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Title: The Life, Letters and Work of Frederic Leighton
       Volume II

Author: Mrs. Russell Barrington

Release Date: May 20, 2011 [EBook #35935]

Language: English

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    [Illustration]




  The Life, Letters and Work of
  Frederic Baron Leighton
  Of Stretton

  VOL. II




      "_I am a workman first, and an official after._"
                               --FRED. LEIGHTON, 1888.

      "_Es bildet ein Talent sich in der Stille,
      Doch ein Character in dem Strom der Welt._"
                               --GOETHE.




  The Life, Letters and
  Work of

  Frederic Leighton

  BY
  MRS. RUSSELL BARRINGTON
  AUTHOR OF "REMINISCENCES OF G.F. WATTS," ETC. ETC.


  IN TWO VOLUMES

  VOL. II


  LONDON
  GEORGE ALLEN, RUSKIN HOUSE
  1906

  [All rights reserved]




  Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON & CO.
  At the Ballantyne Press

    [Illustration: LORD LEIGHTON
    From the portrait by G.F. Watts]




CONTENTS


                                                                  PAGE
  INTRODUCTION                                                       1

  CHAPTER I
  FIRST STUDIO IN LONDON, 1859-1863                                 36

  CHAPTER II
  ILLUSTRATIONS FOR _CORNHILL MAGAZINE_--FRESCO FOR LYNDHURST
  CHURCH--ASSOCIATE OF THE ROYAL ACADEMY--MRS. LEIGHTON'S
  DEATH, 1863-1865                                                  91

  CHAPTER III
  JOURNEYS TO THE EAST--CONSTANTINOPLE--SMYRNA--ATHENS--DIARY
  "UP THE NILE TO PHYLAE," 1866-1869                                128

  CHAPTER IV
  ROYAL ACADEMICIAN--MUSIC--ARAB HALL, 1869-1878                   188

  CHAPTER V
  LEIGHTON AS PRESIDENT OF THE ROYAL ACADEMY, 1878-1896            223

  CHAPTER VI
  LIFE WANING--DEATH, 1887-1896                                    312




LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS


VOLUME II

   1. PORTRAIT OF LORD LEIGHTON (_Photogravure_)    To face Dedication
      By G.F. WATTS.

   2. HEAD OF YOUNG GIRL (_Colour_)                     To face page 1
      A wedding gift to H.R.H. THE PRINCE OF WALES, who
      graciously gave permission for the painting to be
      reproduced in this book.

   3. "EUCHARIS," 1863 (_Colour_)                                    9
      By kind permission of Mrs. STEPHENSON CLARKE.

   4. "A NOBLE LADY OF VENICE," 1866 (_Photogravure_)               10
      By kind permission of Lord ARMSTRONG.

   5. "GREEK GIRLS PICKING UP SHELLS BY THE SEASHORE," 1871         18
      (_Photogravure_)
      By kind permission of the Rt. Hon. JOSEPH CHAMBERLAIN.

   6. PORTRAIT OF MRS. SUTHERLAND ORR, 1861                         57

   7. PENCIL SKETCH FOR "MICHAEL ANGELO NURSING HIS DYING
      SERVANT," 1862                                                93
      Leighton House Collection.

   8. ORIGINAL SKETCH FOR "SAMSON WRESTLING WITH THE LION"          94
      Designed as an illustration for Dalziel's Bible. Leighton
      House Collection.

   9. ORIGINAL DRAWING FOR THE GREAT GOD PAN, ILLUSTRATING MRS.
      BROWNING'S POEM, "MUSICAL INSTRUMENT"                        102
      In "_Cornhill Magazine_," July 1861.
      Leighton House Collection.

  10. "AN EVENING IN A FRENCH COUNTRY HOUSE," ILLUSTRATING MRS.
      ADELAIDE SARTORIS' STORY, "A WEEK IN A FRENCH COUNTRY
      HOUSE," PUBLISHED IN THE _Cornhill Magazine_, 1867           103
      By kind permission of Messrs. SMITH, ELDER, & CO.

  11. "DRIFTING." SECOND ILLUSTRATION FOR SAME                     104

  12. LORD LEIGHTON                                                107
      Photograph taken at Lyndhurst, 1863.

  13. FRESCO FOR LYNDHURST CHURCH--"THE WISE AND FOOLISH
      VIRGINS," 1864                                               111

  14. "GREEK GIRL DANCING," 1867                                   125
      By kind permission of Mr. PHILLIPSON.

  15. SKETCH FOR A "PASTORAL," 1866                                125
      Leighton House Collection.

  16. SKETCH IN OILS--"EGYPT" (_Colour_)                           131

  17. "S. JEROME." DIPLOMA WORK, 1869                              188
      Gallery in Burlington House.

  18. "ELECTRA AT THE TOMB OF AGAMEMNON"                           189

  19. "HERACLES WRESTLING WITH DEATH FOR THE BODY OF ALCESTIS,"
      1871                                                         190
      By kind permission of the FINE ART SOCIETY.

  20. "SUMMER MOON," 1872                                          193
      By kind permission of Messrs. P. & D. COLNAGHI.

  21. "A CONDOTTIERE," 1872                                        193
      The Walker Fine Art Gallery, Birmingham.

  22. STUDY FOR FIGURE IN FRIEZE, "MUSIC," 1886                    193
      Leighton House Collection.

  23. STUDY OF MAN'S FIGURE FOR THE "ARTS OF WAR," 1872            193
      Leighton House Collection.

  24. STUDY OF MAN'S FIGURE FOR THE "ARTS OF WAR"                  193
      Leighton House Collection.

  25. STUDY OF MAN'S FIGURE FOR THE "ARTS OF WAR," 1872            193
      Leighton House Collection.

  26. "ANTIQUE JUGGLING GIRL," 1874 (_Photogravure_)               194
      By kind permission of Mr. HODGES.

  27. "CLYTEMNESTRA FROM THE BATTLEMENT OF ARGOS WATCHES FOR
      THE BEACON FIRES WHICH ARE TO ANNOUNCE THE RETURN OF
      AGAMEMNON," 1874 (_Photogravure_)                            194
      Leighton House Collection.

  28. STUDY FOR "CLYTEMNESTRA"                                     194
      Leighton House Collection.

  29. STUDY FOR "SUMMER MOON" (_Colour_)                           194
      Executed by moonlight in Rome. Given by the late A.
      WATERHOUSE, R.A., to the Leighton House Collection.

  30. "THE DAPHNEPHORIA," 1876                                     197
      By kind permission of the FINE ART SOCIETY.

  31. "AT A READING-DESK," 1877                                    197
      By kind permission of Messrs. L.H. LEFEVRE & SON.

  32. ORIGINAL STUDY FOR "AN ATHLETE STRUGGLING WITH A PYTHON,"
      1876                                                         199
      Given by the late G.F. WATTS to the Leighton House
      Collection.

  33. "NAUSICAA," 1878                                             201

  34. STUDY FOR GROUP IN THE "ARTS OF PEACE," 1873                 202
      Leighton House Collection.

  35. STUDY FOR THE FIGURE OF CIMABUE, CARRIED OUT IN MOSAIC IN
      THE SOUTH COURT OF THE VICTORIA AND ALBERT MUSEUM, 1868      203
      Leighton House Collection.

  36. STUDY FOR THE FIGURE OF NICCOLA PISANO, CARRIED OUT IN
      MOSAIC IN THE SOUTH COURT OF THE VICTORIA AND ALBERT
      MUSEUM, 1868                                                 203
      Leighton House Collection.

  37. SKETCH OF THE PRINCE AND PRINCESS OF WALES, ATTENDED BY
      LORD LEIGHTON, WHEN PRESENT AT A MONDAY POPULAR CONCERT
      IN ST. JAMES'S HALL                                          216
      Drawn at the time by Mr. Theodore Blake Wirgman.

  38. PORTRAIT OF SIR RICHARD FRANCIS BURTON, K.C.M.G., 1876       218

  39. VIEW OF ARAB HALL, 1906                                      221
      Leighton House Collection.

  40. PORTRAIT OF PROFESSOR GIOVANNI COSTA                         222
      Executed at Lerici in 1878.

  41. "ELIJAH IN THE WILDERNESS," 1879                             255

  42. STUDY FOR THE FIGURE OF "ELIJAH"                             255
      Leighton House Collection.

  43. "NERUCCIA," 1879 (_Photogravure_)                            255
      By kind permission of Mrs. C.E. LEES.

  44. "THE BATH OF PSYCHE," 1890 (_Photogravure_)                  255
      The Tate Gallery.

  45. "THE LIGHT OF THE HAREM," 1880                               256
      By kind permission of the LEICESTER GALLERY.

  46. DRAWING OF COMPLETE DESIGN FOR "AND THE SEA GAVE UP THE
      DEAD THAT WERE IN IT," 1892                                  256

  47. STUDY FOR "MUSIC." A FRIEZE, 1886                            256
      Leighton House Collection.

  48. STUDY FOR "ANDROMEDA," 1890                                  256
      Leighton House Collection.

  49. STUDY FROM CLAY MODEL FOR "PERSEUS," 1891                    256
      Leighton House Collection.

  50. STUDY FOR "PHOENICIANS BARTERING WITH BRITONS"               256
      Leighton House Collection.

  51. "CYMON AND IPHIGENIA," 1884 (_Photogravure_)                 256
      The Corporation of Leeds.

  52. SKETCH IN OILS FOR "CYMON AND IPHIGENIA" (_Colour_)          256
      By kind permission of Mrs. STEWART HODGSON.

  53. STUDY FOR SLEEPING GROUP IN "CYMON AND IPHIGENIA"            256
      Presented to the Leighton House Collection by G.F. WATTS.

  54. FROM BRONZE FROM SMALL MODEL IN CLAY BY LORD LEIGHTON OF
      "A SLUGGARD," 1886                                           258
      Leighton House Collection.

  55. "NEEDLESS ALARMS," FROM BRONZE STATUETTE, 1886               258
      Leighton House Collection.

  56. "THE LAST WATCH OF HERO," 1887                               259
      Corporation of Manchester.

  57. SKETCH IN OILS FOR "TRAGIC POETESS," 1890 (_Colour_)         259
      By kind permission of Mrs. STEWART HODGSON.

  58. "ATALANTA," 1893                                             261
      By kind permission of the BERLIN PHOTOGRAPHIC CO.

  59. "FLAMING JUNE," 1895                                         261
      By kind permission of Mrs. WATNEY.

  60. STUDY FOR "FLAMING JUNE"                                     261
      Leighton House Collection.

  61. "FATIDICA," 1894                                             261
      By kind permission of Messrs. T. AGNEW & SONS.

  62. STUDIES FOR "FATIDICA"                                       261
      Leighton House Collection.

  63. "MEMORIES," 1883                                             266
      By kind permission of Messrs. P. & D. COLNAGHI.

  64. "THE JEALOUSY OF SIMOETHA THE SORCERESS," 1887               266

  65. "LETTY," 1884 (_Colour_)                                     266
      By kind permission of Mrs. HENRY JOACHIM.

  66. STUDIES FROM DOROTHY DENE FOR "CLYTIE," 1895                 268
      Leighton House Collection.

  67. SKETCH IN OILS FOR "GREEK GIRLS PLAYING AT BALL," 1889
      (_In Colour_)                                                274
      By kind permission of Mrs. STEWART HODGSON.

  68. "BACCHANTE," 1892 (_Photogravure_)                           287
      By kind permission of Messrs. HENRY GRAVES & CO.

