Chapter VI: Steinle and Italy Again--First Impressions of the East, 1856-1858 (1)

In Mr. Henry Greville's diary we find the following entry:--

_Thursday, July 24th, 1856._

Went on Monday to Hatchford with Leighton, and passed all
Tuesday with him and Mrs. Sartoris on St. George's Hills. The
day was enchanting, and the Hills in their greatest beauty.

Before leaving London in 1856 Leighton wrote to his mother:--

LONDON, _Wednesday, 1856_.

As my stay in London is drawing to a close, and nobody writes
to me, I must write to somebody. I am happy to say (for I know
it will interest you) that my "Pan" and "Venus" are admired as
much as I could wish, so that I am not without hopes of
selling one of them at Manchester. Gibson was quite delighted
with them; I am, however, bound to say he knows nothing about
it. The sketches of my "Orpheus" I have sold to White for L25,
which comes "unkimmon" handy, as this place is ruinous. I have
made the acquaintance of Rossetti, one of the originators of
the pre-Raphaelite movement. He is apparently a remarkably
agreeable and interesting man. Hunt also I like much. My plans
are these: on Monday next I leave London, and shall spend a
small week between the Cartwrights and (perhaps) the Grotes,
after which on or before the 12th I shall be with you in Bath,
where I shall remain until the 16th, on which day I shall come
up by the early train to town, where I shall meet H. Greville,
stay long enough to get my passport in order, and then be off
double quick to Italy. I am longing to get to work again; I
am doing nothing whatever except Henry's dog, which takes up
what little time I have. Will you tell Papa that I went to the
shop he recommended, and got a splendid Shakespeare ready
bound in eight volumes for three guineas!

From Bath he wrote to Steinle:--

_Translation._]
9 CIRCUS, BATH,
_August 2, 1856_.

MY VERY DEAR FRIEND,--In about ten days I expect, on my way to
Italy, whither I go on a short student journey, to pass
through Frankfurt or Cologne, according as you are in one or
the other, exclusively in order to take my dear master once
more by the hand; and if you are at the moment in Frankfurt, I
might even spend two or three days in the old Bokaga, and even
draw a composition as in the old times. Do, dear friend, send
me a line by return of post in order that I may make
arrangements.

The rest verbally--I have sadly forgotten my German.

Hoping to meet very soon, dear master.--Think of your pupil,

FRED LEIGHTON.

_Translation._]
BATH. 9 CIRCUS
(_later_).

MY VERY DEAR MASTER,--I have just received your dear lines,
and hasten to say that nothing could be more delightful to me
than to travel with you again, if only for a few days.

I had intended to go _via_ Milan for the sake of quickness,
but I will go direct through the Tyrol to Venice.

If all goes well, I will arrive in Frankfurt on the 23rd of
this month; does that fit in with your plans?

How delighted I am to see you again, my good Master!

To our speedy meeting!--Your grateful pupil,

FRED LEIGHTON.

Leighton had felt his failure keenly, though, with his usual consideration, he had tried to lessen the disadvantages of it in writing to his mother. The friend who enjoyed constant intercourse with him at the Bagni de Lucca in 1854 wrote at the time of his death: "Leighton longed for and desired success; but only in so far as he deserved it. When he was sharply checked in his upward career, he accepted the rebuke with humility, for he was a modest man." Mrs. Browning writes to Mrs. Jameson, May 6, 1896, from Paris: "Leighton has been cut up unmercifully by the critics, but bears on, Robert says, not without courage. That you should say his picture looked well, was comfort in the general gloom." Though those critics who were spokesmen for the envious among the artists seemed to revel in Leighton's disaster, he had many friends who took perhaps a too favourable view of the unfortunate picture. But neither excess of abusive ridicule, nor a too favourable view taken by intimate friends, could unduly influence Leighton himself--Leighton the actualist. He had a firm faith that in the _actual_ it is man's lot to find the true and the really helpful. These words of his master, Steinle's, written to him in 1853, doubtless recurred to him, and he felt he must return to the Eternal City to be reinspired after his fall:--

I would rather remember that you will receive these lines in
the Eternal City, that you are with our friend Rico, and that
you are settling to work with renewed vitality and a pocketful
of studies. In Cornelius, besides much that is stubborn, you
will find so much that is admirable, and so much truly
artistic greatness, that you will soon love him, for he is
also of a truly childlike disposition, and much too good for
Berlin, for which reason he has left the place. You lucky men
who have crossed the Tiber--the Vatican of St. Peter, the
Courts of St. Onofrio, the Villa Pamfili--where in the world
is there anything like them? Where is there a town in which
every stone has greater, more splendid things to tell us of
every period? Where is there a place where the artist could
soar higher than in Rome? Forget that you are practically in
an island, and study your Rome; it is invaluable for one's
whole life, which is otherwise so commonplace and so small.
Your youth and courage--"the sparrow among the beans" ("Triton
among the minnows")--need not be injured thereby; but, dear
friend, you must become a man, and there is nothing great in
the world that has been achieved except by taking pains.
Addio, carissimo; greet Rico and the friends most heartily. My
wife reciprocates your friendly greetings, and I remain, your
devoted friend,

STEINLE.

He travelled there _via_ Frankfort to see Steinle, with whom he went to Meran, thence to Venice and Florence, then on to Rome.

FRANKFURT, BRAUSELER HOF,
_August 24_.

