Chapter I: Antecedents and School Days (1)

1830-1852

Some light is thrown on Leighton's ancestry by the following letter, written by Sir Baldwyn Leighton to Sir Albert Woods, Garter, at the time when a peerage was bestowed on Frederic Leighton. It deals with the question of associating the name of Stretton with the Barony.

"TABLEY HOUSE, KNUTSFORD,
_January 10, 1896._

"DEAR SIR,--In answer to yours of January 9, I beg to say that
there are two places called Stretton in the County of Salop;
one, now known as Church Stretton, having become a small town,
was formerly in the possession of my family through the
marriage of John de Leighton, my lineal ancestor, with the
daughter and heiress of William Cambray of Stretton in the
fourteenth century, whose arms we still quarter (see Herald's
Visitation for Shropshire). This no longer belongs to me,
having been mortgaged and sold by Sir Thomas Leighton, Kt.
Banneret, temp. Hen. VIII. But there is another Stretton in
the parish of Alderbury with Cardeston which does still belong
to me, and has always belonged to the family from time
immemorial. I have been in communication with Sir Frederic
Leighton on the subject, and it _is_ my wish that he should
adopt the supplemental title of Stretton. According to a
pedigree made out by a Shropshire antiquarian some thirty
years ago, Sir Frederic's branch descends from the younger son
of the John de Leighton who married the Cambray heiress, and
who was admitted burgess of Shrewsbury in 1465. Therefore I
am of opinion that it _is_ a very proper supplemental title
for Sir Frederic to assume.--I remain, yours, &c.,

"BALDWYN LEIGHTON.

"To Sir ALBERT WOODS, Garter."

In 1862, Leighton writes to his mother:--

"You must know that I received some time back a letter from the _Rev. Wm. Leighton_ (address, _Luciefelde, Shrewsbury_) asking me very politely to give him whatever information I could about our family, as he was making a pedigree of the Leighton family, and was anxious to find out something about a branch that had settled and been lost sight of in London. I answered that I regretted I could give him no definite information on the subject, beyond our belief that we were of a younger branch of the Shropshire Leightons, whose arms and crest we bore, that I knew personally nothing of my family further back than my grandfather, telling him who and what he was. I ended by referring him _to Papa_, to whom I immediately wrote, telling him the nature of Mr. Leighton's request, and begging him to write to him at once in case he could give him any clue that might facilitate his researches. I then received a second, and very interesting, letter from Mr. L. telling me that he had found in Yorkshire some Leightons (I forget the Christian names, but not Robert) who claimed to descend from the Shropshire stock, and whose crest differed from the Leighton crest exactly as ours does, _i.e._ in the _forward_ expansion of the right wing of the Wyvern; a peculiarity, by the by, which did not appear to be of weight with him. There was more in this letter which I don't clearly remember, but nothing establishing our claim; this letter I immediately forwarded to you, and since then both myself and Mr. Leighton have been waiting to hear from Papa."

The conclusion arrived at from these inquiries was--that, three or four hundred years ago, the descendants of John de Leighton and the Cambray heiress migrated from Shropshire to Yorkshire, and that Leighton's grandfather, Sir James Leighton, court physician to the Emperor Nicholas of Russia, was a descendant of this branch. Dr. Leighton, the artist's father, married the daughter of George Augustus Nash of Edmonton. He and his wife, early in their married life, went to St. Petersburg, and it was supposed that he would probably succeed his father as court physician to the Czar, who favoured Sir James Leighton with his intimacy; but the climate of St. Petersburg not suiting Mrs. Leighton's health, they remained there but a few years. It was at St. Petersburg that the two eldest children were born, Fanny, who died young, and Alexandra, the god-child of the Empress Alexandra, who became Mrs. Sutherland Orr. From St. Petersburg, the family moved to Scarborough, and it was at Scarborough, on December 3, 1830, that the most famous member of the Leighton family was born. The question as to which was the actual house in which the event took place was satisfactorily settled at the time when Leighton was raised to the peerage, in letters which appeared in the press,--one containing the testimony of Mrs. Anne Thorley, who was in Dr. Leighton's service for three years with the family at Scarborough, and for two years after they moved to London. She affirms that Leighton was born in the house in Brunswick Terrace, now numbered 13, but which at that time consisted only of three houses. Mrs. Thorley adds, "Fred's mother was a splendid lady--such a good one with her children, and most affectionate."

A second son named James, who died in his infancy, was also born at Scarborough, and five years after the birth of Leighton his younger sister Augusta, now Mrs. Matthews, was born in London.

Dr. Leighton had every prospect of excelling among those most distinguished in his profession. Deafness, however, by which he was unfortunately attacked about that time, made it impossible for him to practise any longer as a physician. Deprived of his active work, he turned his attention to more abstract lines of study, and to philosophy.

In 1840, Mrs. Leighton, after a severe illness, required a drier climate than that of England, and the family travelled on the Continent, visiting Germany, Switzerland, and Italy.

