seek an
opportunity to send you your seven things?

And now, my Friend, how are you occupied? Do you still sparkle
with beautiful inventions? Tell me all that you are doing. I
had a delightful surprise recently when I saw your long
expected "Court Scene" in Paris; it is a charming composition.
I tell you nothing of the great Paris Exhibition, for you
naturally will not neglect to see a thing so excessively
interesting; it throws light upon a great many things. If only
you could come in September! then we could meet again and
renew old times a little; it would be very delightful. I
should like extremely to arrange something of the kind with
you; we should certainly agree very well.

Remember me most kindly to your wife and my old friends in
Frankfurt, and keep in mind your loving pupil,

FRED LEIGHTON.

In a letter to his mother, before she arrived in London, Leighton refers to Ruskin's criticism when comparing his "Cimabue's Madonna" to Millais' "Rescue":--

LONDON.

I do wonder at the critics: will they never let "the cat die"?
What Ruskin means by Millais' picture being "greater" than
mine, is that the joy of a mother over her rescued children is
a higher order of emotion than any expressed in my picture. I
wish people would remember St. Paul on the subject of hateful
comparisons: "There is one glory of the sun, and another glory
of the moon, and another glory of the stars, for one star
differeth from another star in glory."

I spent last night an evening that Gussy would have envied me.
We (I and the Sartoris and one or two others) were at Halle's,
who is the most charming fellow in the world.

Having sent his "Romeo" picture to Paris, Leighton was not quite unknown to the art world when he arrived there in September 1855. The "Cimabue's Madonna," hanging on the walls of the Royal Academy in London, and this picture being shown at the great International Exhibition in France, he can fairly be said to have entered at the age of twenty-four the arena where he competed with the first artists in Europe. By a mistake the "Romeo" picture was hung in the Roman instead of the English section in the International Exhibition. The following extract appeared in a publication at the time, and gives the unbiassed criticism of one who was unknown to Leighton:--

"Strange it may seem, but such is the fact, that of the
thirteen canvasses she (Rome) has sent on this occasion to
sustain her credit, that which for intrinsic merit takes the
lead--in which soul for expression and true artistic feeling
are conspicuous, is due to the pencil of an
Englishman--Frederic Leighton, _ne a Scarborough, eleve de
Mons. Edouard Steinle de Frankfort_. The subject of this
picture--and it is a fine one--is the reconciliation of the
Houses of Montagu and Capulet over the bodies of Romeo and
Juliet. Let us hope that his native country may hear and see
more of so promising an artist as Mr. Leighton."

And again:--

"When these lines were written on the other side of the
Channel, Mr. Leighton had already sent his 'pencil's' first
representation to the Royal Academy, causing therein not a
little surprise, fluttering the dovecots in Corioli. We beg he
will construe our sincere anticipations into a hearty
welcome."

In the early days of September 1855, Leighton was in Paris preparing to settle in for a winter's hard work. The following letters to his mother and father and to Steinle were written soon after his arrival. In that to Steinle, Leighton alludes to the serious work he has before him, in painting "The Triumph of Music":--

HOTEL CANTERBURY, RUE DE LA PAIX,
_Sunday, 1855_.

DEAREST MAMMA,--Though I have, of course, nothing to tell you
yet, still, as it is Sunday morning, I send you a few lines as
a token of continued vegetation. Paris is bright and warm and
sunny, and contrasts incredibly with the murkiness of London.
I have already set to work to look for a studio, but shall
have great difficulty in finding one, and shall have to pay
about 1500 francs per annum _unfurnished_; my furniture I
shall of course hire, not buy--_ci vuol pazienza_.

HOTEL CANTERBURY,
_Saturday, 1855_.