  69. SKETCH IN OILS FOR "BACCHANTE" (_Colour_)                    287
      By kind permission of Mrs. STEWART HODGSON.

  70. "_Der Winter_"                                               304
      Drawing by EDUARD VON STEINLE.

  71. SKETCH IN OILS FOR "SOLITUDE" (_Colour_)                     310
      By kind permission of Mrs. STEWART HODGSON.

  72. "SUMMER SLUMBER," 1894 (_Photogravure_)                      316
      By kind permission of Mr. PHILLIPSON.

  73. SKETCH FOR "SUMMER SLUMBER"                                  316
      Presented to the Leighton House Collection by
      H.M. THE KING.

  74. "THE FAIR PERSIAN," 1896                                     324
      By kind permission of Sir ELLIOTT LEES.

  75. "THE SPIRIT OF THE SUMMIT," 1894                             334

  76. STUDY FOR "LACHRYMAE," 1895                                   335
      Leighton House Collection.

  77. "CLYTIE," 1896                                               336
      By kind permission of the FINE ART SOCIETY.

  78. MEMORIAL MONUMENT IN ST. PAUL'S CATHEDRAL TO FREDERIC BARON
      LEIGHTON OF STRETTON                                         340

  79. VIEW OF HALL AND STAIRCASE OF LEIGHTON HOUSE, GIVEN BY LORD
      LEIGHTON'S SISTERS TO THE PUBLIC AS A MEMORIAL TO THEIR
      BROTHER                                                      340
      By kind permission of Mr. J. HARRIS STONE.


    [Illustration: HEAD OF YOUNG GIRL
    Wedding present from Lord Leighton to H.R.H. the Prince of
    Wales, who has graciously allowed the painting to be reproduced
    in this book]




THE LIFE OF LORD LEIGHTON




INTRODUCTION


SIR WILLIAM RICHMOND, R.A., and Mr. Walter Crane have kindly
contributed the following notes:--

    It was in 1860 that I first knew Leighton. We met over affairs
    connected with the Artist Rifle Corps at Burlington House, and
    afterwards at the studios of various artists, where discussions
    took place regarding the formation and means of conduct of the
    Corps. On several occasions I walked home with Leighton to his
    house in Orme Square.

    I don't think I have ever known a man who grew more steadily
    than Leighton did. The effort of his artistic life was to remove
    the effects of a certain mannerism and over-education in his
    early artistic life. His knowledge was wonderful, his powers of
    design without immediate consultation with Nature were
    phenomenal; he feared the facility in himself and went always to
    Nature, that out of her manifold gifts he should be inspired
    directly by them. And this constant study had its drawbacks as
    well as its merits, because in one sense it stood in the way of
    the development of an abstract power of invention. If ever an
    artist made the most of his conscious abilities, Leighton did.
    His character was so curiously simple on the one hand, and so
    complicated on the other, that a balance between a very
    emotional and extremely accurate temperament had to be found,
    and it was found. How far a certain charm of spontaneity was
    obscured a little, perhaps by erudition and a sort of
    Aristotelian preciseness, it is not for me to say. There is in
    all things a balance which, when once obtained, reduces the
    weight in both scales. But we must take a life as it has been
    made by circumstances, by early training and after influences;
    and probably most men who are in earnest,--and Leighton was
    pre-eminently in earnest,--find their proper issue finally. That
    the best of Leighton's work will live, I am convinced; that it
    will hold its own when a great deal of other work praised,
    admired, even worshipped during the life of his contemporaries
    shall be dead, I feel quite assured; and one may very justly be
    asked--Why? The simple answer is that it was thorough, definite,
    sincere, accomplished. Leighton never put out his hand towards
    the limbo of vulgarity or fashion. Like Virgil, like
    Mendelssohn, Leighton was a stylist, and his life's work showed
    a perfection of attainment upon the lines which he drew out for
    his progress almost to my thinking unrivalled in the work of any
    of his contemporaries. Here and there he struck a deep note of
    poetry, here and there he was like a Greek for his simplicity,
    here and there his work shows the luxury of the Venetians, the
    restraint of the Florentines, but never perhaps the majesty of
    M. Angelo or the strong charm of Raphael. His art was eclectic;
    still it was Leighton, and could have been done only as the
    result of great natural gifts, assiduous study, force of
    character, and, withal, independence of vision. His love of
    beauty was his own personal love, not learnt, hardly perhaps
    inherited, but spontaneous and lasting. This devotion to beauty
    may have sometimes led his emotions away from character, which
    sometimes is very nearly ugly as well as very nearly allied to
    the highest beauty, which Bacon says has always something of
    strangeness in it. The pursuit of beauty, _per se_, may be
    purchased at the expense of character.

    But Leighton was always pulling himself up; and when he found
    himself too facile, too ornate, he resolutely set his mind to
    correct any tendency in that direction by fidelity to Nature,
    sometimes even to her ugly movements. Excess was not in his
    nature, which was curiously logical; his mind was swift,
    far-seeing; in debate he was admirable, always seeing the weak
    point of an argument at once, and "partie pris" was his
    abomination. A man so gifted in the essence and laws of form, so
    learned in the construction of the human frame, so deeply
    sensitive to line and movement as well as to structure, surely
    would have given to the world great works of sculpture. Indeed
    he did, but not enough! One regrets that--still one must accept
    the fact that form is but little cared for in this country, and
    Leighton sinned by reason of his love of form; by many he was
    called not a painter because he did not smear, did not trust to
    accidents, did not leave works half done--because he was sincere
    to his conviction that a work of art must be, to last, complete
    "ad unguem." The present craze for incompleteness, for sketches
    instead of pictures, for unripe instead of ripe fruit, must die
    as all false notions die; the best, the rightest will live; and
    when the present ephemeral fashion has worked itself out, the
    nobility of Leighton's works, his best, are certain to take
    their place in the estimation of those that know as surely as
    that they are good.

    How many out of the multitude really, if we could test them,
    care one jot for the Elgin Marbles, for the Demeter of Knidos,
    for the vault of the Sistine Chapel?--very few. Really great
    things never can be accepted by the commonplace. How should they
    be? for to understand the highest in music, in architecture,
    sculpture, or painting, the observer or listener must have a
    spark in his constitution which is a portion of the flame that
    burned white heat in the soul of the conceiver. How can such an
    attitude of intimate sympathy belong to the many? It never has,
    and probably never will. Great men are rare, and those who are
    mentally or organically made to comprehend them are rare also.
    The great can afford to wait because they are immortal. In all
    one's dealings with Leighton what did one find? a noble nature,
    restrained, charitable, in earnest; and if in many discussions
    as to the desirability of certain events, certain compromises,
    certain acts of conformity, one did not agree with Leighton, one
    knew "au fond" that the attitude was quite logical, not hastily
    arrived at, and the position taken up was to be strenuously
    held: and it was that power of consistency which made Leighton
    so trustworthy. He was fearless when his principles were
    touched, he was loyal to his associates in the Academy even if
    he did not see eye to eye with them, and he was loyal to his art
    and to his friends. If Leighton had chosen politics for his
    career he would probably have been Prime Minister, just as
    Burne-Jones might have been Archbishop of Canterbury had he
    continued his early and very remarkable theological studies. All
    really great men have endless possibilities. It is more or less
    chance which decides the direction of ability, which, once
    discovered, forcibly, dominantly present, must find
    opportunities for its highest development and achievement in the
    tenure of the goal. It was ability and natural gifts that made
    Leighton great, industry that nourished his greatness, and
    stability to principle which made it lasting in his lifetime,
    and must for all time stamp his work. The thing that really
    engages one's interest about a great man is not so much his
    "technique" as his general disposition and character, which
    forms for itself a suitable "technique" by which his
    achievements have been manifested. Should any one by-and-by
    describe the "technique" of Joachim, the supreme violinist, he
    would probably interest a few, but in reality he would say
    nothing really valuable, excepting inasmuch as he touched upon
    first principles. The "modus operandi" of an artist's life is
    moulded by his personal aims, the means are those by which he
    found his own way of stating them; and one doubts very much if,
    after all, the points which differentiate one man's work from
    another's are not those which have obliterated the conscious
    efforts, preserving just the touches which genius gives beyond
    and above all laws that may be learnt. Verse no doubt is much
    dependent for its beauty on the system of the arrangement of
    syllables, and the music they make when harmoniously handled
    upon the final perfection which they reach, and so become
    rule-making instead of being the result of rule-following. Hence
    lies that unaccountable beauty which is the inexplicable result
    of the ego--that taste, that selection, that special word which
    creates an impression immediately, and which seems inimitable
    even, and obviously the only one which could have been used;
    that is style--the very essence of the ego which cannot be
    copied, or indeed again brought into relation with the idea. And
    isn't that the reason why the copy of a picture can never be
    really like an original? even if the "technique" is identical,
    it lacks that last touch, that last word which transcends
    tradition, almost transcends thought, for it is just the thought
    which has been summed up in a moment of inspiration,
    uncalculated, spontaneous. Leighton was far too wise a man to
    believe in the constant recurrence of inspirations: he knew that
    the moment when the whole spirit is ready to act is involuntary;
    he knew that to reach the supremacy of that moment, labour was
    necessary; that in labour is the foundation of the building for
    that moment of inspiration. One may question if the first vision
    in Leighton was very strong--strong as Blake's, strong as many
    artists whose powers of attainment were much less than
    Leighton's, but whose vision was clearer at the outset. Rougher
    minds than Leighton's have produced more epic effects, and a
    ruder, less accomplished "technique" has borne with it more
    original, more trenchant ideas. Leighton was not a mystic; he
    dealt with thoughts which he embodied in forms that he saw, but
    which he also made his own in their application; that was his
    genius of originality. The rugged verse of AEschylus had no place
    in his temperament, much as he admired it; the polished diction
    of Virgil bore more similitude to Leighton's inspiration.
    Sometimes one missed in his work just the touch of the rugged
    which would have given more grace by comparison, by contrast.
    His grace of diction, his oratory, his writing, was sometimes
    over-refined, and missed its mark by over-elaboration. The very
    speciality of Leighton was completeness. One has seen pictures
    in his study only half finished, which had a charm of freshness
    that vanished as each portion became worked into equal value.
    But that fastidiousness was his characteristic, it was part of
    him; and therefore we must not deplore it. His originality was
    exemplified by his power of taking pains, his power of will to
    do his very best according to his guiding spirit of
    thoroughness. Temperaments are so different. Whistler could not
    be Leighton. Because we admire the one, it is not necessary to
    decry the other; that is weak criticism, or rather none at all.
    The spirit which inspires the impressionist is not the spirit of
    design, but a limited observation in a very restricted area. We
    can have the Academic as well as the Impressionist: both are
    useful as foils to each other, and it is just as narrow of the
    Impressionists to want all men to see nature and art as they see
    them, as it has been for the Academics to see "nothing" in the
    newer if more limited system. I believe that Leighton's real
    love was early Italian art; all that came to him after was the
    result of growth. His enthusiasm for Mino da Fiesole, for the
    earlier Raphaels, for Duccio of Siena, for Lorenzetti, was
    evident and absorbing; other enthusiasms were more branches from
    the stem than its roots. He loved line; he found it there: he
    loved restraint of action, pure sensuous beauty; he found it in
    early Italian Art. The reserve of emotions touched him in Greek
    Art--its suavity, its almost geometrical precision, the
    tunefulness and melody of its rhythmical concords. His love of
    music was on the same lines: Wagner never appealed to him as
    Mozart did; it was too strenuous, too busy in changes of key,
    too incomplete in the finish and development of phrases. It was
    not that he liked dulness--not a bit; he was emotional, often
    gay, often depressed--excitable even; but to him Art was an
    intellectual more than a purely emotional system, and he liked
    it to be finished, consistent, perfect--and those qualities he
    strove for, without a doubt he obtained in a high measure. It
    will be long before we see again the like of Frederic Leighton,
    a man complete in himself.