DEAREST MAMMA,--Being at last in Frankfurt, and having seen
Steinle and his works, and, _en revanche_, shown him mine, I
sit down to write to you. You will, I am sure, be glad to hear
that he was much pleased with my drawings, that he liked the
compositions, and what is more, gave me good advice about
them. He also suggested to me to paint the little "Venus"
rising out of the sea (from Anacreon), of which I have already
made a sketch. My studies he seemed to think excellent; I gave
him three of them; I was so charmed to see his dear face
again, looking just the same as he always did, and when he
showed me what he had been doing, I fairly set up the pipes.
He took me in the afternoon to the Guaitas, who have a series
of drawings by him from Clemens Brentano's poems; they are
perfectly exquisite; the richness and variety of his
imagination is something marvellous. Mr. Guaita, who is about
to have them photographed for his friends, has kindly promised
me a copy. To-morrow morning I am off for the Lake of
Constance, whence through the Finstermuenz to Meran, where I
and Steinle part, though not till I have stayed there two or
three days. To-day I shall go to Mr. Bolton and to Madame
Beving to deliver your letter. Altogether Frankfurt has
improved in appearance; it looks much more like a capital
than it did formerly; new shops have sprung up, old ones are
improved, and the whole town looks gay and busy; all this does
not prevent it from being highly antipathetic to me, which is,
I daresay, in some measure attributable to the hideous jargon
that one hears wherever one turns. I have seen Gogel and Koch,
who were both very civil, the former asking me to dine with
him, which, however, I could not do, being already engaged to
Steinle. And you, dearest Mamma, how are you? and Papa and the
girls? Tell me all about them--write Venice p. restante.

God bless you, dear Mamma. Remember the boy.

I have had such a letter from Henry (Mr. Henry Greville);
there never was anything like the tenderness of it--you would
have been just enchanted.

VENICE, _September 6_.

I believe I told you in my last letter that I was going to
spend a few days at Meran with Steinle. Now when I got there I
found the place so beautiful and so healthy, and so rich in
subjects for "my pencil," that I stayed _a week_, and this
accounts for my being rather behindhand with this letter.

Steinle and I had rooms at a sort of hydropathic
boarding-house, with splendid accommodation for bathing in the
coldest possible mountain water, a convenience of which I
availed myself daily to my great enjoyment.

I lived _comme les poules_. I was up at daybreak and a good
bit before the sun (who takes a long time before he gets his
nose into a valley) and went to bed very shortly after sunset;
I worked and walked and ate and slept, that was my simple bill
of fare. My good Steinle and myself got on, as of course,
capitally. He is most affectionate and kind, and I have
derived a good deal of artistic advantage from his intercourse
even in that short time.

By-the-bye, before I left Frankfurt I received through H.
Greville a letter from Mr. Harrison, secretary to Col. Phipps,
asking me to go to the Palace to look at the canvas of the
"Cimabue," which appeared to be defective in some parts;
though what on earth can be the matter with it I don't know;
at the same time I got another saying, that as I was not in
England, there would be no necessity for me to make a special
journey to England on that account, and merely wishing to know
when I expected to return. I sent an appropriate answer, which
I submitted to Henry Greville, and now am waiting for further
instructions from Harrison here in Venice.

Writing of his delight in being again in Italy he adds:--

How I revelled in the first really Italian bit, the lake of
Lugano! What an exquisite little picture it is with its villas
and terraces, its cypresses and its oleanders, and the little
town itself too! stretching its cool arcades along the blue
margin of the water; a lovely drive along the lake took me to
that of Como, and from thence I went by rail to Milan; stayed
a day, went to the Scala, performance so bad I was obliged to
leave the house, and now I am for a week in Venice gliding
along in lazy gondolas, winking up at grey palaces and
glittering domes. I suppose you won't leave Italy this time
without seeing Venice once more, and feeding your eyes again
on Titian and Bonifazio, Veronese and Tintoretto. By-the-bye,
I am doing a sketch from a superb Bonifazio in the Academy
here; yesterday I painted hard for six hours, so you see it is
not _all_ boats, and now I must close. I will write to you
again from Florence, and I hope with a better pen. God bless
you, Mammy, give my love to all from your loving boy.

To his father Leighton writes:--

FLORENCE, HOTEL DU NORD,
_25th September 1856_.

About my pictures[67] I have heard (for Henry makes the
Ellesmeres keep him _au courant_, which of course is very
convenient for me) that they are pretty well hung, but that
the "Romeo" is not seen very well owing to a defect in the
lighting of the room. Lady E. said the "Pan" and "Venus"
seemed to be very well painted, or something, but Lord
Brackley thought them improper! Henry, of course, was furious
at their prudishness. I don't for the life of me know where to
have them sent to, nor can I know for the next three weeks
about, as I must write to consult Henry and get his answer and
then write to you, but surely there is time. You have, of
course, received the letter in which I tell you that I _must_
go to England at the beginning of November to see about my
picture, but you need not be afraid about my having to do it
over again; that would be a good joke; no artist ever yet was
responsible _pro_spectively for what might happen to his
picture; but it will be a frightful bore in the expense line
coming back from Italy fairly swept out as I shall be. Were
you so kind as to pay the rent for me as I asked you?

_Translation._]
FLORENCE, _28th September_.