DEAR PAPA,--When one has bad news to swallow, there is nothing
like taking the bull by the horns and engulphing the dose at
once: this is the bull to be swallowed, horns and all. I have,
after great trouble and manifold inquiries, taken _the only_
studio that at all suited me, and for that I give
_unfurnished_ 150 francs a month. It is enormous, but
unavoidable; nor have I been at a disadvantage from being an
Englishman, for two artists of my acquaintance, one a
_Parisian_ just returning from Rome, the other a Frankfurter,
have seen precisely the _same_, and only the same, studios as
I did. It is the dearth of studios and the great demand for
them that makes the price so high. Those who have had studios
some time of course pay very much less, others put up with
little holes far too small to paint a picture of any size.
Carlo Perugini is painting in the studio of a friend, and that
is a strip not large enough for one person. There was only
_one_ studio which I could for a moment think of besides this
one I have taken, and that costs infinitely less; but not only
was it too small--it had been built _this_ summer, and is not
yet finished painting, feels cold and damp, and would no doubt
have laid me up with the rheumatism.

I have been advised and actually assisted in everything by
Hebert, who is a friend as well as an old acquaintance, and
than whom nobody knows the resources of Paris better. He took
me about to get my furniture, &c., and I am happy to say that
I have bought everything, including ample bedroom and table
linen, crockery, and knives, spoons, &c., all under L30. I
have quite a little _fond de menage_; this is the only cheap
thing I have done in Paris, everything is exactly as dear as
London. It certainly _is_ lucky I sold my picture.

My frame cost, with time and trouble of exhibition, 320
francs.

[Portion of letter to his father.]

21 RUE PIGALLE, _Tuesday_.

I have nothing whatever to tell you, except that I have just
finished a head of Carlo Perugini (for myself), which is the
best thing of the kind I ever did. It has not interfered with
my picture, but has stopped up unavoidable gaps. I have got H.
Wilson[54] to teach me the Conture Method--_a fin d'avoir tate
a tout_. Conture paints well in spite of his method, which
might easily lead to superficial mannerism. The best _dodge_
is to be a devil of a clever fellow.

Will you do me a _great_ favour--for my friend Hebert, to whom
I am under great obligations? If you can get me for him _any_
Greek classic (if Homer, all the better) in the _same edition_
as my _Brumek's Anacreon_ with _Latin notes_, I shall be much
obliged. Hebert wants very much to have any such work.

_Translation._]
21 RUE PIGALLE, PARIS,
_Saturday, September 29, 1855_.

MY VERY DEAR FRIEND,--At last I find the long-desired
opportunity to send you the photographs; our old Gamba has
undertaken to convey them to you. How I envy him the pleasure
of seeing you again, dear Master! You, on your side, will
certainly have great pleasure in seeing your old pupil again.
He is just the same as ever; rather more of a beard, and
broader shouldered, but still quite the old Gamba. He will be
able to tell you that we have cherished your memory with love
and reverence, and are always proud to call ourselves your
pupils.

I should like to describe to you what I am painting now, but
the subject I have chosen is such an absolute matter of
sentiment, that your imagination might well paint something
quite different, in comparison with which my picture might
subsequently suffer; I would rather wait until I can send you
a photograph. It is a picture with only four figures, but
life-size. I stand in alarm before the blank canvas. One
learns gradually to understand that one really can do nothing.

The photographs in the portofolio with my writing on them are
yours; I hope they will please you. You must accept them as a
little memento of my Italian hobbledehoy-hood.

Remember me respectfully to Madame Steinle, to my other
friends "tante cose."

Keep me in remembrance.--Your grateful pupil,

FRED LEIGHTON.

Again to Steinle he writes:--

PARIS, RUE PIGALLE 21.

No one could sympathise better than I with your melancholy
loneliness in the hermitage of Frankfurt; in that air an
artist breathes with difficulty; I confess I should be
entirely paralysed by the lack of models and other resources
in Frankfurt; one all too easily loses sight of the infinite
importance of a complete material representation, which is
always the special mark of the _artist_; I often see with
amazement how even quite clever people behave in this respect.
It has quite a plausible sound if one says (such a fellow as
Strauch, for example), "Away with materialism! Pfui! The great
artist is he who has the most ideas!" Stop, my little man! do
you not feel what a store of artistic cowardice lies behind
your words? Ah, behind so broad a shield you can elude all the
difficulties of your work! He who has the most _ideas_ is
first only as the greatest _poet_ or even _philosopher_! He
only is an _artist_ who can _set_ his ideas _forth_. _Art_
means the power to do; undoubtedly the idea is the source, the
achieved is art; but an _idea_ completely _embodied_ can no
more exist without the _artist_ power than a thousand ideas
that are only muddled away by agitated incapacity!