Family annals record the delight with which Leighton, the boy of ten, enjoyed the beauty of nature in Switzerland, the flowers and everything he saw in the land of mountains. When he reached Rome, the buildings, the fountains, the ruins, the models awaiting hire on the Piazza di Spagna, fascinated him, and he filled many sketch-books with records of all the picturesque scenes that struck him as so new and wonderful. From earliest days, drawing was Leighton's greatest amusement, and he had it always in his own mind that he would be an artist and nothing else. When in Rome, he was allowed to study drawing under Signor Meli, but his father insisted on other lessons being carried on with regularity and industry. We hear of his elder sister and Leighton learning Latin together from a young priest. Dr. Leighton had a commanding intelligence, and made his will felt. As with many fond fathers who centre their chief interest on an only son, and foster thoughts of a notable future for him, Dr. Leighton seems to have felt that the greater his interest and affection, the greater must be the exercise of strict discipline over his boy. Leighton received, to say the least, a stern upbringing from his father, mitigated, however, by the greatest tenderness from his mother. The boy's will respecting his future career proved sufficient for the occasion, and he had reason to be thankful that the general knowledge, which Dr. Leighton insisted on his acquiring, was instilled at so early an age. From the time he was ten years old he was made to study the classics, and at twelve he spoke French and Italian as fluently as English. Dr. Leighton had himself taught the boy anatomy, ever cherishing the hope that he would, when he came to years of discretion, renounce the idea of being an artist, and follow in the footsteps of his father and grandfather by becoming a doctor. In either case a knowledge of anatomy was thought necessary, and, in after years, Leighton declared he knew much more anatomy when he was fourteen than he did when he was President of the Royal Academy. "I owe," he said, "my knowledge to my father. He would teach me the names of the bones and the muscles. He would show them to me in action and in repose; then I would have to draw them from memory; until my memory drawing was perfect, he would not let it pass."

The family returned to England for the summer of 1841, spending it at the paternal grandfather's country house at Greenford; and during the following winter Leighton studied at the University College School in London. Mrs. Leighton's health again declined in England, and the family migrated to Germany, the country chosen by Dr. Leighton as that in which the education of the children could be best carried forward. Leighton studied under tutors at Berlin, it being only in his spare moments that he found time to sketch, or to visit the galleries. Then followed a move to Frankfort, and thence to Florence. There he was allowed to enter the studio of Bezzuoli and Servolini, celebrated artists in Florence, but of whose real greatness Leighton, even at that early age, entertained his doubts. It was in Florence that the father's will had finally to submit to the son's passion for his vocation. Dr. Leighton was too wise to allow prejudice to affect his serious actions. He could no longer blind himself to the fact, that this desire to be an artist was a vital matter with his son. He felt it would be wrong to try and override the boy's desires without seeking the opinion of an expert on art matters as to whether there was any probability of Leighton excelling. He therefore took him and his drawings to Hiram Powers, the sculptor, for the verdict to be given. The well-known conversation took place after Powers had examined the work.

"Shall I make him a painter?" asked Dr. Leighton.

"Sir, you cannot help yourself; nature has made him one already," answered the sculptor.

"What can he hope for, if I let him prepare for this career?"

"Let him aim at the highest," answered Powers; "he will be certain to get there."

Leighton had won: he had now to prove good his cause. Even though theoretically his father had given in, he yet hoped that, as years went on, a change in his boy's views might come about; but he was allowed to work at the Accademia delle belle Arti, under Bezzuoli and Servolini, and besides continuing his study of anatomy with his father, Leighton attended classes in the hospital under Zanetti. Of this time in Florence, one of his life-long friends, Professor Costa, writes: "I knew, both from himself and from his fellow-students, that at the age of fourteen Leighton studied at the Academy of Florence under Bezzuoli and Servolini, who at this time (1842) had a great reputation. They were celebrated Florentines, excellent good men, but they could give but little light to this star, which was to become one of the first magnitude. Leighton, from his innate kindness, loved and esteemed his old masters much, though not agreeing in the judgment of his fellow-students that they should be considered on the same level as the ancient Florentines. 'And who have you,' said Leighton one day to a certain Bettino (who is still living), 'who resembles your ancient masters?' And Bettino answered, 'We have still to-day our great Michael Angelos, and Raffaels, in Bezzuoli, in Servolini, in Ciseri.' But this boy of twelve years old could not believe this, and one fine day got into the diligence, and left the Academy of Florence to return to England. Although the diligence went at a great pace, his fellow-students followed it on foot, running behind it, crying, 'Come back, Inglesino! come back, Inglesino! come back,' so much was he loved and respected. He did come back, in fact, many times to Italy, which he considered as his second fatherland."

It was, however, at Frankfort, where the family settled in 1843, that Leighton fell under the real, living art influence of his life, in the person of Steinle. Leighton described this artist later as "an intensely fervent Catholic, a man of most striking personality, and of most courtly manners." In the temperament of this religious Catholic was united a fervour of feeling with a pure severity in the style of his art which belonged to the school of the Nazarenes, of which Steinle was a follower, Overbeck and Pfuehler having led the way. A spiritual ardour and spontaneity placed Steinle on a higher level as an artist than that on which the rest of the brotherhood stood. Leighton, boy as he was, at once realised in his master the existence of that "sincerity of emotion,"--to use his own words when preaching, nearly forty years later, to the Royal Academy students; a quality ever considered by him as an essential attribute of the true artist-nature--of that inner vision of the religious poet, of that finer fibre of temperament which endowed art in Leighton's eyes with higher qualities than science or philosophy alone could ever include. Steinle viewed art with the reverence and nobility of feeling which accorded with those aspirations that had been hinted to the boy's nature in his best moments, but which had had no sufficiently clear, decisive outline to inspire hitherto his actual performances. In Steinle's work he found the positive expression of those aspirations; there, in such art, was an absolute confutation of the creed that art was but a pleasant recreation, having no backbone in it to influence the serious work of the world; the creed which meant that, if taken up as a profession, it led but to the making of money by amusing the aesthetic sense of the public in a superficial manner. The view taken by the magnates--the "Barbarians" of the time--was, that unless a painter were a Raphael, a Titian, or a Reynolds, his position was little removed from that of the second-rate actor or the dancer. It was not the profession, but the individual prominence in it which alone saved the situation. In Steinle, Leighton found an exponent of art, who reverenced the vocation of art itself as one which should be sanctified by the purest aims and the highest aspirations.