                                                   W.B. RICHMOND.
    _June 1906._

       *       *       *       *       *

    I first met Leighton about 1869 or '70, I think. I went to one
    of his receptions at the Studio in Holland Park Road, at the
    time he was showing his pictures for the Academy. I think his
    principal work of that year was "Alcestis," or "Heracles
    Wrestling with Death." About the same time Browning's poem of
    "Balaustion's Adventure" appeared, in which he alludes to
    Leighton and this very picture in the lines beginning:

        "I know a great Kaunian painter"

    (if I remember rightly).

    I availed myself of a friend's introduction, and presented
    myself. One recalls the courteous and princely way in which he
    received his guests on these occasions, and the crushes he had
    at his studio--Holland Park Road blocked with carriages, and all
    the great ones of the London world flocking to see the artist's
    work.

    About this time, or shortly before, he had done me the honour to
    purchase two landscape studies I had made in Wales from among a
    number in a book, which was shown him by my early friend George
    Howard (now Earl of Carlisle), and I remember his kind words in
    sending me what he deemed "the very modest price" I had asked
    for them.

    His kindness to students and young artists was well known. He
    would take trouble to go and see their work, and he was always
    an admirable and helpful critic.

    I remember, on my first visit to Rome in the autumn of 1871 (on
    our marriage tour), going into Piali's Library one evening to
    look at the English papers. No one was there, but presently
    Leighton came in. He did not remember me at first, but I
    recalled myself to him. He was very kind, in his princely way,
    and gave me introductions to W.W. Storey, the sculptor, and his
    great friend, Giov. Costa, and he called at our rooms to see my
    work, in which he showed much interest. In a letter I had, dated
    March 1st, 1872, written from the Athenaeum Club, he speaks of
    some drawings I had sent to the Dudley Gallery, one he had seen
    on my easel in Rome, and he says: "I have seen your drawings,
    all three--one was an old friend; of the other two, the 'Grotto
    of Egeria,' with its 'sacrum numes,' most attracted me through
    its refined and sober harmony. _The quality of your light_ is
    always particularly agreeable to me, and not less than usual in
    these drawings"; he goes on to say he is glad to hear I have
    "made friends with my excellent Costa, who as an artist is one
    in hundreds, and as a man one in thousands"; he adds, "Have you
    sketched in the 'Valley of Poussin'? It strikes me that old
    castle would take you by storm."

    I saw Leighton again in Rome in 1873, meeting him on the
    Palatine, among the ruins of the Palace of the Caesars. He was
    with a lady who, I believe, was the author of the story
    published in _The Cornhill_, "A Week in a French Country House,"
    for which Leighton made an illustration. (His black and white
    work was always very fine, and I recall seeing some of his
    drawings on the wood for Dalziel's Bible and "Romola.")

    Later, he came to see us when we settled in London, in Wood
    Lane.

    I had further relations with him about the time he was building
    the Arab Hall, when (through George Aitcheson, his architect) I
    designed the mosaic frieze. On some sketches I made for this he
    writes: "Cleave to the Sphinx and Eagle, they are
    _delightful_--I don't like the duck-women." With regard to these
    Arab Hall mosaics, he said that he hoped to have more, and
    eventually "to let us loose (Burne-Jones and myself) on the
    dome."

    After this, I saw something of Leighton on the committee of the
    South London Fine Art Gallery, Peckham, in its earlier days,
    when he was chairman, and helped to pilot the institution from
    the somewhat exacting proprietorship of its founder towards its
    ultimate position as a public institution.

    From the aristocratic point of view, he certainly had a keen
    sense of public duty, and probably laid the motto "Noblesse
    oblige" to heart.

    I met him again at the Art Conference at Liverpool, when a
    trainful of artists of all ranks went down together, and some
    notable attacks were made on the Royal Academy. Leighton was
    tremendously loyal to that institution, which I notice is always
    stoutly defended by its members, whatever opinions they may have
    expressed while outsiders.

    I suppose we differed profoundly on most questions, but he was
    always most courteous, and, whatever our public opinions, we
    always maintained friendly personal relations; and I may say I
    always entertained the highest admiration for Leighton's
    qualities, both as an artist and as a man.

    At the time when the election for the presidency of the Academy
    was in view (after the death of Sir Francis Grant), it was said
    that Leighton was the _only_ man, and that if they did not elect
    him the institution would go to pieces; but probably as
    president he had less power of initiative than before.

    I remember, after one of our committees at his studio, he drove
    me home to Holland Street in his victoria; and as he set me down
    at my door, he pointed to a little copper lantern I had put up
    over the steps, and said, "Is that Arts and Crafts?"

    His fondness for Italy was well known, and I think he went every
    autumn. I recall meeting him at Florence in 1890, while staying
    at the delightful villa of Mrs. Ross (Poggio Gherardo), when he
    came to luncheon.

    In death he was as princely as in life; and on the day of his
    burial at St. Paul's I was moved to write the following as a
    tribute to his memory, which will always be vivid in the hearts
    of those who had the privilege of his friendship:--

    Beneath great London's dome to his last rest
      The princely painter have ye borne away,
      Who still in death upholds his sumptuous sway;
    Who strove in life with learned skill to wrest
    Art's priceless secret hid in Beauty's breast
      With alchemy of colour and of clay,
      To recreate a fairer human day,
    Touched by no shadow of our time distrest.

    What rank or privilege needs art supreme--
      Immortal child of buried states and powers--
        Who can for us the golden age renew?
    Let worth and work bear witness when life's hours
      Are numbered: honour due, when, as we deem,
        To his ideal was the artist true.

                                 WALTER CRANE.

    [Illustration: "EUCHARIS." 1863
    By permission of Mrs. Stephenson Clarke]

       *       *       *       *       *

Having settled in England in 1860, Leighton found that there, contrary
to his expectations, his sense of colour became developed; and with
this his individuality as a _painter_ asserted itself. Between the
years 1863 and 1866 he painted pictures which proved that, as a
distinct artificer in painting, he had found himself, and was no
longer under the controlling influences of German or Italian Art,
though, unfortunately, hints of German methods in the actual
manipulation of his brush clung more or less to his painting to the
end. From boyhood Leighton's power of designing, his sense of beauty
in line and form and of dramatic feeling, his extraordinary facility
in drawing with the point, proved his genius as an artist; but it was
not till the early sixties that his pictures proved him to be
possessed of individual distinction as a painter, probably because the
method of handling the brush associated with the teaching which, in
other respects, commanded his reverence and admiration, were alien to
his finest artistic sense. No later works are to be found more notable
in luminous quality of painting than "Eucharis," 1863, and "Golden
Hours," 1864; none in strength and solidity of texture, or in beauty
of distinguished handling, than "A Noble Lady of Venice," about 1865;
none in richness of arrangement combined with the fair aerial
atmosphere appropriate to a Grecian scene, for which Leighton had so
native a sympathy, than "A Syracusan Bride Leading Wild Beasts in
Procession to the Altar of Diana," 1866.[1] Later works may claim a
greater public prominence among his achievements, but for actual
individuality and feeling for the beauty which appealed most strongly
to Leighton in colour as in form, none he painted after evinced any
fresh departure.

    [Illustration: "A NOBLE LADY OF VENICE." 1866
    By permission of Lord Armstrong]

As early as 1852, at the age of twenty-one, Leighton wrote to Steinle
from Venice: "I must candidly confess that great as my admiration for
Titian (& Co.) was, yet the well-known art treasures here have seized
me and entranced me anew. You, dear master, are so familiar with all
these things that there is nothing I can write you about them; but on
one point I am fairly clear, namely, that the admirers and imitators
of Titian (particularly the latest) seek his charms quite in the wrong
place, and I am convinced that the impressiveness of his painting lies
far less in the ardour of his colouring than in the stupendous
accuracy and execution of the modelling." In another letter to Steinle
he refers to the necessity of mastering the capacities of the brush in
order to render form in a complete manner independently of the
function of the brush to render colour.

    "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_)."

In January 1860 Leighton wrote to Steinle: "You will perhaps be
surprised, but, in spite of my fanatic preference for colour I
promised myself to be a draughtsman before I became a colourist," and
in fact Leighton was fighting, throughout his whole career, against
allowing the sensuous qualities in his art to override those which the
teaching of Steinle had proved to his nature to be the most truly
elevating and ennobling. Up to the age of thirty he had been
overshadowed by the influence of others in the matter of actual
technique in painting. From the time he settled in London he freed
himself from the tutelage of all masters. As we have read in his
letters, his intention was to do so in 1856 when he painted "The
Triumph of Music;" but at that time he failed in finding his real self
in his painting of that picture, and fully realised that he must
_reculer pour mieux sauter_, returning in the autumn of that year to
Rome to be fed by the greatest art of the past, and to study again,
"face to face with Nature--to follow it, to watch it, and to copy,
closely, faithfully, ingenuously--as Ruskin suggests, choosing nothing
and rejecting nothing." The studies of a Pumpkin Flower (Meran),
Branch of Vine (Bellosquardo), Cyclamen (Tivoli), reproduced in
Chapter III., and others, were made during this autumn of 1856.

In a letter written to Mr. M. Spielmann, a few years before his death,
Leighton describes the procedure he pursued in accomplishing a serious
work.

    "In my pictures,--which are above all decorations in the real
    sense of the word,--the design is a pattern in which every line
    has its place and its proper relation to other lines, so that
    the disturbing of one of them, outside certain limits, would
    throw the whole out of gear. Having thus determined my picture
    in my mind's eye, in the majority of cases I make a sketch in
    black and white chalk upon brown paper to fix it. In the first
    sketch the care with which the folds have been broadly arranged
    will be evident, and if it be compared with the finished
    picture, the very slight degree in which the general scheme has
    been departed from will convince the spectator of the almost
    scientific precision of my line of action. But there is a good
    reason for this determining of the draperies before the model is
    called in; and it is this. The nude model, no matter how
    practised he or she may be never moves or stands or sits, in
    these degenerate days, with exactly the same freedom as when
    draped; action or pose is always different--not so much from a
    sense of mental constraint as from the unusual liberty
    experienced by the limbs to which the muscular action invariably
    responds when the body is released from the discipline and
    confinement of clothing.