MY VERY DEAR FRIEND,--Well may you say that the Meran post is
tardy, for I only received your dear letter of the 13th three
days ago. Meanwhile you have probably long since received
mine, in which I thanked you heartily for the beautiful coat
received in Venice.

I have already stayed here in Florence eight days, and though
I have not worked very arduously, I have yet thoroughly
enjoyed myself, and also, I hope, learned something from the
lovely things that I am seeing again here; meanwhile there
remains much for me to see in the two days that I have still
to stay, amongst others the Capella of Benozzo Gozzoli in the
Palazzo Riccardi, a work which I love excessively. To see the
old Florentine school again is a thing which always enchants
me anew, for one can never be sated with seeing the noble
sweetness, the childlike simplicity, allied with high manly
feeling, which breathes in it. But I speak to you of plain
things which you know far better than I. I am quite eager to
see the new drawings at Fabiola, and I am much excited about
those at Cologne; but the gods alone know when I shall see
them.

On Wednesday I go to Rome, where I hope to see Rico; if only
I could take _you_ with me, dear master! Meanwhile I beg you
to remember me most kindly to Madame Steinle, and yourself
believe in the love of your grateful pupil,

FRED LEIGHTON.

_P.S._--My stay in Rome will (alas!) only be very short, for I
am unexpectedly obliged to go soon to London, confound
it!--instead of a month, _ten_ days! _Povero me!_

FLORENCE, _11th October 1856_.

DEAREST MAMMY,--I wonder whether you are coming to Florence,
and, if so, how long you are going to stay. I suppose you will
go to the Hotel du Nord as in old times--I go there
invariably, and write now from my own particular room. I wrote
to you last from Venice, where I spent ten days in a very
satisfactory manner between work and _flanerie_ of an artistic
description--indeed I _flaned_ this time with more advantage
than hitherto, for I went more closely than I had yet done
into the _architecture_ of Venice, studying the different
masters, their different styles and relative merit; I need not
say that I found this extremely interesting. Fred Cockerell, a
young architect friend of mine, was there with Villers Lister,
another very nice boy, a London acquaintance of mine. We were
a great deal together, and they accompanied me to Padua, where
I left them doing _Giotto_, which I would most willingly have
done myself if I had not been hard pressed for time. In the
painting line I only made one sketch, a Bonifazio of the first
water, which will figure very satisfactorily on my studio
wall; it took me a good deal of time, and is on the whole, I
think, very fair. In Florence I have had one or two great
disappointments which have rather diminished my enjoyment of
this loveliest place. I expected confidently to find both
Browning and his wife and Lyons. Neither of them are here, the
former not having yet returned from the North, and the latter
having been called home to see his father, who is very ailing.
I have seen the Fenzis, who received me with their wonted
cordiality, and am going to-day to call on the Maquays. I am
here too short a time to work, beyond a pencil sketch or two,
and am off for dear old Rome on Friday morning as ever is. I
shall stay there till I find a studio, which I hope won't be
long, and shall then rush off to Cervara in the mountains to
paint.

Good-bye, Mammikins. Give my best love to all, and believe me
your loving boy,

FRED.

In Rome Leighton received the following from his friend Mr. Cartwright:--

AYNHOE, _September 26, 1856_.

MY DEAR LEIGHTON,--Truly was I delighted with your letter, so
that in spite of my "nature to" I gulped my huff, though I was
like to choke; but self-interest is a wonderful smoothener,
and as I want you to do something for me I mean to behave
myself. Leighton, by the squints which you shot over my park
from your outspread umbrella, by those you are hereafter to
shoot, by Tokay cup and venison hash--by anything you like, I
want you to belumber yourself with some ripe _stone
pinecones_, and a hundred cork acorns. I have found a _true_
legitimate stone pine about forty to fifty feet high on my
property, and as for the cork trees you have seen the one in
my garden, and therefore, I do not see why I should not have a
lot in the park. They can only be raised from acorns. Now,
_if_ you could take steps to get me _these_ things--God! I
don't know what I would not do for you, and how would we enjoy
it in years to come to watch the growth of our trees. It is a
_national_ object. You may have some difficulty in getting the
acorns and cones; Pantaleone or Erhardt might perhaps mention
to you some gardener who would procure them. _You_ know
probably the trees would get to be called L. pines and
Leighton oaks, which is one way to immortality if Orpheus and
Eurydices won't help you. I wrote to Mason about the pines; by
all means _make_ him answer, the exertion will do him good, he
_wants_ exercise, and therefore don't get on with his work. My
God! when I came in at twelve to-day he was not up!

How I envy you at Rome when I think of it; how would I _enjoy_
being there, and yet I can't help thinking of ----'s death at
the same time. Remember me to little Cornhill and every Roman
who remembers me. Write Poste Restante, Paris. I go there, I
believe, next week, but _where_ I shall be the winter ----?
Forster is in the Westminster--be d----d to it for stale wine
that it is. As for Mason, make him write, and believe me,
yours affectionately,

W.C.C.

ROME, _October 14, 1856_.