I gladly let myself go on such matters to you, for I know that
we are of one mind regarding them, and it does one good to
pour out one's heart a little for once.

I hear, with particular interest, that you are painting the
little picture of the Madonna that you composed twenty-three
years ago in the diligence when you were travelling to Italy;
it is a very good thing. I imagine a lovely landscape in the
background; an oleander, rich in starry bloom; grey olives and
stately cypresses wave in the distance; soft violets nestle on
the bank of the cool water, and gaze with earnest eyes out of
the whispering grass. On the still bosom of the stream sleep
white blossoms, which have flown down when the winds breathed
on the limes, and see, in a secret nook in the shade of the
lovely _Himmelsglocken_, the strawberry bed from which the
black-eyed John will peep at the treasures. Above, in the
branches, many-coloured birds frolic, and chase one another,
and flit through the grove, in harmonious, song-rich flight.
And the Madonna! how tenderly and lovingly she looks down upon
the two playing children! Have I described your picture?

In order to send it to England (and how delighted I should be
to see it) you should, so much I know from personal
experience, cause your picture to reach the Royal Academy
(without fail) on the first of April; I believe that influence
is no use at all, for the Academicians are very autocratic; I
will, however, obtain all the information in good time. I, who
was even more totally unknown in England than you, have
refrained, by the advice of my friends, from applying to _any_
person, and have left my pictures entirely to themselves.

Now I must close this immoderately long letter. It seems not
impossible to me that I may pass through Frankfurt next
spring, then we will have a good long gossip together, won't
we?

Till then, keep in warm remembrance your English pupil,

FRED LEIGHTON.

It is clear that Paris lacked the charm which Italy had for Leighton. Parisians have been compared to the Greeks with respect to the peculiarly _fin_ and agile manner in which they can exercise their intellects; and so far Leighton might have been expected to fit in happily and with enjoyment to himself into their life. But though he felt a great respect and admiration for the genuine artistic sense which the French undoubtedly possess as a nation, Leighton, no less as a man than as an artist, was more Greek than is any typical Parisian. He viewed the beauty of nature from a less circumscribed standpoint, his emotions were excited with a more ingenuous spontaneity and less from a _parti-pris_ attitude than, as a rule, are those of the French artist. Paris was too artificial to appeal strongly to Leighton's taste. As with the Greeks, grace and charm in the form of living as in Art was a necessity to his well-being; but he found more natural expression of such grace and charm in the unsophisticated Italian than among the artificial and more highly finished manners of the Parisians. We never read of the eager longing to be in France that Leighton's letters show when it was a question of a return to Italy. Also Paris does not appear to have suited his health. He writes to his mother after living there some weeks:--

21 RUE PIGALLE, _Sunday, 21_.

DEAREST MAMMA,--I observe in a general way that the climate of
Paris is very exciting to my nerves--infinitely more than
Rome. The life I lead is one of unprecedented regularity and
absence of any kind of excess, yet sometimes in the evening,
when I have lit my lamp and my fire and sit down to work, I
can neither play, nor read, nor draw, nor do anything for five
minutes together for sheer restlessness and fidgets. That
sleep, too, that used to be the corner-stone of my
accomplishments and the pillar of my strength, is not by any
means what it was--_non sum qualis eram!_

The Sartoris have not changed their plans more than five or
six dozen times since you saw them. They are now staying in
the country with the Marquise de l'Aigle, Edward's sister.
They will be here at the beginning of November and stay
_three_ months--ooray! Lady Cowley is, I believe, not yet come
back. I see a great deal of Herbert Wilson here. He has with
him, too, an arch-brick of a friend, a naval captain whom I
like most particularly. I am painting his head for practice
and for him--he is a fine specimen of an English sailor.
About learning by heart, don't you think it will be a great
waste of my very little eyesight to read the same thing over
and over again until I know it?