    "The picture having been thus determined, the model is called
    in, and is posed as nearly as possible in the attitude desired.
    As nearly as possible, I say; for, as no two faces are exactly
    alike, so no two models ever entirely resemble one another in
    body or muscular action, and cannot, therefore, pose in such a
    manner as exactly to correspond with either another model or
    another figure--no matter how correctly the latter may be drawn.
    From the model make the careful outline on brown paper, a true
    transcript from life, which may entail some slight corrections
    of the original design in the direction of modifying the
    attitude and general appearance of the figure. This would be
    rendered necessary probably by the bulk and material of the
    drapery. So far, of course, my attention is engaged exclusively
    by 'form,' colour being always treated more or less ideally. The
    figure is now placed in its surroundings, and established in
    exact relation to the canvas. The result is the first true
    sketch of the entire design, figure, and background, and is
    built up of the two previous ones. It must be absolutely
    accurate in the distribution of spaces, for it has subsequently
    to be 'squared off' on to the canvas, which is ordered to the
    exact scale of the sketch. At this moment, the design being
    finally determined, the sketch in oil colours is made. It has
    been deferred till now, because the placing of the colours is,
    of course, of as much importance as the harmony. This done, the
    canvas is for the first time produced, and thereon I enlarge the
    design, re-draw the outline--and never departing a
    hair's-breadth from the outlines and forms already obtained--and
    then highly finishing the whole figure in warm monochrome from
    the life. Every muscle, every joint, every crease is there,
    although all this careful painting is shortly to be hidden with
    the draperies; such, however, is the only method of insuring
    absolute correctness of drawing. The fourth stage completed, I
    return once more to my brown paper, re-copy the outline
    accurately from the picture, on a larger scale than before, and
    resume my studies of draperies in greater detail and with still
    greater precision, dealing with them in sections, as parts of a
    homogeneous whole. The draperies are now laid with infinite care
    on to the living model, and are made to approximate as closely
    as possible to the arrangement given in the first sketch, which,
    as it was not haphazard, but most carefully worked out, must of
    necessity be adhered to. They have often to be drawn piecemeal,
    as a model cannot by any means always retain the attitude
    sufficiently long for the design to be wholly carried out at one
    cast.[2] This arrangement, is effected with special reference to
    painting--that is to say, giving not only form and light and
    shade, but also the relation and 'values' of tones. The
    draperies are drawn over, and made to conform exactly to the
    forms copied from the nudes of the underpainted picture. This is
    a cardinal point, because in carrying out the picture the folds
    are found fitting mathematically on to the nude, or nudes, first
    established on the canvas. The next step then is to transfer the
    draperies to the canvas on which the design has been squared
    off, and this is done with flowing colour in the same monochrome
    as before over the nudes, to which they are intelligently
    applied, and which nudes must never--mentally at least--be lost
    sight of. The canvas has been prepared with a grey tone, lighter
    or darker, according to the subject in hand, and the effect to
    be produced. The background and accessories being now added, the
    whole picture presents a more or less completed
    aspect--resembling that, say, of a print of any warm tone. In
    the case of draperies of very vigorous tone, a rich flat local
    colour is probably rubbed over them, the modelling underneath
    being, though thin, so sharp and definite as to assert itself
    through this wash. Certain portions of the picture might
    probably be prepared with a wash of flat tinting of a colour
    the opposite of that which it is eventually to receive. A blue
    sky, for instance, would possibly have a soft, ruddy tone spread
    over the canvas--the sky, which is a very definite and important
    part of my compositions, being as completely drawn in monochrome
    as any other of the design; or, for rich blue mountains a strong
    orange wash or tint might be used as a bed. The structure of the
    picture being thus absolutely complete, and the effect
    distinctly determined by a sketch which it is my aim to equal in
    the big work, I have nothing to think of but colour, and with
    that I now proceed deliberately, but rapidly."

So far Leighton explained the conscious processes he went through in
creating his pictures; but does this explanation record truly the real
agencies which brought about the result we see in his finest
achievements? I should say no,--most emphatically no. Where we can
trace the sign of these processes, there the picture fails in the
power of convincing. No such process produced "Eucharis" nor the
"Syracusan Bride." The process may have been gone through in painting
the procession, but it is obliterated by touches instinct with a true
painter's inspiration. All _teachable_ qualities Leighton could
_teach_ on the lines of soundest principles. His extreme modesty left
others to find out that where his preaching left off the real work
began in his own pictures. No one knew better than Leighton that no
theoretic knowledge ever made an artist; no teachable processes ever
made a beautiful picture; no one knew better that head without heart
never produced any work that was truly cared for.

"God forgive me if I am intolerant," he wrote to Steinle, "but
according to my view an artist must produce his art out of his own
heart; or he is none."

    "The chord that wakes in kindred hearts a tone,
    Must first be tuned and vibrate in your own"

were the words with which he ended his first address to the students
of the Royal Academy.

In the world's estimate of things and people, classification plays at
times a pernicious part. Classification in art matters may be tolerated
as useful only in the education of the non-artistic. Invariably the
most convincing touches escape the possibility of being reduced to so
dull a process of reckoning. Art marked by individual spontaneity,
emanating from the ego of the artificer, refuses to be levelled down
into a class. Critics seem at times to be strongly tempted to fit an
artist's achievements into certain classes, because they have
previously made up their minds as to the class the work belongs to.
Hence the perversion often of even an intelligent critic's estimate:
certain squarenesses exist which will not fit into round holes, so, for
the sake of classification, the corners must be shaved off. Surely no
artist ever existed who evaded being comfortably fitted into either a
square or a round hole more completely than did Leighton. Every serious
work he undertook was an entirely separate performance from any
previous invention--a new venture throughout--and, once decided on,
carried through with absolute conformity to the original conception.
Therefore any classification, beyond his mere method of working, is
more sterile in producing a just estimate of Leighton's art than of
those workers who are in the habit of painting pictures in which the
same motive recurs. Essentially original in his conceptions as in his
aims, and vibrating with receptiveness, he sounded nevertheless every
impression he received by unchanging principles adhered to as implicit
guides. He had within him at once the steadiest rock as a foundation,
and the most fertile of serial growths on the surface. Abiding rock and
surface flora alike had had their earliest nurture, it must be
remembered, in foreign parts, under other skies than that of our veiled
English light--under other influences of nature and of art than that of
our English climate and schooling--and it is partly owing to this fact
that it is not realised by those who have never seen nature under the
aspects which most delighted him, that Leighton's conceptions were
directly and invariably inspired by nature. Those who are conversant
with Italy and other Southern countries will possess the key to much
that is misjudged by others in Leighton's work. Scenes which entranced
his sensibilities as a boy, and, lingering ever in his fancy, gave
subjects for his paintings when his art was mature, may appear to one
without special knowledge of the South as mere echoes of classic art.
When he was thirty-one Leighton exhibited the picture "Lieder ohne
Worte."[3] It is no record, probably, of any particular place, nor of
any particular fountain; but when strolling on a road in or near a
southern town or village in Italy, a view which might originally have
inspired the motive may be seen at any moment. Encased in a wall near
Albano is a fountain which certainly recalled to me the picture as, in
the bright light of a May morning, the song of nightingales in the
grand foliage of overhanging magnolia trees echoed the sound of the
water springing from the glistening lip, and flowing over the clean
curve of the marble basin into the trough below. There was the same
lion's head which served as spout, the same arrangement of ornament
encircling it; also a finely shaped pitcher placed below to catch the
water, and--more recalling than any detail--was the echo of the real
motive of the picture--the dream-like poetry of the sunlit scene, with
the musical accompaniment of trickling water. Had Leighton painted a
Discobolus, it would probably never have occurred to most English
critics that nature and living action had inspired the work. Above the
lake of Albano is a road--"the Upper Gallery"--where every day are to
be met men playing the game. Any one watching it may see repeated over
and over again the action in the well-known statue. Nature inspired the
creations of the great ancients, and it was also invariably first-hand
impressions from nature that inspired Leighton's creations, whatever
superstructure of learning he added in the course of their development.
Living in Italy when his feelings were most sensitive to impressions,
the origin of the suggestions he imbibed is to be found in her
atmosphere, colouring, and the scenes which surrounded him when his
imagination was most free and fertile. Later, when he lived in England,
his travels in Italy and Greece supplied him with the subjects for the
most beautiful sketches he made direct from nature. No one, I believe,
has ever painted the luminous quality of white, as it is seen under
heated sunlight in the South, with the same charm as Leighton. The
sketches he made of buildings in Capri[4] are quite marvellously true
in their rendering of such effects. He made equally beautiful studies
of mountains and sea, under the rarefied atmosphere of Greece. He
seemed always happiest, I think, when the key of his pictures and
sketches was light and sunlit; in such pictures, for instance, as
"Winding the Skein," "Greek Girls Picking up Shells by the Seashore,"
"Bath of Psyche," "Invocation," and others remarkable for their
fairness and their light, pure tone.

Leighton's sympathies were adverse to the more sensuous qualities in
painting. Often, in discussing the works by Watts, he would strongly
discourage those who were, he considered, unduly influenced by the
charm of the great painter's quality and texture, from endeavouring to
aim at it in their own work. Such a treatment, Leighton maintained,
might be legitimate as the natural expression of the intuitive genius
of one gifted individual, but was not the treatment to copy by the
student on account of any intrinsic merit. He had almost an aversion
to any process which obtained effects through roughness and inequality
of surface. His genuine youthful predilection, which he retained
consistently throughout his life, was for the early Italian art and
Italian method of painting _al fresco_. "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 child-like
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."--(Letter to Steinle from Florence, 1857.)

    [Illustration: GREEK GIRLS PICKING UP SHELLS BY THE SEASHORE. 1871
    By permission of The Right Hon. Joseph Chamberlain]

After Leighton became President of the Royal Academy he made Perugia
his halting-place for some weeks during his autumn travels, while he
wrote his biennial discourses for the students. He invariably stayed
at the well-known Brufani Hotel,--Mrs. Brufani, with whom he made
great friends, always reserving the same two rooms for him, from the
windows of which he could watch the sun set behind the glorious piles
of Umbrian mountains to the west of Perugia. From these windows he
also made sketches in silver point of the distant ranges, each form
modelled with exquisite delicacy and perfection, though in faintest
tones. Other inmates of the Brufani supposed he lived in his two
rooms, as he was seldom seen elsewhere in the hotel; but Leighton had
found a restaurant which, like his old quarters in Rome--the _Cafe
Greco_--was the resort of the artists living in Perugia. There he
would lunch, and then repair to the Sala del Cambio. Sitting on the
raised seat near the window, he would, day after day, spend an hour or
more revelling in the beauty of the frescoes by Perugino. Then he
would mount to the Pinacoteca and take a deep draught of enjoyment
from the tempera paintings of Perugino's master, Benedetto Bonfiglio,
Leighton's favourite of favourites ("They are all my _Bonfigli_!" he
would exclaim), whose angels' aureoles rest on wreaths of roses, and
whose lovely work Perugia seems to have monopolised. The old paintings
of Martino, Gentile da Fabiano, Pietro da Foligno, and their
followers Leighton also loved, likewise the later work of Bernardino
Pinturicchio and Lo Spagna, pupils with Raphael of Perugino. Among his
greatest favourites were the painted banners--the _Gonfalone_--which
are peculiar to the Umbrian cities. He loved the freshness of their
quality--the result of a first painting never retouched--the masterly
ease of the workmanship, full of tender, gracious beauty. These days
were Leighton's real holidays, where, in rapturous admiration of the
art he loved so profoundly, he put behind him for the time the weight
of official responsibility, and the no less exhausting social duties
of his life.