DEAREST MAMMA,--I have delayed writing to you for a few days
in the hope of finding a letter from you in answer to my last;
however, as the posts here are frightfully irregular, and I
think it very possible your answer may have been lost, I wait
no longer. I enclose two little criticisms on my "Romeo" and
"Venus," which will I think please Papa and you, and which
were sent me through Mrs. Sartoris by Henry Greville.[68]
There is, however, not the remotest chance of my selling them
at Manchester, and I am considering where to show them next. I
am trying here in Rome (where I shall stay till the end of
October) to make up by rigid economy for the expense
inevitably incurred by living at inns all the way here. I
can't tell you what a delight it was to me to see this dear
old place again. Everything is so unaltered since I left it,
that I felt on returning exactly as if I was coming home from
a drive instead of a lengthened absence. The frescoes which I
knew so well were as new to me again from their colossal
grandeur, and I wished I could spend a month or so exclusively
copying in the Sixtina. My picture, though not well _seen_, is
not particularly badly _hung_, but it can only be seen from a
distance, so that the expressions are almost entirely lost; it
does not look so well as in my studio. The Pre-Raphaelites are
very striking, full of talent and industry, but unpleasant to
the eye. Meanwhile they have the day. Colnaghi told me that he
_thought_ he could sell "Romeo" if I made the price _four
hundred_, and said I could do it without derogating, as it
went through his, a dealer's, hands. I consulted Henry and
Mrs. S., who strongly advised me to follow his advice. I have
done so. May it bring me luck. If the remarks you quote, dear
Mamma, are meant to apply to my relation with Mrs. Sartoris, I
can only say, that as I have derived from her more moral
improvement and refinement (you know it), and from her circle
more intellectual advantage than from _all my other
acquaintances_ put together twice over, I can't join with Mrs.
Whatshername in apprehending "a great number of
inconveniences."

In a later letter Leighton announces the sale of the "Romeo" picture:--

The "Romeo," which had the best place in the Exhibition, has
been sold for L400, which to me represents _L360_ after
deduction of percentage. They have in a most slovenly way sold
my picture for pounds though marked _guineas_, they want to
know if I claimed the difference; as they have behaved without
sufficient _egard_ about other things also, I have directed
the secretary in England to say that I should like the error
to be rectified, though I do _not_ wish the sale to be
cancelled on that account if it be too late. I don't want to
miss the money of course, but I have no idea of such
negligence on their part.

You see, dear Mamma, that my little pension to Lud has become,
for this year at least, so easy that I have scarcely any merit
left.

19 QUEEN STREET, MAYFAIR.

DEAREST MAMMA,--Having arrived in London, and been to the
Palace to see my picture, I hasten both to tell you the result
of my inspection and to answer your very kind letter to Paris
which, like an ass that I am, I have neglected to bring with
me. The damage to my picture is trifling and easily
remediable, having arisen in no way from the precarious nature
of paint or varnish, but from a faulty canvas, and probable
rough usage in moving. I shall set all right in a few days;
the holes or raw places are in the sky, and luckily not near
the faces. I have not yet seen Colonel Phipps, and am waiting
for further instructions; the Court I shall of course not see,
as it is at Windsor.

I don't remember whether I told you that I got an invitation
from Manchester to exhibit next spring, and having nothing to
send but "Cimabue," have respectfully applied to the Queen
through Colonel Phipps to obtain it of her for that occasion.

I am truly sorry not to see you all but as you say, I can't
afford it; indeed, I write now partly to ask Papa to send me
some money, the L50 he gave me in the middle of August when I
started are not only gone, but scarcely took me back to Paris,
and but for Petre, whom I met coming back from Naples, and who
lent me a trifle with most friendly alacrity, I should have
been frightfully pinched; the first part of my journey being
all travelling, and hotel life was very dear. In Rome,
however, I lived for nothing, and sailed from Civita Vecchia
to Marseilles "before the mast," a thing I will never do again
if I can help it, but which enabled me just to get home to
Paris within a few francs of the L50. Meanwhile I have no
hesitation in saying that I never spent three months more
profitably or more agreeably. I suppose Papa kindly paid my
last quarter as I asked him, but not having received your
letter I don't in reality know.

P. Delaroche is dead, I am sorry to say. Going through Paris I
went to see Rob. Fleury, who with characteristic kindness put
me up to several dodges in picture-restoring with a reference
to "Cimabue"--invaluable information.

After doing what was required to the Buckingham Palace picture, Leighton returned to Paris, where he wrote the following to Steinle:--

_Translation._]
21 RUE PIGALLE, _1st December_.

DEAR FRIEND AND MASTER,--I read with real distress the sad
news of your severe loss, but sincere and deep as is my
sympathy, I pass on in silence, for in such an hour of trial
there is but one comfort for you, and that not from man.

I should no doubt have come back to you from Rome in the
beginning of October, but I had to go to England, where I
spent three weeks, and am consequently now just established
again in Paris. My Italian journey afforded me in every way
the greatest pleasure and edification, and I seem now for the
first to have grasped the greatness of the Campagna and the
giant loftiness of Michael Angelo; still the dear old town,
now as ever, is quite unchanged. The good Cornelius is so
cheerful and friendly that it is a real pleasure; he has
finished some works which have much beauty in the design, but,
quite in confidence, they are nevertheless a trifle "solite
cose," and much too weakly drawn: from a man who makes claims
to style, one expects something more of solidity. Cornelius is
a richly and powerfully endowed man, but he does the young
generation no good; if young people would only look at work of
Michael Angelo's! I except the sculptor Willig, he is a famous
fellow, and also an agreeable man. I was glad to meet Gamba
again, but unfortunately I did not see any work of his.