In the nature of one who exercises a strong influence over another is often found the real clue to the nature influenced. Circumstances had led Leighton to be reserved with regard to his deepest feelings respecting art, but with Steinle that reserve vanished. Under the influence of this master he realised an adequate cause for this deep-rooted, peremptory passion. Steinle's nature explains that of his pupil; for Leighton was, in an intimate sense, introduced to a full knowledge of his own self by Steinle. This influence, to use his own words, written more than thirty years later, was the "indelible seal," because it made Leighton one with himself. The impress was given which steadied the whole nature. There was no vagueness of aim, no swaying to and fro, after he had once made Steinle his master. The religious nature also of the German artist had thrown a certain spell over him. Leighton possessed ever the most beautiful of all qualities--the power of feeling enthusiasm, of loving unselfishly, and generously _adoring_ what he admired most. Fortunate, it may possibly have been, that his father's strict training developed his splendid intellectual powers at an early age; fortunate it certainly was, that, when emancipated from other trammels, he entered the service of art under an influence so pure, so vital in spiritual passion as was that of Steinle.

However, it was not till Leighton reached the age of seventeen that he was allowed to give his time uninterruptedly to the study of art. At that age he had acquired sufficient knowledge of the classics and of the general lines of knowledge even to satisfy his father. He had also completely mastered the German, French, and Italian languages. The vitality of his brain was almost abnormal, otherwise his constitution was not strong. Constantly such phrases as "I am not ill, but I am never well" occur in his letters, and he suffered from weakness and heat, also from "blots" in his eyes, perhaps the result of scarlet fever, which he had as a child. His school days seem to have had their _mauvais moments_. When he was fifteen, his parents and elder sister went to England, leaving him and his little sister at school during their holidays. The love for his mother, and his longing to be with her, is told in the following pathetic appeal:--

"FRANKFORT A/M.,
_Friday, June 26, 1845._

"[DEAR MAMMA],--Your letter, which I have just received,
caused me the greatest pleasure, for I have been anxiously
expecting it for three long days. I am very pleased to hear
that Lina is getting stronger, though slowly, and hope that
Hampstead will agree with her and you better than London. I am
very sorry to hear that you are not very well. I hope that the
country will refresh Papa after all his fatigues. I need not
tell you that I was very unhappy when I heard what you said
about my going to England; ever since I have been here, from
the time I wake to the time I go to bed, I think of London;
the other night, indeed, I went in my dream to see the new
British Museum. However, if there is nothing to be done....
From Hampstead you can see London, and there is the dear old
common where I and the Coodes used to play, and the pretty
little lake where I went to slide, and it's such a pleasant
walk to London and the galleries, and ... is there _no_ little
hole left for poor Punch?[13] On the 16th July all the
schoolboys go on a three weeks' journey, whose wing but yours
can take care of me for so long a time? I will ask for money
to buy a clothes-brush, I have none; 2 fl. I spent on
water-colours for the painting lesson, 5 fl. a splendid book,
'Percy's Relics of Old English Poetry,' 1 fl. sundries, my
last florin I lent to Bob, but he was fetched away in a hurry
before his money was given to him, however he said he would
send it me from Mayence, but I have not seen it since. It is a
great bore to have no money; that 1 fl. would have lasted the
second month very well as I only want it for sundries. I have
dismissed Mottes, my _new_ boots have already been _re_soled,
and he made me wait three weeks for a pair of boots, which of
course I did not take. I wish I had had turning clothes, my
jacket is very shabby, and I cannot afford to put on my best
whilst it goes to the tailor; my black trowsers are ruined,
but I must wear them whilst my blue ones go to be lengthened.
Little Gussy looks very well, she is very well, and has sundry
'zufrieden's' and 'tres content's.' On the advice of _Pappe_,
the master of mathematics and nat. phil., I have got a
'Meierhirsch's Algebraische Aufgaben.' I want a Euclid, mine
is in England, how shall I get at it? I am quite well, but
_long_ to see you all, and to have some _wing_; pray write
very soon. Give my best love to Papa and Lina, and believe me,
dear Mamma, your affectionate and _speckfle_ son,

F. LEIGHTON."

History does not record whether the "little hole for poor Punch" had been found or not. Together with other studies, Leighton was allowed to attend the model class at the famous Staedelsches Institut, and, in 1848, when the family went to Brussels, he painted his first picture, Othello and Desdemona, his elder sister sitting as model for the Desdemona, and also a portrait of himself. From Brussels he went to Paris, studying in an _atelier_ in the Rue Richer, among a set of Bohemian students, and then to Frankfort, to work seriously under his beloved master Steinle. The following letter to his father shows how unsatisfactory he considers his studies had been in both Brussels and Paris, and that now, as he expressed it, he is girding his "loins for a new race."

"CRONBERG, _Friday evening_.