Had Leighton been able to devote himself to the method of painting in
fresco, and to work in a warm, dry climate, which admits of painting
into the wet surface of plaster without danger of the wall retaining
the moisture, he would, undoubtedly, have felt a freer impulse to work
rapidly and more spontaneously than when his touch was controlled by
the complicated procedures in oil painting. In the process of painting
_al fresco_, colour, in a sense, models itself--its absorption into the
wet plaster softening the edges of one touch into another; hence, over
a first painting no half obliteration is necessary, and any elaborate
finish is avoided. Being obliged to complete before the plaster was
dry, Leighton could not have yielded to the temptation to over-refine
his surface; and his splendid power as a draughtsman, allied to his
sense of beauty, would have found a perfectly spontaneous, happy
utterance. As a boy he had imbibed one great principle, and from this
principle he never deviated. He wrote, "The thoroughness of all the
great masters is so pervading a quality that I look upon them all as
forming one aristocracy." In his sketches alone did Leighton relax from
the strain which absolute thoroughness involves; and then, in all the
fervour of aesthetic inspiration, colour would fly on canvas, chalk or
paper, with a charm of quality and exquisite grace of line and form
which, as Mr. Briton Riviere remarks, is the very best that can be
obtained from a great artist thoroughly trained, but which condition
Leighton would never admit into what he considered his serious work. He
writes to his father from Rome, January 1853: "I was deeply impressed
with the glorious works of art I saw in Venice and Florence, and was
particularly struck with the exquisitely _elaborate_ finish of most of
the leading works by _whatever_ master; the highest possible finish
combined with the greatest possible breadth and grandeur of disposition
in the principal masses. Art with the old masters was full of love,
refined,--sterling." Leighton formed his standard from these old
masters, and never for a moment allowed his standard to be replaced by
another. In certain types of Englishmen chivalric loyalty develops at
times into obstinacy. Leighton, with all his passion for Italy, his
artistic sensitiveness, his excitability, his finely wrought nervous
temperament, and his intense power of sympathy, had also in his blood
something of the old English Tory, which made him adhere and remain
loyal to the strongest impressions of his youth. Catholic and generous
as he always proved himself to be when it was a question of considering
the work of others, when he was considering his own he ever maintained
absolute consistency with the tenets of his early illuminations.
Speaking of his extraordinary sense of duty and the consequent tension
involved, Mr. Briton Riviere writes:--

    "No doubt the constant wear and tear occasioned by the perpetual
    strain of mental and physical watchfulness did much to shorten
    his life; I think it sometimes injured his own work as an
    artist, because, though a great artist can never be evolved
    except by years of patient work and strenuous effort to do his
    very best always, yet, on the other hand, it is often the happy,
    easy work and absolutely spontaneous effort of the moment by
    such a hand which is his very best. Such happy, easy work
    probably Leighton would seldom allow himself to do, and never
    would leave at the right moment, but would still strive to make
    better and more complete. He must still elaborate it and try to
    make it more perfect; and this it was that made his enthusiastic
    admirer Watts sometimes say, 'How much finer Leighton's work
    would be if he would admit the accidental into it.'"

A fact, little suspected by the public, certainly affected the element
of strength in some of Leighton's works. Besides often suffering from
a positive want of health, his normal physical condition was far from
robust; and, as appears in his letters, he suffered much through
weakness and irritation in the eyes from the time he was a boy. He did
not wear his physical (or any other) distress on his sleeve, and
experienced many hindrances in his work never dreamt of, even by his
intimate acquaintances. These might not have been so serious had he
been willing to sacrifice all other duties in life to his own special
vocation; but though he realised that Art, the language of beauty, was
his main passion, his conscience would not allow him to make this
passion an excuse for avoiding help to his generation on other lines,
if he distinctly felt he could do so. In the happiest of surroundings,
with his life unburdened by public responsibilities, he painted
"Cimabue's Madonna"; and, for pure vigour in the manipulation, this
painting has a robust quality which is scarcely to be found in any
other of the larger works which followed, though these may possess
many other virtues, and evince a more definite individuality, than
does the early work.

Leighton's art appeals to the artists (comparatively few in England)
possessed of cosmopolitan culture--also to many who love beauty, a
sense of refined distinction in feeling and in form and in the
arrangement of line. Beyond these it appeals also to the great public
outside the radius of specialists, a public which is impressed by a
sense of beauty and achievement without possessing the knowledge of
experts. It is not much cared for by the disciples of either of the
latest schools in England, and in France, which have governed fashion
in the matter of taste for the last twenty years. In the first place,
it appeals but little to those to whom the highest province of art
appears to consist in conveying didactic sentiments and poetic ideas
through a language of form and colour--to suggest thought to the brain
rather than beauty to the eye. Respecting this theory of the province
of art, Leighton expresses himself clearly in his second address to
the Royal Academy students in December 1881:--

    "Now the language of Art is not the appointed vehicle of ethic
    truths; of these, as of all knowledge as distinct from emotion,
    though not necessarily separated from it, the obvious and only
    fitted vehicle is speech, written or spoken--words, the symbols
    of ideas. The simplest spoken homily, if sincere in spirit and
    lofty in tone, will have more direct didactic efficacy than all
    the works of all the most pious painters and sculptors from
    Giotto to Michael Angelo; more than the Passion music of Bach,
    more than a Requiem by Cherubini, more than an Oratorio of
    Handel.

    "It is not, then, it cannot be the foremost duty of Art to seek
    to embody that which it cannot adequately present, and to enter
    into a competition in which it is doomed to inevitable defeat."

That so great a painter as Watts should have taken a contrary view,
and preached this contrary view as that which inspired his own
_conscious_ aims, was quite sufficient to secure to it many adherents.
He preached his doctrine, moreover, with a most convincing argument,
but one which cannot logically be used in favour of it, namely, his
own great genius as a _painter_. Watts was essentially a
_painter_--one who at his best ranks with the best painters of all
times.

Mr. Arthur Symons, writing on "The Psychology of Watts,"[5] quotes a
popular preacher who affirmed that "Critics who approach his (Watts')
work from the side of technical excellence do not interest him at all.
His endeavour has been to make his pictures as good as works of art as
was possible to him, for fear that they should fail altogether in
their appeal; but, beyond that, their excellence as mere pictures is
nothing to him." "Now," writes Mr. Symons, "it is quite possible that
Watts may have really said or written something of the kind; he may
even, when he set himself down to think, have thought it. The
conscious mental processes of an artist have often little enough
relation with his work as art; by no means is every artist a critic as
well as an artist. But to take a great painter at his word, if he
assures you that the excellence of his pictures 'as mere pictures' is
nothing to him; to suppose seriously that at the root of his painting
was not the desire to paint; to believe for a moment that great
pictorial work has ever been done except by those who were painters
first, and everything else afterwards, is to confuse the elementary
notions of things, hopelessly and finally. And so, when we are told
that the technical excellence of Watts' pictures is of little
consequence, we can but answer that to the 'painter of earnest
truths,' as to all painters, nothing can be of more consequence; for
it is only through this technical excellence that 'Hope,' or 'The
Happy Warrior,' or 'Love and Life,' is to be preferred to the picture
leaflet which the district missionary distributes on his way through
the streets."

All who knew Watts intimately and watched him working day by day can
testify that he spared no labour, time, or patience, in working over
and over on a picture in order to attain the finest quality in the
actual surface which his material--paint--could possibly produce.

Neither the disciples of the original brotherhood of the
pre-Raphaelites nor those of Burne-Jones care, as a rule, for
Leighton's art. Though starting as one with the pre-Raphaelites,
Burne-Jones, possessing a remarkably fine intellect, a subtle fancy, a
rich inventiveness in the detail of design, an exquisite sense of
grace, and great genius as a colourist, developed so distinct an
individuality that his followers cannot be precisely identified with
those of the pre-Raphaelites. Leighton fully appreciated the genius of
Burne-Jones, and did all in his power to secure his adherence to the
Academy; but he had no sympathy for that feeling in art evinced by
Burne-Jones' followers, which is so essentially rooted in purely
personal moods that even distortion of the human frame is condoned, so
long as prominence is given to the suggestion of such moods.

Imbued with a rare, peculiar refinement all its own, a kind of
aesthetic creed sprang up in the later days of the nineteenth century
apart from the arid soil of commonplace respectability and tasteless
materialism. Burne-Jones painted it, Kate Vaughan danced it,
Maeterlinck wrote it, the "Souls" (rather unsuccessfully) attempted to
live it, the humourists caricatured it, the Philistines denounced it
as morbid and unwholesome. Leighton was tolerant and amused, but could
not be very solemn over it. And, assuredly, already this creed has
been whisked away into the past by fashions diametrically opposed to
it in character. Its text may be found in Melisande's reiterated
refrain, "I am not happy"--though the unhappiness does not seem ever
to have been of the nature of the iron which entered into the soul,
but rather the shadow of sadness, adopted with the idea that such a
condition betokens a more rare and tender grace than the radiance of
joy can give. Every mood of the subjective has been lately in fashion
in aesthetic circles, and is still rampant in much of the up-to-date
(or down-to-date, as it may be) conditions of the present taste. This
is probably consequent on the leadership of those artists who
possessed not only genius and sense of beauty, but a peculiar charm of
texture in their work which seems a native adjunct to certain
temperaments. It is a purely personal manner, and crops up without
reference apparently to any special school of art. In Sodoma we find
it allied to a development of the splendid completeness of Italian
Art; again in the Celt, Watts, to a lofty imagination and to a
Pheidian sensibility for noble form; it appears in the work of the
Jew, Simeon Solomon; and is an element in Burne-Jones' lovely quality
of painting especially noticeable in his water-colour drawings--and,
on a smaller scale of workmanship, in the pictures by Pinwell. It is
more a matter of quality than of colour, and yet it is only colourists
who have possessed it--most obviously, however, where the key of
colour is restrained almost to monochrome. A hint of it can be found
in Tintoretto's paintings, where few positive tints are prominent, as
in some of the ceiling paintings in the Ducal Palace at Venice. There
is a something which this special handling suggests which possesses a
very subtle charm, the charm of dreamland,--less tangible, less real
than direct appeals from nature. A slight mystery seems to veil the
vision like a reflection swayed by the surface of the water. It is
less explicit than any real object, and only suggests completion
without quite achieving it; there is something left out from the
aspect of nature, something added from the ego of the artist. There
are those to whom such a treatment suggests a deeper truth than can
any wholly explicit expression, because they feel forcibly that
mystery is the soul of all earthly conditions--"we see through a glass
darkly." There are others--and Leighton was among these--who are so
strongly imbued with a sense of the wonderful and marvellous in actual
creation that they need no art, no veiled suggestion of the hidden,
in order to realise that our lives are wrapped in mystery from the
cradle to the grave. This quality in painting alluded to, fits in with
that taste in literature which prefers hints to assertions--that
insistency on the value of what is, after all, but a _fugitive_ phase
in special temperaments--that setting most value on the principle of
suggestion rather than of definition, of which we hear so much. The
devotees of Maeterlinck delight in the shadow of a thought rather than
the thought _arrete_; they feel that a further stage of refined
culture is reached in worshipping a style you have to get somehow
behind, rather than one in which thoughts are fully and frankly
expressed. Doubtless it requires a more subtile weapon to catch the
fleeting aroma, the hint of a thought trembling in the brain and
giving it permanent existence in Art, than to carve the expression of
a complete idea explicitly with cameo-like precision, be it in the
form of words or a visual impression--the wise sayings of a Solomon or
a Bacon, the sculpture of a Pheidias or the painting of a Leonardo da
Vinci. The actual visible facts in the aspects of nature, which were
of such entrancing interest to Leighton, become of less and less
interest to the wide public as the human intelligence is trained more
and more through books, less and less through the eye; our modern
conditions making the world we live in, more and more ugly and
uninspiring to the echoing tune of nature within us. Even if we recede
into the depths of the country, we find the signs all round us of the
sense of beauty being deadened, the revulsion against ugliness having
ceased--corrugated iron supplanting thatched roofing, and the
loveliest, most rural spots in England year after year newly deprived
of some special charm they have possessed for centuries. Those who
seek for beauty have been led to find it in the unreal--the things
which might be, but are not. We cannot help it, but we certainly
become more artificial as our civilisation becomes more complicated,
and everything we see around us grows uglier. It is because the
general public has so little genuine interest in Art or love of
beauty, however great may be its professions, that the tendency has
developed to care for the art which appeals rather to the mind and the
aesthetic sensibilities generally, than to the actual vision.