21 RUE PIGALLE, _October 26_.

My health, to return to the eternal refrain, is just what it
was. I shall find very little difficulty in giving up coffee
or tea after dinner, as I never take either; indeed, of late I
have given up wine, beer, gin, and other spirituous liquors as
utterly exciting and damnable. Nothing makes me sleep as I
used except going to bed late, and as I am always either
sleepy, tired, or fidgety in the evening, I very seldom get
beyond ten o'clock.

Carlo Perugini, whom I saw to-day, sends "tante cose" to his
cousin. He is a charming boy, most gentlemanlike, and has that
peculiar childlike simplicity which belongs to none but
Italians.

Leighton's friendship with Brock and the French sculptor Dalou began in these autumn days of 1855. He also made the acquaintance of Whistler, whose etchings he admired greatly. The work of Jean Francois Millet also delighted him no less than that of Corot.

His sister's diary contains the following notes: "November 25.--We arrived at Paris. Our dear, handsome Fred was here to meet us. December 1.--Fred comes to see us daily, though sometimes only for five minutes. He is pale and coughs a good deal; it makes us uneasy. He often comes to dinner. Presents to us on New Year's day. Took me to the Conservatoire. Always generous. We went often to Mrs. Sartoris in the evening."

It was in Paris that Leighton probably first enjoyed to the full the culture of his instincts for the drama. Mr. and Mrs. Sartoris remained in Paris during the winter and spring, and Mr. Henry Greville arrived there on February 28th, 1856.

Extracts from his published diaries give a picture of the _milieu_ in which Leighton's hours of relaxation from work were spent:--

27 RUE DU FAUBOURG ST. HONORE,
_Saturday, March 1, 1856_.

I left London on Thursday with Flahault and Charles, and after
a smooth passage slept at Boulogne and came on here yesterday.
After dining _tete-a-tete_ with the excellent doctor (the
Hollands dined out), I went to Adelaide Sartoris', where I
found Herbert Wilson, Leighton, and other young and
good-looking artists, and some ladies whom I did not know, and
amongst them Madame Kalergi, a niece of Nesselrode, a tall,
large, white-looking woman, who has a reputation for
cleverness and a great talent on the pianoforte. This morning
I went to Leighton's studio, and saw his drawings, which are
full of genius.

_Thursday, March 6._

Heard in the morning that Covent Garden theatre was burnt at
seven yesterday morning, and went to announce the event to
Mario. In the evening, with Adelaide Sartoris and Leighton, to
Ristori's rentree in "Mirrha." She acted more finely than
ever, and I was enchanted with her wonderful beauty and
classic grace: her tenderness, in this part especially, is
indescribable. Adelaide Sartoris had never seen her before,
and was as much delighted as astonished at the performance.
The audience was in a frenzy of enthusiasm, and yet I do not
believe half the people present understood Italian.

_Friday, March 20._

I went last night with Adelaide Sartoris and Leighton to see
Ristori in Alfieri's play of "Rosmunda."

In reading it I was convinced I should be bored by so inflated
a rhodomontade, and that the part of Rosmunda, being one of
unmitigated fury and violence, was unsuited to an actress
whose chief merit seemed to consist in her power of
delineating the gentler passions. I was therefore but little
prepared for the wonderful effect she produced upon me and on
the audience. The play is horrible and offensive, but her
manner of rendering this odious part is nothing short of
sublime. Her beauty in the costume of the sixth century is
beyond all description, and the manner in which she varies
the phases of the same passions of hatred and vengeance, and
the prodigious power of the whole impersonation, are
marvellous. Her acting of the scene in the third act, when she
tells Ildevaldo that Amalchilde loves Romalda, is about the
best thing I have seen her do; and the last act, in which she
murders her rival, and the way in which she seizes her and
drags her up the steps, is like a whirlwind sweeping
everything before it; too terrible almost to witness, and
prevented my sleeping all night.