"[DEAR PAPA],--As I have reason to believe that you are not
indifferent to the fate of the studies which met with
Dielmann's censure, and at the same time opened my eyes to the
fact that I have not yet (to use a German phrase) 'die Natur
mit dem Loeffel gefressen,'[14] I now write to tell you that I
have retouched better parts of them, and _that_ to Burger's
satisfaction as well as to mine. Of course some are better
than others. Independently of the intense irritation which bad
sitting (as well you know) occasions to my nerves, they give
me great trouble, and I take it; but this can hardly astonish
me, when I consider that, in point of fact, during the whole
time that has elapsed between my leaving the model class in
the Staedelsches Institut up to my return to Frankfurt, I have
_never_ studied from nature; that I did not in Brussels, I
need not remind you, and you must also remember that
everything I painted in Paris, in the way of portraits, was
done _before_ nature, I grant, but with a certain _ideal_
colour or tone, the consistency of which might be illustrated
by putting Rubens, Reynolds, Titian, Tom Lawrence, Vandyke,
Velasquez, Correggio, Carracci, Rembrandt, and Rafael into a
kaleidoscope, and setting them in a rotatory motion, in a
word--

When taken
Well shaken.
(What's his name--Hem!)

I am therefore girding my loins for a new race, far from
discouraged, but rather with the persuasion that one with my
innate love for colouring, and, I think I may add, sharp
perception of the merits and demerits of the colouring of
others, has a fair chance of success; nor am I dissatisfied
with my beginning."

In the year 1849, he went to London to paint the portrait of his great-uncle, Mr. I'Anson, Lady Leighton's brother, and wrote to his father and mother the following:--

"Fleeced at Malines--very fine passage--slept well, why the
deuce had not I a carpet bag? horrid inconvenience! my chest
of drawers twenty feet below the surface of the deck, obliged
to get on friendly terms with a sailor to borrow a comb (which
had got blue with usage)--lovely brown tints about my shirt,
cuffs more picturesque than tidy; two hours stifling in that
confounded hole of a waiting-room in the custom house; arrive
at last at Mr. I'Anson's at about three o'clock; as he was not
at home I dressed and ran half round London before dinner;
crossed Kensington Gardens, saw the outside of the Exhibition,
went down Hyde Park, along Green Park, stared at Buckingham
Palace, rushed down St. James' Park, flew up Waterloo Place,
made a dive at Trafalgar Square, and a lunge at Pall Mall,
gasped all along Regent Street, turned up Oxford Street, bent
round to the Edgware Road, and from there the whole length of
Oxford Terrace, I brought home a very fine appetite!"

"[MY DEAREST MOTHER],--I have resumed my Uncle's likeness, and
as far as it goes (the head is done) very successfully. Will
you tell Papa from me that it is more 'aufgefasst' (as I
expected) than 'durchgefuehrt,' but that I have seized the
_twinkle_ of his mouth to a T.

"Mr. I'Anson treats me with the utmost kindness, it is of
course superfluous to tell you that I enjoy myself beyond
measure.

"I am a very slow writer--I am without readiness either of
thought or speech owing to the picturesque confusion which
possesses my brain, and not, God knows, from a phlegmatic
habit of mind."

Letter to his mother from Norfolk Terrace, Hyde Park:--

"[DEAREST MOTHER],--I have received your kind letter, and
conclude from your silence on that point that Lina is now
getting on well. In order to avoid losing time on fluency of
style, I shall follow, strictly as I find them, the heads of
your epistle, and answer them in the same succession. First, I
hasten to thank you and Papa for your kind permission to
prolong my stay, a permission which I value the more that I
know that Papa was desirous I should return as soon as
possible. You tell me, dear Mamma, that I am not to lose time
in seeing the _lions_ of London, and Papa, in his displeasure
at my having done so little as yet towards the real object of
my visit, seems to imply an idea that I _have_ been so doing;
I regret very much that you should entertain that notion, and
assure you that I have neither hitherto dreamt, nor have
ultimate intention, of seeing that long list of wonders, the
Colosseum, the polytechnic, the cosmorama, the diorama, the
panorama, the polyorama, the overland mail, Catlin's
exhibition, the Chinese exhibition, nor even Wild's great
globe, for that, I am told, costs five shillings; this is a
decided case of 'Frappe, mais ecoute.' And if Papa did not
think that I had so wasted my time, is it not very certain
that, if I had not thought it a matter of duty, I would not
have tired myself making what I most hate, calls, instead of
seeing works of art?

"Lady Leighton looked in some respects worse, and in some much
better, than I expected; I was surprised to see her walk with
her back bent, and leaning on a stick; but I was more
surprised still to see a face so free, comparatively, from
wrinkles, and bearing such evident traces of former beauty.
Her reception was of the warmest; in her anxiety lest I should
be lonely and uncomfortable in an inn, she insisted on my
sleeping in her house. She talked much, long, and _well_,
though slowly and in a suppressed tone; she dwelt tenderly on
Papa's name, and advocated warmly our return to England. I saw
two letters which she wrote to her brother, my uncle, and
which were both most elegantly written; both contained a
paragraph in allusion to me; in the first, written before my
visit (in answer to one in which my uncle had prepared her for
seeing me), she expresses herself most _eager to receive and
to love the grandson, of whom all speak so highly_; in the
second, written after my return to London, she says that her
_dear and fascinating grandson amply realises all her
expectations_, and that seeing him has increased that pain
which she feels at being separated from us all.