This reign of the subjective has brought in its train the undue
monopolising of the world's most ardent interest in one passion.
French novels of great literary power secured to it the monopoly in
France, and magnates in aesthetic culture have grafted it on to our
English taste. This strongest and most beautiful feeling in human
nature has been so monotonously forced upon us in literature _a tort
et a travers_--the assumption that this is the only feeling worth
serious consideration has been dwelt on with such a tiresome
pertinacity--it has been so often caricatured, so often debased in
books and pictures, that even the real thing itself runs a danger of
palling. This human passion may be the greatest, but it is not the
only great feeling with which the lives of men and women are enriched;
and surely the absorbing prominence which has been given to it
latterly in literature is out of proportion with its real position in
healthy lives. Little sympathy seems left for other deep and stirring
emotions. In Leighton's art we find no monopoly of this kind either
recorded or suggested. He painted the passion of lovers in the "Paolo
and Francesca," but with no more sincere interest than he did other
feelings; than, for instance, his fervent and reverent worship of art
in "Cimabue's Madonna," or in the ecstasy of joy in the child flying
into the embrace of her mother in "The Return of Persephone," or in
the exquisite tender feeling of Elisha breathing renewed life into the
Shunammite's son, or in that sense of rest and peace after struggle in
the lovely figure of "Ariadne" when Death releases her from her pain;
or in the yearning for that peace in the "King David": "Oh that I had
wings like a dove! for then would I fly away and be at rest."

As the climax of nature's loveliest creations Leighton treated the
human form with a courageous purity. In his undraped figures there is
the same total absence of the mark of the degenerate as there is in
everything he did and was; no remote hint of any _double-entendre_
veiled by aesthetic refinement, any more than there is in the Bible,
the _Iliad_, or in the sculpture of Pheidias.

To quote lines that were written about Leighton very shortly before
his death:--

    "There is truly to be traced in the feeling of his art that
    'seal on a man's work of what is most inward and peculiar in his
    moods'; the sign of individual intimate preferences and of the
    moving power which certain aspects of beauty have had upon the
    artist's innermost susceptibilities, though these may be
    somewhat veiled and distanced by being translated through the
    reserved form of a classic garb. Perhaps it is this reserve
    which invests Sir Frederic Leighton's art with the special aroma
    of poetry which Robert Browning found in it to a greater extent
    than in any other work of his time.[6] Whether in his larger
    compositions, in the complicated grouping of many figures, such
    as the Cimabue picture being led in procession through the
    streets of Florence, the 'Daphnephoria,' 'Heracles struggling
    with Death,' the 'Andromache,' the 'Cymon and Iphigenia,' and
    others; or those simpler compositions, such as the 'Summer
    Moon,' 'Wedded,' 'The Mountain Summit,' 'The Music Lesson,'
    'Sister's Kiss,' in all can be traced the sentiment of a poet
    inspiring the touch; not overriding by any assertiveness of
    sentiment the complete scheme of the picture, but lingering here
    and there with a wistful loveliness which has to be sought for
    within the barriers of the formal classic design. And it is this
    reticence in the expression of individual sentiment, this
    subduing it to the larger conditions of a more abstract style
    of art which, though it will never make Sir Frederic Leighton's
    work directly popular, gives to it a quality of distinction. In
    such reticence is an element of greatness which probably will
    only be duly appreciated when the more transient moods of
    thought in the present generation have passed. His work lacks
    altogether the sentimental, brooding-over-self quality, which,
    when allied to genius, is contagious, and gives an interest of a
    subtle, but perhaps not altogether wholesome kind to some of the
    best work of this era."

And again after his death:--

    "Beauty of every kind played on a very sensitive instrument,
    when it made an appeal to his nature, giving him very positive
    joy: no complication of subtle interest beyond the actual
    influence being required before a responding echo was sounded,
    because so pure and innocent was this joy he had in the charm of
    beauty;--so also attendant on his personal influence, there was
    no power of mesmerism, nor of the black arts. In every direction
    it was healthy and bracing. Even a Nordau could have discovered
    no remotest taint of the degenerate!"

It is the emotions which art suggests outside itself which have been
viewed by one school as more interesting than art itself, and it is
the sensuous qualities in painting--colour and texture--which are the
visible agents, and convey more readily these suggestions of emotions
in our northern temperaments than do beautiful lines and forms. Our
northern temperaments also love symbolism and mysticism, therefore are
apt to favour the art that meets a veiled condition of things; and the
perfection of complete finish in nature's form is no longer held up as
a standard for the student to aim at. Leighton had no sympathy with
the artificial, neither had he any with the shadow put in the place of
the substance. The actual was ever sufficient for him, for in nature
herself he never failed to find sufficient inspiration. The mind of
the Creator in matter is what the ingenuous artist temperament
searches for and is inspired to record; whereas it is, on the one
hand, phases of human moods, selections from human passions, good,
bad, and indifferent, which are made to saturate the feeling in much
of our modern art, or, on the other hand, aspects of nature's moods
given without the framework of her structure, and without the detail
of her perfection.

It may be argued, however, that there are among the most beautiful
effects in nature those which are not fully distinct to the sight--the
shimmering iridescence on a shell, where one colour is seen sparkling
against another through a film, or the waving branches of a willow,
the liquid shifting of a flowing stream, or the endless effects of
cloud and mist in a northern sky. To express this in paint requires an
appropriate treatment in the manipulation of the pigment itself.
Watts' theory was that you have to unfinish the record of certain
facts in order to render the truth of the whole fact (see also
Steinle's criticism on Leighton's head of "Vincenzo," 1854). He would,
therefore, film his painting over with a scumble of white, and only
partially repaint the surface, in order to get at that whole truth
which includes the bloom of atmosphere and the veil of northern mists.
Leighton is thought at times to have erred on the side of
explicitness, and the texture of his surface is apt undoubtedly to
lack the vibrating quality which carries with it a beauty of its own.
This is partly accounted for by the fact that he had imbibed the
rudiments of his teaching in a school whose followers were not
sensitive to the finest qualities in oil painting, but also probably
from his extreme desire to give expression to his sense of the intense
finish in nature.

Doctrinaires of the very latest fashion in art insist that nothing
comes legitimately within the province of the pictorial, except the
impression of nature transmitted to the physical organ detached from
memory, experience, and mind. By this faction the eye is treated
solely as a machine. Sound as may be the doctrine that art has
nothing to do with what the eye cannot see, or with those facts which
experience alone teaches us are there, it is also no less true that
the human eye sees, according to its intuitive power of transmitting
to the brain, the different component parts of the actual object of
its vision. It was no knowledge of anatomy which enabled Pheidias to
see every subtilty of form in the human figure with consummate
insight--any more than it was a knowledge of the laws of the flow and
ebb of the tides, which enabled Whistler to give an actual sense of
the swaying surface of the waves in "Valparaiso Bay"; again, it was no
knowledge of botany which enabled Leighton and Millais to reproduce
the structure of plants so perfectly, that they evoked unmitigated
admiration as botanical studies from so high an authority on botany as
Sir W.C. Thistleton Dyer. We may be told that what we really see is
only the relation of tone, of light and shadow; but the fact that the
architecture of the whole visible world, the meaning-full construction
of all things that nature builds, is being constantly realised by our
sight, makes the truth of this theory at least doubtful. That our eye
cannot discern these natural objects without light goes without
saying; further, that light and shadow shape the forms to be rendered
by the brush is also true: but the assertion that what we see is only
light and shade playing upon form, is shutting the door on another
equally obvious truth. The eye, gifted with a natural sense of form,
records ingenuously to the brain the sense of projecting and receding
planes, the foreshortening of masses, the straightness, slant, or
curve in a surface or in a line. A complete and exhaustive result may
be achieved in a painting through this sense of form, as in the work
of Van Eycke and of Leonardo da Vinci; or a shorthand record may be
made, as in that of Phil May's sketches. But we feel that in both the
sense of the whole form has been felt. However, volumes would not
exhaust the arguments for and against the so-called impressionist's
view of art; so-called--but surely a term unfortunate and misleading,
and in nowise explanatory. Every touch a true artist ever puts upon
canvas is a record of an impression--whether that impression comprises
the structure, light and shade, true colour and tone, all
combined,--or only certain surface qualities extracted from its
entirety and enforced so that the most obvious appearances start into
relief, giving doubtless a sense of vitality to a work, but remaining
nevertheless only a partial record of the object. Needless to say,
Leighton sought to record his impressions of nature in their entirety,
and this necessitated a balancing of their component attributes. The
startling element is never found in his art.

He viewed the influence of art as one which should perfect the life of
every class; should purify in all directions the debasing elements of
materialism and self-interest; should put zest and gratitude into the
hearts of all men and women who can see and feel, by awakening a sense
of the perfection and beauty of nature, art forming an explanatory and
illuminating link between her and mankind--a translation of her
perfection transmitted with all reverence by the artificer;--a
perfecting beautiful pinnacle in the erection and development of a
noble human being.

No words could better describe Leighton's high endeavour in training
his own mind and those whom he tried to influence, than the following,
written by Lord Acton and quoted by his friend, Sir M. Grant Duff.[7]
"If I had the power," writes Sir M. Grant Duff, "I would place upon
his monument the words which he wrote as a preface to a list of
ninety-eight books he drew up, and about which he still hoped to read
a paper at Cambridge when he wrote to me on the subject last autumn.
'This list is submitted with a view to assisting an English youth,
whose education is finished, who knows common things, and is not
training for a profession, to perfect his mind and open windows in
every direction; to raise him to the level of his age, so that he may
know the forces that have made the world what it is, and still reign
over it; to guard against surprises and against the constant sources
of errors within; to supply him both with the strongest stimulants and
the surest guides; to give force and fulness, and clearness and
sincerity, independence and elevation, generosity and serenity to his
mind, that he may know the method and lay of the process by which
error is conquered and truth is won, discerning knowledge from
probability and prejudice from belief; that he may learn to master
what he rejects as fully as what he adopts; that he may understand the
origin as well as the strength and vitality of systems, and the better
motives of men who are wrong; to steel him against the charm of
literary beauty and talent, so that each book, thoroughly taken in,
shall be the beginning of a new life, and shall make a new man of
him.'" In a like spirit Leighton sought to arrive at viewing art; and
what Lord Acton sought to effect by the general culture of men's minds
and natures through reading, Leighton sought to effect in his special
vocation by inducing other artists to study all that was greatest in
Art from a wide and unprejudiced point of view--making it their own,
so to speak, by thoroughly realising and appreciating the qualities in
it which make it great. Each true masterpiece in Art, he urged, should
be thoroughly taken in, and should be the beginning of a new effort.
On the other hand, he sought to make the student "learn to master what
he rejects as fully as what he adopts, that he may understand the
origin as well as the strength and vitality of systems, and the better
motives of men who are wrong." His desire was to guide art into the
current of the world's best interests--the current in which good
literature is so forcible an agent--on the highest, broadest, most
catholic lines. He endeavoured to do so by his example as a working
artist, by his Discourses, by his labours for the public in every
direction where the Art of his country was concerned, and more
directly by his influence on those with whom he personally came in
contact.