_Monday, March 24._

In the evening I went (as I generally do) to Adelaide
Sartoris', where I found Bickerton Lyons, French, and
Leighton. This latter is a singularly gifted youth. Besides
his talent for painting and drawing, which is already at
twenty-five very remarkable, and likely, if he lives, to place
him in the highest rank of modern artists, he appears endowed
with an extraordinary facility for anything he attempts to do.
He speaks many foreign languages with remarkable fluency, and
almost without accent; he is possessed of much musical
intelligence, and on matters connected with the art which he
has made his particular study and profession his information
is very extensive--and, I am told by others, better able to
judge than myself, that this is the case. With all these
qualities, natural and acquired, I never saw a more amiable or
single-hearted youth.

_Wednesday, March 26._

Went with the Sartoris's, Montfort, and Leighton to the Palais
Bourbon to see Morny's pictures--a charming collection. The
Emperor had just sent him two beautiful pieces of Beauvais
tapestry--marvellous specimens of that manufacture; in return,
I suppose, for his speech of the other day, with which his
Majesty was highly pleased.

_Wednesday, April 2, 1856._

In the morning, with Adelaide Sartoris, Browning the poet,
Cartwright, and Leighton, to the Pourtales Gallery--a charming
collection. The pictures that most pleased me were a Paul
Veronese, a Rembrandt, and a Greuze. There is also a fine
collection of Raphael ware--glass and bronzes. Pourtales has
ordered by will that this collection should remain intact for
ten years, and then to be sold to the highest bidder.

_Wednesday, April 9, 1856._

Last night, after a dinner given by a Lady Monson to Adelaide
Sartoris, Leighton, and myself, at Philippe's, we adjourned to
the first representation of the Italian translation of
Legouve's play of "Medea"--that in which Rachel refused, after
attending rehearsals, to act the principal part, and about
which there was a trial. Great curiosity was shown about this
performance, and there was a great scramble for places; and,
although inserts for nearly three weeks, we were fobbed off
with very bad seats in the orchestra. The play had great
success, and that of Ristori was prodigious, but not greater
than she deserved. The part is most arduous, full of
transitions, and almost always on the full stretch. Her
costume was most picturesque, having been designed by
Schaeffer, and she looked like a figure on an Etruscan vase;
and in no play that I have yet seen her in does she produce
more effect than in certain passages of "Medea." The audience
was wound up to a pitch of frantic enthusiasm. I am always
astonished at the effect she produces on the mass of the
audience, when I know how few there are who really can follow
the play. But, whether by means of her countenance, voice, or
gestures, she contrives to make all the nuances of her acting
felt by the public. I expect when she comes to London she will
find a vast difference between this excitable and sympathetic
audience and that stupid, flat collection of would-be
fashionables who will _promener leurs ennuis_ at her
performances.

Before his family had arrived in Paris the subject of the Orpheus entitled "The Triumph of Music," to which Leighton was devoting himself, was criticised by his father, which criticism Leighton answered in the following letter:--

I do not think honestly that the choice of a mythological
subject like Orpheus shows the least poverty of invention, a
quality, I take it, much more manifested in the manner of
treatment than in the choice of a moment.

About fiddles, I _know_ that the ancients had _none_; it is an
anachronism which I commit with my eyes open, because I
believe that the picture will go home to the spectator much
more forcibly in that shape.

To his mother he writes:--

RUE PIGALLE.

I have seen Scheffer,[55] who is cordiality itself to me;
Robert Fleury, ditto, and I have further made the acquaintance
of Ingres, who, though sometimes bearish beyond measure, was
by a piece of luck exceedingly courteous the day I was
presented to him. He has just finished a beautiful figure of
Nymph, which I was able to admire loudly and sincerely. I have
also been to Troyon, who was polite.

I am fiddling away at the preliminaries of my pictures, a
disjointed and desultory period through which one has to wade
to get at one's large canvas.

The Sartoris are of course, as ever, my stronghold and
comfort.

Your loving boy,

FRED.