"Now, I will give you a _catalogue raisonne_ of whom I have
seen: Cowpers, this you know; Smyths, ditto; Laings, very
kind, though Mr. Laing, like the Cowpers, did not know me till
I mentioned my name; Wests, exceedingly kind, invitation to
dinner; Richardsons, motherly reception, party, given for me;
Moffatt, very _prevenant_, asked me twice to dinner, both of
which invitations I was unfortunately obliged to refuse, but
wrote a very civil note, and went next morning in person to
apologise; Hall, dreadfully busy, but gave me cards to
Maclise, Goodall, Frith, Ward, Frost; Maclise was not at home,
but I found Goodall, Ward, and Frith, and was pleased with my
visits. There is a new school in England, and a very promising
one; correctly drawn historical _genre_ seems to me the best
definition of it. They tell me there is a fine opening for an
historical painter of merit, and that talent never fails to
succeed in London. Goodall, a young man about thirty, who
painted 'The Village Festival,' in the Vernon Gallery, and of
which you have an engraving in one of your Art Journal
numbers, sells his pictures direct from the easel; and he does
not stand alone. Sir Ch. Eastlake received me very politely,
but looks a great invalid; Lance, very jolly, and Fripp,
ditto. Bovills and E. I'Ansons, very kind, invitations, of
course; Mackens, you know; I have found no time to call on Dr.
Holland, Mr. Shedden, or Tusons.

"Having told you _whom_, I will now tell you rapidly _what_, I
have seen: Vernon Gallery, very much gratified; Dulwich
Gallery, very much disappointed; British Institution, ditto;
National Gallery, pictures magnificent, locality disgraceful,
I must make another visit there; Royal Academy, on the whole,
satisfactory; British Museum, very fine; Mogford's Collection,
very indifferent; Marquis of Westminster (Mr. Laing), very
fine indeed; private collection (through interest of Mr.
Moffatt), delightful; Windsor, _Vandyke_, superb; _Lawrence_,
a wretched quack. Time presses--_la suite au prochain
numero_."

The portrait of his great-uncle, Mr. I'Anson, here reproduced, proves that the visit to London effected the desired result. On his return to Frankfort he painted the portraits of Lady Cowley and her three children. Lady Cowley writes: "I am delighted with the pictures of my dear little girls, and again return you my most sincere thanks for having painted them." And in another letter: "I should have called on Mrs. Leighton all these days, had I not been very unwell with the grippe, as I wished to express to her, as well as to yourself, how very grateful I am for the beautiful portrait you have made of my little Frederick. I am quite delighted with it, as well as every one else who has seen it. Besides being extremely like, it is such a good painting that it must always be appreciated. Ever yours sincerely, Olive Cecilia Cowley." In the spring of 1852, Leighton, being then twenty-one, went to Bergheim, to paint the portraits of Count Bentinck's family. He writes from there:--

"[DEAREST MAMMA],--Having naturally a reflecting turn of mind,
I am struck with the truth of the following aphorism: 'It's
all very well to say I'll be blowed, but where's the wind?'
Circumstances induce me to deliver a sentiment of a parallel
tendency; it's all very well to say 'mind you write'; but
where's the post? A deficiency in that latter commodity is a
leading feature in the economy of the principality of Waldeck;
so much so, that any individual residing in Bergheim, and
desiring to carry on a correspondence 'ins Ausland,' is
obliged to take advantage of the privilege freely granted him
by the liberal constitution of the country of carrying his own
letters to the first frontier town of the next state, and
having posted them, waiting for an answer. I, however,
_knowing my privileges_, and not being desirous of availing
myself of them in _that line_, humbly and modestly send these
lines by my hostess's flunkey, who is going to Fritzlar
to-morrow on an errand of a similar description. _N.B._--If
you want a person to receive an epistle within a fortnight
(that is allowing you to be a neighbour), you must chalk up
_per express_ on the back of it, in consideration of which he
or she will receive it through the medium of a hot messenger,
much, and naturally, fatigued and excited by a journey
performed at the rate of half a mile an hour, not including
the pauses in which the _inner man_ is refreshed and
invigorated by a cordial gulp of 'branny un worrer.'

"Fancy a man getting to a place, by appointment, expecting a
carriage and trimmings to take him to a lovely retirement in
the country, and finding--devil a bit of it! Well that's
precisely what did not happen to me when I got to Waldeck,
because although the carriage was not there, there was a
letter to say it could not come. The road to Bergheim, which
crosses a river of no mean pretensions without the assistance
of a bridge (other advantageous peculiarity of the state of
Waldeck), was, it appeared, rendered impracticable by an
inundation of the torrent alluded to; it was therefore
proposed to me (without an option) to perform the journey on
the top of an _oss_ provided for the purpose and accompanied
by a groom mounted on another; I willingly accept an offer so
much to my taste, and for the first time after a lapse of
nearly three years put a leg on each side of a steed. The
first part of the road was executed at a round trot on a very
nice level _chaussee_, but I cannot say that I felt altogether
at home on my saddle. An eye to effect is nevertheless kept
open, which is manifested by my catching up two drowsy,
drawling, jingling 'po shays' and sweeping past them with
supreme contempt, but at a great expense of my lumbar muscles.
Presently, however, my continuation-clad members began to thaw
a little, and to adapt themselves to the saddle, which also
lost some of its rigid severity; I began to feel very
comfortable, and, by Jove! it was a good job I did, for on
getting out of Fritzlar, we left the high road (for reasons
above given) and plunged into a rugged, donkey-shay sort of
by-path in which the ruts were without exaggeration a foot
deep. Nothing daunted, however, I make light of this 'terrain
legerement accidente,' cross stream and ride along tattered
banks with the nonchalance of the Chinese Mandarin in the
Exhibition of '51; in fact, such is my confidence in myself,
that I at last begin to feel above my stirrups, I scorn them,
fling them over my saddle, and perform without their
assistance the rest of the journey to within half a mile of
Bergheim, and that on a road the profile of which was about
this:

(Here was drawn a line representing a hill-side almost
perpendicular.)