Dear Friend, in spite of all my efforts I could nowhere find
the right garment for your composition, and learnt only after
a long search what is properly the official dress; I learnt at
last from the custodian of the Sixtina, who inquired from the
head "Ceremoniere," that the cardinal in these days wears the
Cappa Magna _pavonazza_, not the _red_.[69] The costume
therefore is: purple undergarment, _lace shirt_ (rochetto),
cappa magna of violet _cloth_ (those in the _Charwache_ will
wear no _silk_), black shoes, four-cornered hood, and gloves
with the ring; I enclose a drawing of the real confessional in
St. Peter's Church; I hope it may be of use to you. Dear
master, how can you possibly _excuse_ yourself for closing
your letter with a word of true and wise advice! You know that
I owe to you, and to no one else, the whole of my serious
education, and am proud of it.

If you do not get the work at Cologne, it will be a downright
infamy and a dirtiness without parallel; but I hope for the
best.

How I should like to see your "Marriage at Cana."

Keep in remembrance your loving pupil,

FRED LEIGHTON.

_Translation._]
_Saturday, 9th May 1857._

MY DEAR FRIEND AND MASTER,--Your letter, just received, has
given me intense pleasure. Your constant and affectionate
remembrance of a pupil who is under so many obligations to
you, rejoices my heart. On this occasion, however, your letter
was particularly welcome, because I had already begun to worry
myself a little about your long silence, and was almost afraid
you might imagine that I had not exerted myself sufficiently
in the matter of your cardinal.

But first of all I offer my best congratulations on the
completion of the Cologne affair, and on the splendid field
which is offered to you also in Muenster. At last you have work
which is worthy of your abilities and your efforts, and will
give them scope. With such employment I must not regret that I
shall not have the pleasure of seeing you again in Paris. That
I have not seen the "Marriage of Cana" is, I candidly confess,
a source of regret to me; I know the design of the
composition, and should have liked extremely to have seen how
it has turned out. When shall I see one of your works again?

What shall I tell you about myself, my dear friend? I am
getting on with my pictures, and have now got them all three
into a fairly forward state of _under_-painting; completion,
however, will only be reached in the course of next winter,
for I intend to execute them with minute care. I have
simplified my method of painting, and foresworn all _tricks_.
I endeavour to advance from the beginning as much as possible,
and equally try to mix the right tint, and slowly and
carefully to put it on the right spot, and _always_ with the
model before me; what does not exactly suit has to be adapted;
one can derive benefit from every head. Schwind says that he
cannot work from models, they _worry_ him! a splendid teacher
for his pupils! nature worries every one at first, but one
must so discipline oneself that, instead of checking and
hindering, she shall illuminate and help, and solve all
doubts. Has Schwind, with his splendid and varied gifts, ever
been able to model a head with a brush? Those who place the
brush behind the pencil, under the pretence that _form_ is
before all things, make a very great mistake. Form _is
certainly ALL important_; one cannot study it enough; _but_
the greater part of _form_ falls within the province of the
tabooed _brush_. The everlasting hobby of _contour_ (which
belongs to the drawing material) is first the _place_ where
the _form_ comes in; what, however, reveals true knowledge of
form, is a powerful, organic, refined finish of modelling,
full of feeling and knowledge--and that is the affair of the
brush (_Pinsel_).

You see I have again begun discoursing, my dear Master; you
must excuse all this silly talk, and ascribe it to the
pleasure I feel whenever I enjoy intercourse with you, even if
only by letter. How much we have already talked over together!

And now adieu, dear Friend. Rest assured that you have not
wasted your affection on an ungrateful man, and keep always in
remembrance--Your faithful pupil,

LEIGHTON.

Please remember me most kindly to your wife.

I do not know of any work of mine that has appeared in an
illustrated paper--Louie has been dreaming.

Three interesting letters to Steinle belong to the following year. In the second Leighton states that he is about to start for Algiers. After his arrival there he writes to his mother describing the place. Notwithstanding the difficulty he found in drawing the natives of Algiers, owing to their shyness and to their prejudices, Leighton succeeded while there in making drawings which rank among his very best; in fact, in certain qualities no others he ever drew can be said to equal them. To quote Mr. Pepys Cockerell (_Nineteenth Century_, November 1896):--

"I do not believe that more perfect drawings, better defined or more entirely realised, than these studies of heads of Moors, camels, &c., were ever executed by the hand of man."

Unfortunately the paper Leighton used was of the kind which becomes injured by time. The brown stains which now disfigure the sheets and the faint tone of the pencilling make it impossible to reproduce these drawings with any worthy result, but some of the original sketches can be seen in the Leighton House Collection.

_Translation._]
ROME, 11 VIA DELLA PURIFICAZIONE,
_March 3, 1857_.

MY VERY DEAR MASTER,--Heartiest thanks for your kind lines of
the 3rd of last month.

I hear with the greatest interest that your cartoon is now
finished, and that you expect to get to the wall next year.
How I envy you this great work! I cannot deny that I rejoice a
little, secretly, that you are tied down to _buon_ fresco, for
I have a passion (unfortunately an altogether unsatisfied one)
for this material. You may be quite sure that if it is in any
way possible for me, I shall make a little excursion to
Cologne in order to offer my humble assistance; nothing could
be more delightful to me.