I have sent the sketch of my "Orpheus" to Ruskin, and don't
yet know his opinion of that particular thing, but I feel
about that, that as a _now_ responsible artist, it is my
_duty_ to do things exactly as I feel them and to abide by
them, risking criticisms and cavillings of every kind. I must
be _myself_ for better and for worse; this truth, which I feel
strongly myself, has been corroborated by the opinions of
Fanny Kemble, Mr. Sartoris and Mrs. Sartoris, all at different
times, and quite spontaneously expressed. In haste.--Your
dutiful and affectionate son,

FRED LEIGHTON.

The question naturally arises, considering the sequence of the history of the Orpheus picture, _was_ Leighton _himself_ when he painted "The Triumph of Music"? I have studied his work from the commencement to the close of his artistic career, and this picture remains the unique example, in my opinion, when he was _not_ himself; the only picture which does not carry out the principle he thought of all importance. It does not evince "sincerity of emotion." The feeling and intention of the work when first conceived had been absolutely sincere; but, when it came to the performance, spontaneity had failed. It seems to have been painted when he was overshadowed by an influence which was alien to his real artistic sense, and is a further proof that Paris was an entirely unsympathetic atmosphere to him. The picture appears to me to be in feeling unreal, stagey--not to say, ridiculous. That Leighton, after the first bitterness of his failure was over, shared somewhat the same view of it is certain; for shortly after the Academy Exhibition of 1856 was over he took it off the stretcher, rolled it up, and consigned it to oblivion during his lifetime in the dark recess of a cellar.

Notes in Mr. Henry Greville's Diary, dated April 24th and Tuesday, May 6th, run as follows:--

LONDON, _April 24_.

Went yesterday to Colnaghi's to see Leighton's picture of
"Romeo and Juliet," with which I was much pleased. Colnaghi
tells me it is much admired, and said, "Young Leighton will,
one day, be a very great man."

_Tuesday, May 6._

A letter from Leighton, in answer to mine preparing him for
the failure of his picture in the Exhibition, says: "Whatever
I may have felt about my little bankruptcy, there is no fear
of its disabling me for work, for if I am impressionable I am
also obstinate; and, with God's will, I will one day stride
over the necks of the penny-a-liners, that they may not have
the triumph of having bawled me down before I have had time to
be heard."

In April Leighton's family left Paris to travel in Switzerland. The following letters to his mother show the spirit in which Leighton met his artistic disaster.

_May 7._

DEAREST MAMMA,--I received your two kind letters in due time,
and answer them on the second day you fixed, having in the
interval had time to hear about the fate of my picture; but
first let me say, dear mamma, that you need never fear my
misinterpreting or taking awry any kind advice that your love
and solicitude may dictate to you. I am reading as much as
ever my eyes will allow--indeed, you are strangely mistaken in
thinking I don't see the necessity of reading. I assure you
that it is a perpetual mortification to me to feel how little
I know, but I stand unfortunately at such a disadvantage owing
to the weakness of my eyes and my unprecedented absence of
mind; however, I shall do what I can, and hope for the best.

Dearest Mamma, I did not expect to write a _consolatory_ note
to you to inaugurate your journey, but I am sorry to say that
I am in that painful position. My picture, which has been
exceedingly badly hung, so that one can scarcely see half of
it (indeed I believe only the figure of Orpheus), is an
_entire failure_; the papers have abused, the public does not
care for it, in fact it is a "fiasco." Ruskin (who likes the
"Romeo" very much) is disappointed with "Orpheus," tho' he
says of course a man like me can't do anything that has not
great merits, and that I am to attach no importance to the
malicious articles written by venal critics. Now, dearest
Mother, look upon this--you and Papa, who takes so
affectionate an interest in my welfare--look upon this, as I
do, as a fortunate occurrence; consider what an edge and a
zest I get for my future efforts, and what an incentive I have
to exert myself to put down the venomous jargon of envious
people--next year, tho' the Academicians may think that they
have cowed me, I shall very probably not exhibit; but the year
after, God willing, they shall feel the weight of my hand in a
way that will surprise them. The more they abuse, the better
I'll paint--industry against spite--I will have a pull for it.
Dear Henry Greville behaves to me like an angel; he writes
_every day_, and sends me the _Times_ regularly. Mrs.
Sartoris, too, writes very often. You will be glad to hear
that my prospects about models are rather brighter than they
were; I have found two or three that will be useful.