"On my arrival I am of course kindly received by the Countess
(her husband is still at Oldenburg), got my tea, and go to bed
rather stiff after an equestrian performance of about two
hours and a half. The house is large and rambling, fifteen
windows in a row, and yet I cannot get a satisfactory light,
the only available north room looking on a lane, the
white-washed houses of which reflect disagreeably on the
picture, whenever the sun shines. However I must make up my
mind to it and do my best; I am at present painting the
Countess."

"BERGHEIM, _Sunday_.

"[DEAR MAMMA],--In the midst of my anxious expectations of a
letter from you, it suddenly occurred to me that I had
forgotten to give you my direction; in the full confidence
that _late is far preferable to never_, I now hasten to make
up for my omission--

Mons. F. Leighton
bei
Ihrer Erlauchten der Graefin von
Waldeck und Pyrmont
zu Bergheim
bei Fritzlar
Fuerstenthum Waldeck.

"_N.B._--You will not forget to write _per express_ on the top
of the envelope; for reasons, see my letter of last Sunday.

"Being sorely pressed for time, I now huddle on to the rest of
the paper a few loose remarks, for the incoherency of which I
crave your indulgence.

"The aspect of affairs is much changed since my last epistle;
then, I was looking forward with anxious though sanguine
expectation to the labour before me; now, I look back on one
portrait (that of the Countess), achieved to the great
satisfaction of those for whom it is intended, and contemplate
with satisfaction the progress which the other is making in
the same direction. I must, however, add that, owing to the
necessary absence of the Countess for two days next week, my
return home will be delayed in proportion, as I have a few
more touches to give to the portrait of my eldest patient,
whose husband is desirous of taking it over to England with
him. (I shall probably be with you Saturday afternoon--at all
events I shall let you know beforehand.)

"What I said a few lines back will have suggested to you what
I am now going to add; Colonel B. is now returned from
Oldenburg, and will probably be in London in the early part or
middle of June; he is _much_ pleased with the pictures, and in
his kindness has promised me an introduction to his brother in
town, and also to another relation, whose name I have
forgotten; the result of which is to be: access to the
collections of Lord Ellesmere, Duke of Sutherland, and Sir
Robert Peel. I told Colonel B. that if on his road to or from
Toeplitz in the autumn he should pass through Frankfurt, I
should be very glad if he could bring the pictures with him,
as they would both want a varnish, and the children probably a
few glazes and touches; he said that he would make a point of
so doing, that indeed after all the trouble and pains I had
taken for him, it was the least he _could_ do; for these and
other reasons (not unimportant) which I shall communicate when
I see you, you need not regret my having made two journeys to
paint his wife and children.

"That I spend one of the days of the Countess' absence in
seeing _Wilhelmshoehe_, a sight reputed unique of its kind,
will, I hope, not seem unreasonable.

"I have noted down, as they occurred to me, during the last
few days one or two little arrangements, relative to my
approaching journey, which I would ask you to make during my
absence, trusting at the same time that if in the meanwhile
anything else should occur to your provident mind, and be
transmitted to your _many-knotted_ pocket-handkerchief, you
will kindly carry it into execution, in order to avoid delay
when I return from the country, as _my_ time will be almost
entirely taken up by Lady P.'s [Pollington's] sitting and the
_business calls_ I have to make.

"Will Papa kindly order a tin case for my compositions; it
should be a plain cylinder, about an inch and a half in
diameter, with a lid at one end; let its length be that of my
'Four Seasons.'

"To my amazement I have just received a letter from you, dear
Mamma--_did_ I give you my direction? You forgot the _per
express_ on the back of the letter. Pray write soon. Much love
and many kisses to all.--Your dutiful and affectionate son,

F. LEIGHTON."

Soon after Leighton's return to Frankfort Lord Cowley was appointed British Ambassador in Paris, and writes the following letters. The invitation he gives to Leighton to make his home at the Embassy while pursuing his studies was not accepted, Steinle's teaching being only given up later for the charms of Italy.

"MY DEAR MR. LEIGHTON,--I am more obliged than I can say by
the kindness you have shown in painting portraits of my
children. I never saw anything so like, or in general so
pleasing, as the portrait of Frederic, and I only regret that
it is not in England to be seen and appreciated. Once more
accept my thanks, and believe me to be very truly yours,

COWLEY."

"_Sunday Afternoon._

"MY DEAR MR. LEIGHTON,--It has been quite out of my power to
get to your house, as I had intended, to take leave of you,
and to thank you again for the valuable reminiscence which
through your talent and kindness I carry away with me. It will
give Lady Cowley and myself great pleasure if you will visit
us at Paris. You cannot find a better school of study than the
Louvre, and we shall be most happy to lodge and take care of
you.

"Pray present my best compliments to the members of your
family.

"I regret very much not being able to do it in person.--Very
faithfully,

COWLEY."

On his return from Waldeck, Leighton painted the portrait of Lady Pollington, one of his Frankfort acquaintances.

During these years, when Leighton studied under Steinle, his family lived also at Frankfort, and therefore few other letters written at that time exist. There was a journey to Holland, made during the early summer of 1852, from England, where he and his family had returned for a visit. The journey back to Frankfort, _via_ Holland, is the subject of a long letter to his mother.