FOOTNOTES:

[1] This picture has, I believe, unfortunately left the country. It was
suggested by a passage in the second Idyll of Theocritus: "And for her,
then many other wild beasts were going in procession round about, and
among them a lioness." Sketches for portions of the picture and the
squared tracing for the complete design can be seen in the Leighton
House Collection. The full-length portrait of Mrs. James Guthrie was
exhibited the same year as this second processional picture, which
appeared on the walls of the Academy eleven years after the "Cimabue's
Madonna." The head of the central figure, the Bride, Leighton painted
from Mrs. Guthrie. The following charming letter from Mrs. Norton, the
most notable of Sheridan's three beautiful daughters, refers to this
picture:--

                                           3 CHESTERFIELD STREET,
                                                  _April 9_.

    DEAR MR. LEIGHTON,--I was so amused by the little grandson's
    observation on the picture that I cannot help writing about him.
    I asked him "what he thought of it"? He said, "Oh! it was
    _beautiful_! but you told me it would be beautiful--_Mr.
    Leighton_ was like a _man in a story_! you did not look so much
    at him as Carlotta and I did, but I suppose you have seen him
    before, and you did not seem to _pity the little panther_! There
    was, in the picture, a little young _puppy_ panther, and one of
    the young brides was coaxing it so tenderly, and looking down at
    its head; and she was one of the prettiest and kindest looking
    of all the brides (it was the side of the picture furthest from
    the screen); and I could not help thinking, 'Ah, my poor little
    panther! you little know when the brides get into that temple,
    and she gets married, how she'll forget all about you, and get
    coaxing other things, her husband and her children'; and I felt
    quite sorry for the panther." So spoke my grandson (just as I
    felt sorry for the cripple beggar).

    Now, as I am quite sure no one else will take this view of what
    is the principal interest in your glorious procession of youth
    and hope, I thought it as well to let you know, that you might
    give that little panther his due importance (a little leopard, I
    think he is), and not suppose him a subordinate accessory! That
    whole procession was tinged with mournfulness in Richard
    Norton's eyes for that little leopard's sake. I shall see that
    "Dream of Fair Women" again in the Exhibition, and admire it, as
    I did to-day, in a crowd of other admirers, I know. I do not
    mind the crowd. I see over them and under them, and through
    them, when there is anything so worth being eager
    about.--Believe me meanwhile, yours very truly,

                                                 CAROLINE NORTON.

[2] In a letter from Leighton to his mother, the following sentence
occurs:--"Will you please explain to him" (his father) "that I am not
going to model the _drapery_ of my figures, but the _figures
themselves_ to lay the drapery on, as my models could not fly
sufficiently long for me to draw them in the act; it is of course a
very great delay, but the result will amply make up for the extra
trouble, I hope."

[3] The picture has left the country, but sketches of the complete
design are among those in the Leighton House Collection.

[4] Lent by Lady Wantage to the Exhibition, in Leighton House, of the
smaller works and sketches in 1903.

[5] _Outlook_, July 15th, 1905.

[6] When standing with me before Leighton's picture "Wedded" in the
studio Robert Browning exclaimed, "I find a poetry in that man's work I
can find in no other."

[7] "The Late Lord Acton." _The Spectator_, July 5, 1902.




CHAPTER I

FIRST STUDIO IN LONDON

1859-1863


In 1858 Leighton was represented on the Royal Academy walls by two
pictures, "The Fisherman and the Syren"--a subject from Goethe's
ballad,

    "Half drew she him,
    Half sunk he in,
    And never more was seen"--

and by a scene from "Romeo and Juliet," both small canvases painted in
Rome and in Paris.[8]

Leighton at this time received an encouraging letter from Robert
Fleury, from whom he had learned much:--

    Que parlez vous de reconnaissance, mon cher Monsieur Leighton?
    de l'amitie je le veux bien, et je recois, a ce titre seulement,
    le dessin que vous m'avez envoye. Ne me suis je pas fait plaisir
    en vous reconnaissant du talent et en vous rendant la justice
    qui vous est due? si vous m'avez donne l'occasion de vous faire
    part de ma vieille esperance n'est ce pas une preuve de l'estime
    que vous faites de mes conseils? Puisque vous m'offrez
    genereusement votre amitie, je l'accepte de bien bon coeur, et
    votre petit dessin me restera comme un gracieux souvenir de
    vous.

                                                   ROBERT FLEURY.
    PARIS, _le 18 Mars 1858_.

In the autumn of 1858 Leighton was back in Rome, and it was at that
time the King, then Prince of Wales, first visited his studio. "I
myself had the advantage of knowing him (Leighton) for a great number
of years--ever since I was a boy--and I need hardly say how deeply I
deplore the fact that he can be no more in our midst," were the words
spoken by the King--thirty-nine years after this first meeting--at the
Royal Academy banquet, which took place after Leighton's death, 1st
May 1897.

He worked in Rome till his pictures were finished for exhibition in
the spring, 1859.

He wrote to his mother:--

    It is my particular object and study to go to no parties, in the
    which I have succeeded admirably. I go often to Cartwright's in
    the evening, that don't count; now and then to Browning, now and
    then to the play, see a good deal of Lady Hoare; and that
    reminds me that Hoare sent you some game the other day, which,
    however, was returned, as you were not forthcoming. By-the-bye,
    when I say I have made no acquaintances of interest, that is not
    true; Odo Russell, son and brother of my friends, Lady William
    and Arthur Russell, and our diplomatic agent here, is a great
    friend of mine, and particularly sympathetic. I see him often at
    Cartwright's, who is his _alter ego_; also I know and like Miss
    Ogle, who wrote that (I hear) exceedingly remarkable novel, "A
    Lost Love." She is a country clergyman's daughter in a remote
    corner of Yorkshire, and wrote this book when she had, I
    believe, never lived out of a circle of "kettles." She is not
    young, but agreeable and quaint.

    I am just finishing the largish studies of a very handsome model
    here, and am about to send them off for exhibition. They seem
    very popular with all who see them, and are, I think, my best
    things.


                                                            1859.

    DEAREST MAMMY,--I find to my annoyance that I have mislaid your
    kind letter, so that I must answer as best I can from memory.

    That the French and Austrians have been formally requested by
    the Pope to withdraw their troops from the States of the Church
    is, I have ascertained from good authority, true, though how on
    earth you can have known in Florence so long ago a thing which
    has only just happened, and which is still in great measure a
    secret here, is what I can't make out; but, dear Mamma, I trust
    this won't prevent your coming to Rome in April, as there is no
    chance of the evacuation being carried into effect by that time.
    There will be particularly (indeed exclusively) on the side of
    Austria a great demur and _pourparler_, inasmuch as the
    consequences of this step will probably be most serious to her;
    so that for the next few months we need fear nothing. I trust
    you will come; however, of course I dread the responsibility of
    insisting too much. You will see how matters look in a few
    weeks. I am just about to despatch to the Royal Academy some
    studies from a very handsome model, "La Nanna." I have shown
    them to a good many people, artists and "Philistines," and they
    seem to be universally admired. Let us hope they will be well
    hung in the Exhibition. Talking of exhibitions, you will be
    rather amused to hear that my "Samson" has been _refused_ at the
    British Institution, which this year is particularly weak and
    insignificant. It is gone in to the Suffolk Street now, unless
    too late. Neither I nor anybody else has the least idea what is
    the cause of this strongish measure. I have sent my "Negroes" to
    Paris, and if it is not too late the "Juliet" and "Paris" will
    go there also. I think they will be well hung, as they are
    godfathered by Mr. Montfort, my kind and valuable friend. This
    afternoon the Prince of Wales came to my studio, with Colonel
    and Mrs. Bruce, Gibson, &c. &c. Gibson spoke in the very highest
    terms of my pictures, so of course all the others were
    delighted!


                                               _Tuesday Morning._

    I have not been able to answer your letter till now, and indeed
    even now I am interrupting my work to do it; I will answer all
    your questions categorically. First, about the brigands--I have
    made inquiries, and have heard of nothing new since these two
    cases about five weeks back, and am told that now the roads may
    be considered safe; indeed, no time is generally so good for
    travelling as just after an accident of that kind, as the
    authorities are on the look out: if you go by _vetturino_, there
    will in all probability be other _vetturini_ on the road, and
    you will start together and arrive together from and to the
    different stations on the road. You quite misunderstood the
    sense of my letter, dear Mamma, if you imagined that I knew
    nothing of rumours of war, &c. &c.--so far from not knowing what
    is going on, I live in a hot-bed of politics, what with
    Cartwright and what with Odo Russell. I expressed my surprise
    that you should speak with confidence of the withdrawal of the
    French troops when the official news of the Pope's _formal
    request_ to that effect could not yet have reached Florence, for
    the reason that it had not taken place; with the Florentine
    politicians the wish must have been father to the thought. What
    really will happen is impossible to say; they won't withdraw
    till the Austrians do--that is pretty certain; the French, I
    think, like to mislead people about it. A French general told a
    friend of mine that in _six weeks_ they would all be gone, but
    _Antonelli_, who ought to be the best authority, told Odo
    Russell they would not go for six _months_, though the
    occupation has already ceased (as the _Moniteur_ expresses it)
    "en principe." You see, dear Mamma, that it is entirely
    impossible for me to give you any _definite_ information at a
    moment when nobody seems to know what is coming next. I should
    be very much disappointed if you could not come; if you settle
    to come, let me know in time to look for rooms at an Hotel, and
    tell me what you expect to give. My work would not allow me to
    go to Florence. My pictures for the R.A. this year are three
    portraits in different sizes and attitudes from the same model,
    all _dressed_--one a small half-length, the other a kit-cat, the
    third a small head the size of my hand--this I have sold to Lady
    Hoare for forty guineas. It has been much coveted--Lady
    Stratford de Redcliffe wanted a repetition (I never do
    repetitions), and Mrs. Phipps seemed quite distressed it was
    sold. The Prince and his party told O. Russell they liked my
    studio better than any they had seen in Rome. My "Pan" and
    "Venus" are stowed away in London.

Besides the three portraits of a model mentioned in his letter,
exhibited at the Royal Academy, 1859, Leighton sent "Samson and
Delilah" to Suffolk Street. For studies of this picture, see Leighton
House Collection.

Later, from Naples, he wrote:--

                                       _Wednesday Morning, 1859._

    I scribble two lines in haste before starting to Capri to
    announce my safe arrival here in the middle of the day on
    Monday. I found here several letters from England; but, as I
    had presumed, that report about the sale of all my pictures was
    a _canard_. Lord Lansdowne wishes very much for a repetition of
    my small profile of Nanna, but as I refused to make one for Lady
    Stratford, I of course can't for him. George de Monbrison has
    very kindly consented to give up his Nanna to the Prince,[9] but
    is evidently sadly disappointed--so much so, that I have written
    to offer to do what I could not under any other circumstances,
    _i.e._ copy it for him.

    This place is in great beauty. I have been received with the
    greatest hospitality by the Hollands, with whom I have dined and
    supped both days.

    Yesterday I breakfasted with Augustus Craven,[10] who
    photographed me. He is a great adept at this art, and devotes
    much time to it. He has a most lovely house here, looking out on
    to the sea.

    I have nothing to add for the present, and I will write again
    from Capri.