Some works of yours have just come to Rome; illustrations to a
prayer-book, engraved (I believe) by Keller. When did you make
these charming drawings? The one with the blossoming staff and
the little Madonna is quite specially sympathetic to me. The
things are, however, engraved without feeling or delicacy.

With what you say about the advantage of growing older I
quite agree, and I am in a certain respect anxious for the
time when I shall find my _niveau_, and shall be able to work
with more peace and equanimity. I have been for some time in a
very painful position--I feel so humbly my incapacity even
from afar off to approach the entrancing beauty of nature,
that I have not the courage to embark upon any large work. For
some time I have scarcely composed at all; partly, it is true,
because I have no time, but partly also because I do not feel
myself in a position to embody an idea properly. I know that
such a condition is morbid, and hope to extricate myself from
it in time. It arises also partly from the fact that my
_individuality_ is not yet sufficiently developed; I see it
coming, but it takes a very long time. I know already, on the
smallest computation, _what_ I want, but I do not know _how_ I
am to accomplish it.

I went recently to see Cornelius, who is always genial and
charming. He is drawing on one of the Redelli for the Campo
Santo. Rich and spirited in invention and arrangement, the
form in _details_, however, is very badly drawn--heads that
are unpermissible; he treats God's nature quite cavalierly. I
saw at his house a composition by a certain Woeredle (or some
such name) of Vienna, a pupil of Fuehrich, the subject taken
from the Apocalypse: "There shall be wonders." Above, the
Saviour, in the usual attitude, with the usual flowing
garment; to the right and left, Mary and John, in their
respective usual attitudes; at their feet four angels blowing
trumpets, by Cornelius; in the background a number of comets;
lying about in the middle and foreground, a quantity of
figures, which have been collected from different works of
Cornelius', strike convulsive attitudes on the floor; for the
rest, the whole is constructed with appalling academic
execution and lifelessness. Cornelius seemed to think it quite
right; I consider it difficult, with reverence and love, to
complete the head of one girl; for that reason I am not fond
of going to him, for although personally he is extremely
sympathetic to me, I cannot help feeling that I do not fit in
with him, and am obliged to dissemble. But you must be quite
weary of this chattering letter, dear Master; I will close.
Remember me most kindly to your wife and children, and rely
always upon the friendship of your grateful pupil,

LEIGHTON.

_Translation._]
_Thursday, September 3, 1857._

DEAR FRIEND AND MASTER,--I was, as usual, most delighted to
receive your cordial letter of 21st August; I am touched by
your constant friendship, but also somewhat ashamed that you
should treat your much indebted pupil almost as an equal and
counsellor. I have the greatest desire to see your second
cartoon, but I am very much afraid that this year it will be
quite impossible, for I am going on a journey in quite the
opposite direction; I am shortly going to Africa, partly to
make some landscape studies, but also to make acquaintance
with that very interesting race, but _not_ in order to become
a painter of Bedouins. It was my intention, as I am starting
immediately, not to write till I came back, in order that I
might have something to tell you; however, the following has
suddenly made me change my mind; the fat, affected,
tailor-like, civil-spoken little Jew visited me recently and
told me you want to make inquiries about wall painting, and
that I might tell you, if I was writing, that Conture has just
gone away. This impelled me to write immediately. Will you
forgive me, for old friendship's sake, if I put in a word
here, to which you need not give the smallest attention? I
want to protest vehemently, dear Master, against all
_oil_-painting on _walls_; and that, not because fresco
painting has sufficed for the greatest works of the greatest
masters, but on account of the _positive disadvantages_ of
oils. How, in effect, do the two materials stand to one
another? Fresco is certainly the one material for monuments.
First, because it is the most suitable for a broad, massy,
imposing _form_, for in no material can one pursue form so
completely _without losing colour_; secondly, because by no
other method can one attain such masterly, earnest, quiet,
virile effect in colour; thirdly, however, and principally,
because fresco _is visible from all points alike_, this
advantage is immeasurable for architectural art. What, on the
other hand, are the advantages of oil? Only one occurs to me
and that is quite illusory, _i.e._ you have a wider range of
colour; but all the colours that an oil palette has in advance
of fresco are, for fresco, superfluous if not pernicious.
Superfluous, because the broken, fine grey tones which have
such an infinite charm in easel pictures, and which counteract
the otherwise too great brilliance of the material, are quite
superfluous in a painting where _all tones_ are dull and
solid. Pernicious, where they would be applicable, because
they might mar the majestic peace of the work. And then it
should be remembered that the limited scale of the fresco
palette, so _far as it extends_, is unsurpassable for glow and
atmosphere and strength. Titian's frescoes at Padua in the
Tenola St. Antonio rival his oil-paintings in colour. M.
Angelo's "Madonna in the Last Judgment" might (for colour) be
by Tintoretto, and many figures on this glorious wall are as
glowing as Titian's! As regards the disadvantages of
oil-painting, I can only say that they often blister in the
shadows, and that one can _only see them from one point of
view_. I know very well that fresco is exposed to damp, but
one can, indeed one must, have one's wall examined before one
begins to work, and if it is well dried and "drained" there is
no danger; at the worst, one can cover one's wall with sheets
of lead; it has been discovered that this was often done in
Pompeii. Or one can also (there are instances) paint upon a
specially prepared canvas away from the wall. But you know all
this better than I. Have you forgiven me, dear Friend? I could
not forbear from saying this, and rely upon your indulgence.