PARIS, _Sunday_.

Although my letter (and I am afraid a very unpleasant one)
must have reached you as soon as the other was fairly out of
the house, yet I write a line in answer to all the kind and
considerate things you wrote in the idea I might be ill or
irritable. I value your kind solicitude, dear Mamma, as much
as you can wish, I assure you, and should indeed be heartily
sorry in any way to give you pain or make you in any way
unhappy--and talking of that, dear Mamma, I sincerely hope you
have completely got over your first annoyance about my fiasco,
which, except of course in a pecuniary point of view, is in
point of fact a fortunate event for my future progress, in the
_elan_ it gives to my application and particularly to my
obstinacy. I am very busy now at "Pan" and "Venus," but have
not decided what I shall do next year. I think it is very
characteristic of the critics that they _none_ of them mention
"Romeo and Juliet," which is, I know, universally liked. Dear
Mamma, never fear, your boy will walk over all that--depend
upon it. How does Papa take it? How the girls?--Give to all my
best love, and believe me, your very devoted son,

FRED.

_Tuesday, 1856._

DEAR PAPA,--In the hope that I should receive to-day Ruskin's
pamphlet on the Institution, I delayed until now answering
your kind letter. It has, however, not arrived, and as there
is great uncertainty whether it really is already published or
no, I think it better not to keep you longer without news from
me. The criticisms in the papers are, as far as I can judge,
partly from the little I have read and partly from what my
friends tell me, singularly injudicious, leaving almost
entirely untouched the really vulnerable parts of the picture,
and attacking almost exclusively that which is least
objectionable--the execution.

Ruskin does not much like the picture, and prefers the "Romeo"
considerably, but he will write of course in a serious spirit
and like an intelligent man. I have just made the acquaintance
of Robert Fleury--the best French colourist, in my
opinion--and he received me with the greatest kindness and
simplicity, showing all that he had, and explaining anything
that I wished to know; this is a valuable acquaintance which
I owe to Montfort. I have made the acquaintance of a highly
talented young German genre painter of whom I had heard in
Frankfurt; he is my age, and paints with greater facility, but
my talent is of a higher order I think. Ary Scheffer has been
very amiable and pleasant to me about my fiasco, telling me
what he went through himself, and telling me to think nothing
of it. I sent to Wild shortly after you left, and was able to
render him a little service in the way of some Venetian
costumes, still I hesitate to ask him to introduce me to Paul
Delaroche. We shall see about all that next autumn when I come
back from Italy, when the Viardots will also introduce me to
Delacroix.

Pan and Venus are progressing _tout doucement_.

I have written to Watts to ask his leave to put my pictures in
his studio (Pan and Venus) in Little Holland House. I read
carefully all you said, dear Mamma, about the critics, &c. &c.
I honestly think that my ill-luck is in no way attributable to
over-hurrying. Those things in my picture which were really
most open to discussion, I did all with my eyes open and
deliberately, and they were the only ones that the discerning
scribblers seem not to have noticed. Again, with regard to the
said critics, I think, dear Mamma, you see things "en noir."
_Who reports_ me to have sneered at ----? I did internally, as
I do at all snobs. However, I have long since banished the
whole subject. If ever I attain real excellence, the public
will in the long run find it out; and if they don't pay me
they will at least acknowledge me, especially when the
pre-Raphaelite "engouement" has calmed a little. In a
fortnight I shall go to England; by that time Pan and Venus
will be done, and I think they promise well. I am very anxious
to get to London. I mean to enjoy it very much--take my fill,
and then go for a short time to Italy to renew my profession
of faith before Raphael and Michael Angelo. I am very glad to
hear that you are enjoying yourselves, and that you remember
me in the midst of your jonquils and anemones.