"There I am at the Hague. Pretty place, the Hague, clean,
quaint, cheerful, _and_ ain't the Dutch just fond of smoking
out of long clay pipes! _And_ the pictures, _Oh_ the pictures,
_Ah_ the pictures! That magnificent Rembrandt! glowing,
flooded with light, clear as amber, and do you twig the _grey_
canvas? _What_ Vandykes! what dignity, calm, gently breathing,
and a searching thoughtfulness in the gaze, amounting almost
to fascination; and only look at that Velasquez, sparkling,
clear, dashing; Paul Potter, too, only twenty-two years old
when he painted that bull, and just look at it; Jan Steen,
Terburg, Teniers, _Giov. Bellini_ (splendid), &c. &c. There I
catch myself bearing something in mind: 'And yet, after all'
(with an argumentative hitch of the cravat), 'all that those
fellows had in advance of us was a palette and brushes, and
_that_ we've got too!' I walk down to Scheveningen, and
sentimentalise on the seashore; I find the briny deep in a
very good humour, and offer _you_ mental congratulations.

"About the Rembrandt at Amsterdam, I say nothing, for it is a
picture not to be described. I can only say that, in it, the
great master surpasses himself; with the exception, however,
of this and the Vanderhelst opposite to it, which is full of
spirit and individuality, the _Ryko Museum_ is tolerably flat.
After a dull afternoon, I hurry off to Arnheim, and to
Mayence, and to Frankfurt, where I arrive on Wednesday
evening. From Cologne to Frankfurt, Janauschek[15] was on the
same conveyance as myself; I made her acquaintance, which was
a great blessing to me on that tedious, cockney-hackneyed
journey. She is lady-like, interesting, amiable, and
_severely_ proper, almost cold; she observed the strictest
incognito. Towards evening, however, when she had ascertained
that I was a resident at Frankfurt, and therefore probably
knew her perfectly well, and that I was an artist, which
excited her sympathy, and that my name was Leighton, a name
with which she was acquainted (through Schroedter and others)
as that of one of the most talented young artists of Frankfurt
(hem!), she relaxed considerably. She has a melancholy and
most interesting look, and talks very despondently of the
state of dramatic art nowadays. I made myself useful to her at
the station, and she was warmly grateful. About my picture[16]
(which I have entrusted to Steinle's care) I have nothing to
communicate, except that I am confirmed in thinking that it
has been universally well received; even Becker seems to like
it in many respects--of course you know that the leading fault
is that it was painted under his rival; Oppenheim said (when I
talked of it as a daub) that he wished he could daub so, and
that he promised me a great future; Prince Gortschakoff (who,
by the by, preferred the portraits, and judges with all the
_aplomb_ of a Count Briez) introduced himself to me in the
gallery, and told me in the course of conversation that he
regretted very much having no work of mine, adding that he
only bought masters of the first order; _that_ was a
compliment, at all events; Dr. Schlemmer has been very kind to
me, and has given me a letter for Venice; I dined with him on
Sunday, and made the acquaintance of Felix Mendelssohn's
widow, a charming woman."

Between the years 1849 and 1852 Leighton painted, besides the portraits mentioned, three finished pictures, "Cimabue finding Giotto in the Fields of Florence," "The Duel between Romeo and Tybalt," and "The Death of Brunelleschi"; and also made the notable drawing, now in the Victoria and Albert Museum, of a scene during the plague in Florence. His master, Steinle, easily discerned that Leighton was truly enamoured of Italy; the subjects he chose were Italian, and his memory was full of the charm and fascination of the country which he ever referred to, to the end of his life, as his second home. It was decided that he should go to Rome, his father having determined to leave Frankfort and to reside at Bath, where his mother, Lady Leighton, was then living. Steinle gave Leighton an introduction to his friend and fellow "Nazarene," Cornelius, and on the eve of his departure his mother wrote a farewell letter of "injunctions," flavoured happily by hints of humour. There is something very quaint to those who knew Leighton after he was thirty in the admonitions with regard to manners and politeness, which occur in several of his mother's letters.

"MY DEAREST CHILD,--As we are about to part, you may perhaps
think you will be rid of my lectures, but no, I leave you some
injunctions in writing, so that you will not be able to urge
the plea of forgetfulness if you continue your negligent
habits, though you certainly may _forget_ to read what I
write--but I trust to your love and respect for me, though the
latter needs cultivation nearly as much as habits of
refinement in you. I have no new advice to give you, I can but
repeat what I have urged on you many times from your childhood
upwards; I do implore you, let your conscience be your guide
amidst all temptations, they will be such as they have never
yet been to you, as you will henceforward have no other
restraint on your actions than what is self-imposed. I beseech
you, do not suffer your disbelief in the dogmas of the
Protestant Church to weaken the belief I hope you entertain of
the existence of a Supreme Being. Strive to obey the law He
has implanted in us, which approves good and condemns evil,
though the struggle for the mastery between these principles
is sometimes fearful, as every one knows, especially in youth.
My precious child, if one sinful mortal's prayer for another
could avail, how carefully would you be preserved from moral
evil (the greatest of all evil); but I need not tell you there
is no royal road to Heaven any more than to excellence in
inferior objects, every advantage must be obtained by energy
and perseverance. May God help you to keep free of the
greatest of all miseries, an upbraiding conscience; for though
this can be deadened for a time in the hurry of life while
youth lasts, there comes an hour when life loses its
attractions, and _then_ issues the troubled consequence of
merry deeds. I am aware you have heard all this a hundred
times, and better expressed, but it will bear repetition; and
now that it is your mother who is counselling you, you will
not, I trust, turn a deaf ear.