Do not allow Schloesser to mislead you about my work. I daub on
steadily, but am by a very long way not contented.

I send these lines to Frankfurt in the hope that they will be
forwarded to you.

I shall stay some weeks in Algiers--can I do anything for you?
in that case send me a line. Till the _1st October_ a letter
will find me; address, Poste Restante, Algiers.

All good luck be with you on your holidays, and may you gain
the desired strength.

Keep in remembrance your loving pupil,

FRED LEIGHTON.
21 RUE PIGALLE.

ALGIERS, _Friday, 18th_.

DEAREST MAMMA,--I arrived here only last Monday, as the little
delay about the money made me lose the boat by which I
intended to sail; having, however, nothing in my studio that
was dry enough or otherwise fit to work on, I left Paris all
the same and visited Avignon, Nimes, and Arles, most
interesting towns which I had long desired to see. Avignon
reminded me so vividly of certain parts of Rome that it was
all I could do not to take a place for Civita Vecchia and
succumb to my longing desire to see Italy once more.

I have not the least idea (especially in this hot weather) how
to describe to you this strange and picturesque town in which
I have taken up my temporary quarters; everything where the
African element has been preserved is so entirely new, so
unlike anything that you have seen, that I see no chance of
putting before your mind any living image of the thing. Before
going further I may as well tell you, dearest Mammy, that
although it is very hot I am perfectly well and have an
enormous appetite. I walk from six to eight hours every day,
and bathe regularly in the sea.

Algiers occupies one horn of a most beautiful bay, thickly
studded with villas and farms, and reminding one greatly of
Italy. The aspect of the town, however, shows you at once, and
from a great distance, that you are in no European land. You
must know that oriental houses have no roofs, but are
surmounted by terraces, that they have no windows, the rooms
being lit from the inner court, and that they are painted
three times a year of the purest white, so that on approaching
Algiers, rising as it does steeply up the hillside, it looks
from the sea and under an African sun like a pyramid of
alabaster or marble, or, as some poet or other has said of it,
like a swan about to spread her wings. The effect of this
whiteness glittering out from the green and purple hills and
hanging over a dark-blue sea is really most beautiful;
unfortunately, however, the whole of the lower part of the
town that runs along the port has been so completely
Europeanized that, but for a rather pretty mosque on the
waterside, you might fancy you were at Havre or any other
French seaport town. As soon, however, as you get up into the
Arab town, your illusions are not only restored but enhanced,
for assuredly nothing could be more perfectly picturesque and
striking than the steep, tortuous streets that climb up to
the Casbah, or fortress, at the top of the town. The upper
storeys of the houses jut out into the street in such a manner
that they constantly meet, forming an archway underneath, and
yet the streets are never dark, from the dazzling whiteness of
all the walls, which reflect the light in every direction and
gild and brighten the darkest corners. Fancy, in the midst of
all this gleaming white, the gorgeous effect produced by the
varied colours of oriental costumes and complexion: the
copper-coloured Arabs, the sallow Jews, the ebony negroes; and
then the frequent display of every kind of fruit--crimson
tomatoes and purple aubergines, emerald and golden melons,
glowing oranges, luminous green grapes, and to relieve the
blaze of ardent colour, the tender ivory tones of the
tuberose, and the soft milk-white jessamine. I don't think a
colourist could have a more precious lesson than seeing this
place; you see in half-an-hour a sufficient number of fine
harmonies to set you up for a year. Not less striking than the
display of colour is the variety of types and costumes. Arabs
of the desert, with their lofty bearing and ample drapery, the
tattered, brawny Kabyles, the richly dressed Jewesses, the
negresses, dressed in long indigo-coloured draperies, and with
bracelets of horn round their ankles; in fact, you cannot
imagine a greater medley than is presented by a street in the
Arab quarter of the town. It has this drawback, that in the
midst of such an _embarras de richesses_, I don't know how I
shall ever be able to work; as yet I have not seen a pencil
even, indeed I have not been off my feet since I arrived, and
my head is in a perfect muddle. I spend next week in the
interior of the country, and when I come back I shall have a
fortnight in which I hope to do something. Getting anybody to
sit here is exceedingly difficult, and costs mints. The price
of living here is the same as Paris, but anything at all extra
is very dear; a horse or a cab to get to some place beyond a
walk is very expensive, and my consumption of drink (lemonade,
coffee, &c., for pure water is not wholesome here) from six in
the morning till bedtime is something incredible. Good-bye,
dearest Mother, I will write a longer letter next time. I have
no news from India. Best love to all, from your most
affectionate boy.

If you hear from Lina, _mind_ you let me know, as I am most
anxious for news.

I am so sorry the ink is so pale. I have written over half the
letter, but it is not much use; next time I will have darker
ink.

ALGIERS, _Monday 29, 1857_.

DEAREST MAMMA,--Poor Lina,[70] what a state of wretched
suspense and terror she must live in! what a frightful crisis
it is! God grant all may end well. Have you heard lately? Pray
let me know whatever you can; at this distance I can get only
the most salient facts, and am most eager to hear some more
circumstantial account of the progress of affairs. Poor
Sutherland, I often think of his kind grey eyes and manly
carriage; what a harassing, anxious life he must lead!