FOOTNOTES:

[48] Watts wrote at the time Leighton died that he had enjoyed an uninterrupted friendship with him of forty-five years. This was evidently a slight miscalculation. We read in one of Leighton's letters to his mother from Rome that Watts had called on him, but that he had missed seeing him, and Watts certainly spoke to me of this interview on the pavement of Montagu Square in 1855 as the first he had had with Leighton.

[49] In a letter from his mother, December 22, 1854, she quotes an extract from the _Morning Post_, written by a critic who had been visiting the studios in Rome, and who alludes to Leighton's sympathy with Giotto. It reads to-day as quaint and curiously antiquated as do Knight's scornful criticisms on the Elgin Marbles. Mrs. Leighton writes: "One sentence in your letter has set your dear father on the horns of anxiety. You tell us we are not to expect too much from your pictures, and remind us 'that the path which leads to success, &c. &c.' Now, Papa fancies that you had underpainted your canvas and were not satisfied with the result, and that was the cause of your writing less hopefully than usual. We have been wishing much to hear what your progress was; knowing the subject of each picture, we should have understood if you had reported progress. In case you are in want of a little encouragement, I must tell you the other day Papa enters the drawing-room with a radiant face. He held in his hand a piece of paper, and requesting my attention, he read me its contents, which I copy for you, and which I found were taken from a column in the _Morning Post_ devoted to criticisms on artists and their works chiefly, I believe, on the Continent, but of that I am not quite sure. 'I next called on Mr. Leighton, who is employed on a canvas of many feet. His subject is'--then follows the description, after which he adds: 'Mr. Leighton will become a great artist if he advances as he has begun. His drawing is admirable, much better than that of English artists generally. Some of the figures are Giottoish in the treatment of the drapery, which is scarcely pardonable, because drapery fell flowingly about the human body in Giotto's time as well as now. Why imitate the uncomfortable line of that conventional rag? It is, however, unfair to judge of anything beyond drawing and composition in the present state of this picture, which is an extraordinary work for so young a man.' Remarks more or less favourable were made on several other artists, but nothing like what you have just read. Do you know this critic? I need not tell you how highly we appreciate this gentleman's sagacity; but jokes apart, Papa was rather puzzled at such a criticism about the drapery of some of the figures, because you excel in such folds, so it seems to us odd that you should skimp any of your figures. The same column contains observations on the subject of 'High Art' and large historical pictures, or rather comments on those made by young students, such indeed as I have heard you make, that I could almost have fancied the author was answering your remarks. We were rather startled to read in your letter that you find you had better not use the interests of a professional man to facilitate the admission of your picture into the Exhibition of the Royal Academy, but trust to its merits for that result, as we are told the Exhibition in question is, strictly speaking, a private affair for the works of the members only and such as they choose to admit, which explains perhaps the complaints of rejection one has read of from time to time. I hope your picture may be kindly judged and well hung."

[50] On a first visit to Athens I was struck by the extraordinary insignificance and want of beauty in the Levantines of mixed race who crowded the streets; nowhere seemed there a trace left among the inhabitants of the town of the type of Greek beauty. When travelling a few days later to Colonna, while the train stopped at a station on the lower slopes of Hymettus, I saw two men hurrying through the adjacent olive groves to catch it. They were dressed in the Greek costume of the provinces--an embroidered waistcoat cut low leaving the throat bare, the short white plaited skirt, and the heavy cloak falling from one shoulder. Either of these men might have sat to Pheidias for the Theseus. Both were more magnificent in form than any statue ever made. Doubtless, in the days of her ancient glory, Greece contained a far larger proportion of inhabitants who were beautiful than are to be found now; nevertheless Pheidias without a doubt had to exercise his gift of selecting the best, no less than did Leighton and Watts.

[51] See List of Illustrations.

[52] Ibid.

[53] Ibid.

[54] Mr. Herbert Wilson.

[55] The story is that on Leighton's expressing his gratitude at receiving a visit from him (Ary Scheffer), he replied, "If I did not attach considerable importance to your talent, I should not have mounted three flights of stairs to see you."