"I can but repeat what I have continually told you--to refine
your feelings you must neither utter nor encourage a coarse
thought. It would be an inexpressible pleasure to me to leave
you confirmed in good habits; but wishes are idle. I trust to
your desire to improve in all ways and to please me. The next
sheet I wrote some time ago, intending to rewrite it, but the
trouble is too great for my shaking hands, and I add what I
have written to-day on separate pieces of paper. I have
written enough; I have only now to add an entreaty that you
will not throw these admonitions away, but sometimes read
them, remembering they come warm from your mother's heart.

"My child, your manners are very faulty, and I am consequently
much disappointed. You take so much after me, and my nearest
relations had such refined manners, that I made sure you must
resemble my father and brothers. There is, however, nothing on
earth to prevent your becoming the gentleman I wish to see
you, and remember to write ineffaceably on the tablets of your
memory, 'Too much familiarity breeds contempt.' You remember
how seriously young ----'s forwardness has been commented on.
Well, it is true, you have never, as far as I know, spoken as
he has done; but as I have seldom seen you in company, nor
your father either, without observing some want of politeness,
is it not probable that other people have their eyes open
also?"

These admonitions received, Leighton started on his journey to Rome. At Innsbruck, on August 18, 1852, he began to write a Diary, in order that his mother should hear the details of his travels, and to serve "as a clue" by which he might one day recall the "impressions and emotions of the years of his artistic noviciate."

Leighton's utterances on paper in these early days display the same intense exuberance of vitality which, during the whole of his notable career, served to spur on his mental and emotional powers to perform with great completeness all the various kinds of work which he undertook; a vitality which conquered triumphantly the effects of indifferent health and troubled eyesight. In the diaries and letters is also to be traced the existence of that Greek-like combination of qualities so characteristic of Leighton--namely, explicit precision in his thought and expression, and a subtle power of analysis, united with great emotional sensitiveness and enthusiastic warmth of temperament. His feeling for beauty was an intoxicating joy to him. Heartfelt and genuine joy engendered by beauty in nature and art is not a very common feeling among the moderns, though so much fuss is made by many in our day in their endeavours to become "_artistic_"; but, as a ruling guide, beauty has gone out of fashion. The accounts that Leighton gives of his ecstasies in the presence of beautiful scenes, enforce the belief entertained by those who knew him best, that it was the power which beauty exercised over him that developed his exceptional strength in all artistic directions. What force in the over-riding of difficulties does not passion give to the lover! No less a force was engendered in Leighton by the inspiration of the beauty of nature.

In the letter to his mother, which accompanies the Diary, referring to the joy he has been experiencing, Leighton adds: "I feel almost a kind of shame that so much should have been poured down on me. I will put my talent to usury, and be no slothful steward of what has been entrusted to me. Every man who has received a gift ought to feel and act as if he was a field in which a seed was planted, that others might gather the harvest." The purity of purpose which guided Leighton's life to the end, generated first by the precepts of his mother in the fertile soil of his own beautiful nature, subsequently developed by the teaching of the high-minded Steinle, and finally established later by other elevating influences, chastened the emotional side of Leighton's passion for beauty, and disentangled it even in the earliest days from lower and purely sensuous contamination. The puritanical attitude of mind towards beauty appeared to Leighton absolutely impure and desecrating, in that it associated influences and feelings which are of the lowest with the appreciation of God's most beautiful creations, and some of man's highest aspirations with sensations entirely degraded and unworthy.

Fun and humour abound in the family letters, and in the Diary. Leighton was never guilty of being sentimental, and when referring to the word _ideal_ in one of his letters, he writes he "hates such stuff." After he died, it was written of him: "He was no idealist; needless to say, he was no materialist, no one less so; nor does the term realist seem to recall his nature. He was--if such a word can be used--an actualist, the actual was to him of primary importance. But the actual meant a great deal more to Leighton than it does to most of us. Life and its vivid interests was spread over a much wider area; so many more of its various ingredients were such very actual entities to him."[17]

And when Leighton started, at the age of twenty-one, to begin his independent life, we feel that it is with the _actual_ that he grappled--the actual in his sensations, his feelings, his impressions, his conditions. An unmistakable note of reality rings through his description of all these. He has no tendency, even unconsciously, when under the glamour of the most entrancing impressions, to colour the picture other than he _actually_ saw it. In the strength of his own real nature he goes forth on the journey of life.

DIARY

INNSBRUCK, _August 18, 1852_.

[Sidenote: I contemplate the life and
adventures of Mr. Thumb.]

"When Hop o' my Thumb, a nursery hero of European note, first sallied out into the world with an eye to making a fortune, his first step was (justly foreseeing what the world would expect of the hero of a future romance) to lose himself in a large and horrid forest, in which it was pitch dark all day long, and nothing was heard but ... &c. &c. (Here see biog. of H.O'M. Thumb, Esq., vol. i.)

"Now, in those days mile-posts were not yet come in, and maps were excessively expensive; how, then, was H.O'M.T., after he should have realised a large independence, to find his way back through this intricate waste? Here admire the man of parts and sagacity! '_He determined_,' says the historian, '_to drop pebbles in a row all along the path_'!

[Sidenote: and adopt one of his
measures,]

"Admirable Thumb! I, too, purpose, as I stroll along, to drop every now and then mental pebbles, which shall serve as a connecting link between the past and the future, and as a clue by which I may one day recall the emotions and impressions of the years of my artistic noviciate.

"Be with me, oh Thumb!

[Sidenote: but make a reservation.]

"_N.B._--Quality of pebbles not warranted.

PEBBLES

[Sidenote: Pebble I.]

"Kind, affectionate, earnest Steinle!

[Sidenote: A tribute of affection and
respect for my dear Steinle.]