Before I go any further I must ensure saying a thing that I
have been intending to tell for some time past, and which has
always been driven out of my head by the more immediate
subject of my letter. I am by no means certain that I have not
already mentioned it; I wish to be quite certain. The fact is
that as besides corresponding with you I write often to Mrs.
Sartoris, and still oftener to Henry Greville, and have
continually much the same to tell all of you, I often cannot
remember to whom I have written what, and I am therefore
uncertain whether I told you that Romeo and Juliet and Pan and
Venus are by this time exciting (let us hope) the admiration
of the citizens of America at the town of Philadelphia. It
costs me nothing at all either to send or to fetch, and the
percentage is ten per cent. I sent them off the end of last
month, just before leaving Paris for Africa. Tom Taylor is on
the committee, and I think the speculation may turn out good,
particularly if Mrs. Kemble, who is in America now, takes an
interest in them.

Putting aside all question of anxiety and sorrow, I am
delighted with my visit to Algiers. I feel that, though I have
as yet been unable to touch a pencil, I have already taken a
great deal of new stuff, and if I were to leave Africa with an
empty sketch-book, I should still return to my easel improved
in knowledge of form and combination of colours. Still it is
a great mortification to me to see such fine types around me
without any means of getting them to sit, an operation to
which they have an insuperable objection; if it were not
vexatious, it would be quite amusing to see how they slink
away when they perceive you are trying to sketch them.

Of course, one of my great desires was to see if possible a
Moorish _interieur_; and in this, though it is difficult to
achieve, I have been very fortunate, through the
instrumentality of a young native, with whom I became
accidentally acquainted. I have made the acquaintance of one
Achmet, son of Ali Pasha, a decayed native gentleman, now
holding office in the French customs, but once very well to do
in the world. I have been twice to his house, which I may as
well describe to you, as it is a type of all Moorish houses in
this part of the world. The whole of the centre of the
building is taken up by a little _cortile_, open to the sky
and surrounded by two storeys of arcades of a graceful shape,
on to which the rooms open as in Greek houses. These arcades
are painted pure white, and are relieved by fillets of
coloured porcelain tiles that have a most original and
charming effect; the first-floor gallery is closed in by a
breast-high balustrade, elegantly carved and painted blue or
green; the top of the house is invariably an open terrace,
adorned with flowers and shrubs. The rooms, I said, open on
the corridors and have no windows (except little peeping
holes) on to the street; they are consequently always wrapped
in a sort of clear, cool, reflected twilight that is
inexpressibly delightful and soothing in hot, glaring weather.
Each room takes up one side of the house, and is therefore a
long narrow strip; immediately opposite the door is an alcove,
containing a raised, handsomely cushioned and carpeted divan,
and ornamented invariably with three florid gilt
looking-glasses. At the foot of the raised divan is another
lower one for those who like low seats; other such divans run
along the wall, and a few highly wrought, embossed chests and
other oriental articles of furniture complete the decoration
of the room. In such a room Achmet Oulid received us, putting
before us delicious hot coffee in tiny cups with filagree
stands, a delightful kind of peach jam, and the pipe of peace.
You would have laughed to see your son lolling on a Turkey
carpet and puffing away at a long pipe. Our host has the
dearest little daughter, ten years old, whom by a great
stretch of courtesy we were allowed to see. By-the-bye, nearly
all Arab children are lovely, and look great darlings in their
Turkish dress.

My paper is coming to an end and the boat does not wait, so I
close. I shall write you another letter before I leave this
and tell you more of what I have done and seen.

Good-bye, dearest Mammy.

Leighton refers to this visit in a letter to Mrs. Mark Pattison (1879), who was about to write an account of his art. "This visit made a deep impression on me; I have loved 'The East,' as it is called, ever since. By-the-bye, I drew here my (almost) only large water-colour drawing 'A Negro Festival' (the picture Leighton always referred to as 'The Niggers'), which was thought very well of by my friends."

To his sister in India he wrote:--

Since I last wrote I have spent a month or six weeks in
Algeria, and have opened an acquaintance with the East which I
hope to keep up, not only from the pleasure but from the
instruction I have derived from even a short visit. My next
journey, however, will be to the old, original cradle of
Western Art--to Egypt, which country, as I shall visit it
under widely different circumstances from what you did, poor
dear, and I trust in much better health, will of course strike
me in a very different manner. There are many things in the
Arab quarter in Algiers which will probably stand comparison
with Cairo, but besides that, Egypt has far more physiognomy
as a country than the coast of Algeria. I am anxious to study
the Egyptian type, which is truly grand and wonderful.
However, these are plans for a tolerably remote day, as I
shall spend my next winter in my dear, dear old Rome, to which
I am attached beyond measure; indeed, Italy altogether has a
hold on my heart that no other country ever can have (except,
of course, my own); and although, as I just now said, I was
most delighted with Africa, and have not a moment to look
back to that was not agreeable, yet there is an intimate
little corner in my affections into which it could never
penetrate. If I am as faithful to my wife as I am to the
places I love, I shall do very well. What the first impression
of an Eastern country is, you already know by experience as
far as the mere aspect goes, but to understand my sensations
you must translate your own into a far brighter key. In my
case everything was for me: a decent passage, a glorious day,
a light heart, and a firm determination to enjoy myself; to
this add that more rapid apprehension of what is beautiful
which belongs to an artist's eye, and is the natural
consequence of the constant exercise and cultivation of that
faculty.