This visit to Capri produced the famous drawing of the Lemon Tree.[11]
Mr. Ruskin wrote: "Two perfect early drawings are of 'A Lemon Tree'
and of a 'Byzantine Well'" (see List of Illustrations), "which
determine for you without appeal the question respecting necessity of
delineation as the first skill of a painter. Of all our present
masters, Sir Frederic Leighton delights most in softly-blended
colours, and his ideal of beauty is more nearly that of Correggio than
any since Correggio's time. But you see by what precision of terminal
outline he at first restrained and exalted his gift of beautiful
_vaghezza_." In letters to Leighton, Ruskin refers to these
drawings:--

                                                            1860.

    DEAR LEIGHTON,--Unless I write again I shall hope to breakfast
    with you on Friday, and see and know evermore how a lemon
    differs from an orange leaf. In cases of doubtful temper, might
    the former more gracefully and appropriately be used for bridal
    chaplet?--Most truly yours,

                                                       J. RUSKIN.


                                            _15th December 1882._

    DEAR LEIGHTON,--Of course I want the lemon-tree! but surely you
    didn't offer it me before? May I come on Tuesday afternoon for
    both? and I hope to bring "Golden Water," but I hear there's
    some confusion between the Academy and the Burlington Club.
    "Golden Water" is perhaps too small a drawing for the
    Academy--but you'll see.

    I wish the lecture on sculpture you gave that jury the other day
    had been to a larger audience, and I one of them.--Ever
    affectionately yours,

                                                       J. RUSKIN.


                                                 _17th November._

    DEAR LEIGHTON,--I brought up the "Byzantine Well,"[12] but was
    forced to trust my friend, John Simon, to bring it across the
    Park to you, and then forbid him till I wrote you this note,
    asking you to spare a moment to show him the "Damascus Glass and
    Arab Fountain." He is, as you know, a man of great eminence,
    with a weakness for _painting_, which greatly hinders him in his
    science.--Ever your loving,

                                                             J.R.

    I can't get lectures printed yet.

With reference to differences of opinion which had arisen between them
on certain art questions, Ruskin wrote in 1879: "I expected so much
help from you after those orange (lemon) trees of yours!" Later (1883)
he wrote: "The Pre-Raphaelite schism, and most of all, Turner's death,
broke my relations with the Royal Academy. I hope they may in future
be kinder; its President (Leighton) has just sent me two lovely
drawings (the 'Lemon Tree' and the 'Byzantine Well') for the Oxford
Schools, and, I think, feels with me as to all the main principles of
Art education."

After his visit to Capri Leighton returned to London. He stayed with
Mr. Henry Greville, and while there wrote to his mother the following
letters:--

                                                 19 QUEEN STREET,
                                       _Wednesday Morning, 1859_.

    I have so far altered my plans that I stay on until Saturday
    morning instead of going to-morrow with Mrs. Sartoris as I had
    intended. I have still a call or two to make, and, besides, am
    going to dine to-morrow with Mario and spend the evening of
    Friday at Lord Lansdowne's, whose invitation I got though I had
    not called on him. I suppose that a card was sent me because my
    name was on the old list. I have since met him (at Henry's
    party), and he made himself very amiable, renewing the
    invitation by word of mouth. I have just been spending two or
    three days at Old Windsor with Miss Thackeray, who has been
    kindness itself as usual; the weather was divine, and we took
    exquisite drives. Chorley[13] also has been a kind friend to me;
    he took me twice to the Handel Festival, seating me, conveying
    me, breakfasting me, and, but that I was engaged, would have
    dined me. The Festival was, as you have no doubt read in the
    papers, most successful, the choruses, considering the enormous
    difficulty of training such masses of people (2000!) were
    excellent; the quantity of sound produced was, of course,
    enormous, still there was no _din_, nothing stunning, only an
    exceedingly dense and close-textured quality of sound. The solo
    singers varied in excellence. Clara Novello shone by the quality
    of her voice, which carries any distance, and by the correctness
    of her singing, but to me she is entirely without charm, and
    left me as cold after the great song of the Nativity in the
    "Messiah" as if she had not sung at all. Miss Dolby sang well
    throughout; she was remarkable for the excessive decorum and
    simplicity of her singing. She finishes a phrase with great
    breadth; her voice, to some people disagreeable, is to me very
    _simpatica_, and she gave me altogether the greatest pleasure.
    Sims Reeves, whom but a few days back I heard sing so badly at
    Liverpool, astounded me here by the remarkable care and study he
    brought to bear on his solos. He sang in the "Messiah,"
    beginning with "Behold and see if there be any sorrow," &c. He
    sang exquisitely; and in the "Israel" he sang "The enemy said"
    (a very ungrateful song) as well as possible. He was
    vociferously encored, and well deserved it. ---- was simply
    abominable, without a redeeming point. ----, though less
    aggressively bad, was too insignificant to say much about at
    all. Of course, altogether, the solos, especially the more
    vigorous ones, were too weak for the choruses; that could not be
    otherwise short of having four pair of Lablache lungs. Costa led
    to perfection; it was a sight to see him.


                                                 _Friday_, PARIS.

    DEAREST MAMMA,--I write you a few lines just to announce my safe
    return to Paris. You have no doubt by this time got the box back
    again. Henry was, as always, very kind to me, and I spent three
    days very simply at his house. I had intended, when I left this,
    to stay only two days in London, but those days being Saturday
    and Sunday, I remembered that all the Galleries were shut, and
    therefore, being most anxious to see the new Veronese, I stayed
    over Monday. I was delighted with the pictures in the National
    Gallery and also at Marlborough House, but the annual exhibition
    at the British Institution is _deplorable_. I have decided, on
    the advice of Buckner, Colnaghi, and others, to send my
    "Niggers" ("A Negro Dance"--water-colour--from sketch made in
    Algiers) to the Suffolk Street Exhibition (where I shall be well
    hung through Buckner's intervention) _if_ I get done in time: it
    will be a hard race, as the Exhibition opens a month sooner than
    the R.A.

    I reached home Tuesday evening at 10-1/2 o'clock, after a good
    passage; I was, however, suffering from a shocking indigestion,
    and, to crown all, was kept awake till four in the morning by a
    ball immediately under my bed. Next morning I had to paint away
    at Gallatti (my model) willy nilly (particularly nilly),
    feeling seedy and frightfully cross. However, my "Gehazi" is now
    as near as possible finished, and to-morrow I go in for the
    "Niggers." I hope, dear Mamma, you will let me hear at once what
    Lina or Suth. write; I am most anxious to hear more.

    Good-bye, dear Mamma. Best love to all from your most
    affectionate

                                                            FRED.


                                                  _Friday, 26th._

    I am happy to say I have just done my "Niggers," and though too
    late for the ordinary mode of conveyance on account of an
    accident in the papers, I am saved by the exceeding kindness of
    a secretary of the Sardinian Embassy, a great friend of mine; it
    will be taken over on Monday night by a messenger under the
    seals of the Embassy, and will just arrive in time. On Sunday I
    hope to show it to Monfort, Fleury, and Scheffer. I will let you
    know their verdict.

    From America I have good and bad news. The bad is that my "Pan"
    and "Venus" are _not being exhibited at all_ on account of their
    nudity, and are stowed away in a cupboard where F. Kemble with
    the most friendly and untiring perseverance contrived to
    discover them. This is a great nuisance. I have sent for them
    back at once; they know best whether or no it is advisable to
    exhibit such pictures in America, but they certainly should have
    let me know. I have written to Rossetti about it to-day,
    expressing my regret and desires, and have added "my pictures
    have been exposed to the wear and tear of several long journeys
    _not only_ entirely for no purpose, but, being shut out from the
    light, they are even suffering an injury; meanwhile I am
    neglecting the opportunity of showing and disposing of them in
    England, a possibility which I might willingly forego for the
    sake of supporting an enterprise in which I am interested, but
    not to adorn a hidden closet in the United States." Fanny Kemble
    was charmed with the pictures, went often and pluckily to the
    forbidden cupboard, and said she only wished she could afford to
    buy them.


                                                        _Friday._

    Since I last wrote I have had a note from Rossetti, the
    Secretary of the American Exhibition, giving me a piece of
    information about my "Romeo" which can't fail to gratify you. He
    said that, had my picture not been bought by Mr. Harrison, a
    public subscription would have been opened to procure it for the
    Academy of Arts at Philadelphia. Rossetti answers me (as indeed
    I did not doubt) that he had not the remotest notion of the fate
    of "Pan" and "Venus." He has written on my request to beg they
    may be sent back at once to Europe. By Henry Greville's urgent
    advice I have given notice that I shall send the "Orpheus," as
    they have applied for more pictures; things were selling so
    satisfactorily that there was scarcely anything left to exhibit
    in Boston. I am glad to be able to reassure you about the
    "Niggers." Sartoris _did_ like them exceedingly even before they
    were anything like as good as they are now. Cartwright, who is
    not _gene_ to dislike, is enchanted with them, and says if they
    are not sold at once people are fools, for he has not for some
    time seen anything he likes so much. Puliza Ricardo and other
    "publics" like it extremely. Robert Fleury considered it highly
    original, and said that if he only saw one little head in it he
    would say, "c'est d'un coloriste." R. Fleury, you know, blames
    very roundly what he does not like. Montfort, my most candid
    adviser, was delighted, and said of a particular bit "je vous
    assure c'est tout a fait comme Decamps." This is unconditional
    praise. Again I consulted him about its chances of success in
    the gallery of water-colours. He said, "_Comme aquarelle_ je
    vous promets qu'il n'y en a pas beaucoup qui font comme
    cela;"--about water colour being _infra. dig._, showing myself
    competent in _two_ materials can only raise me. Poor Scheffer
    was unwell and could not come. You see, dear Mammy, you need not
    be so uneasy. I fully appreciate your and Papa's anxiety about
    my pictures; but it has too great a hold on you when it makes
    you think that I am entirely reckless and foolish, and that
    rather than give in I should tell a lie and say it was too late
    to withdraw a picture when it might still be done. Many thanks
    for the extract about Sutherland which, however, I had already
    seen, Henry Grev. having sent it me a week ago. My "Niggers"
    arrived in time by great luck. Buckner godfathers them.

    In haste with very best love, your affectionate boy,

                                                            FRED.


                                           19 QUEEN STREET, 1859.

    I have got, through the kindness of Elmore (R.A.), a sort of
    studio at the other end of the world; I believe I told you this
    in my last note; I suppose my things will come over in a week or
    less. I am in great doubt about being able to paint in that
    studio, and about its having been any use to come over to London
    without the possibility of a really good _locale_: however, here
    I am. I shall brush up my acquaintances and see a good deal of
    my friends. Don't reckon on my _selling_ anything--_I_ don't at
    all. My picture is hung so that it is virtually _impossible_ to
    see it. I went to look at my "Niggers" in Suffolk Street, and am
    confirmed in the idea (that also of my friends) that it is my
    best work. I have as yet nothing worth writing about, so
    good-bye, dearest Mamma, best love to all.


                                   2 ORME SQUARE, _Sunday, 1859_.

    Having got on Monday last into my studio and been very busy ever
    since, this is absolutely the first moment I have found to sit
    down and write to you.

    You will wish to know some particulars about my studio. Of
    course after Paris and Rome it is a sad falling off--narrow and
    dark, though I believe, for London, very fair; when I _live_
    here I must have a much larger light or I shall go
    blind--however, I must not look a gift horse in the mouth. I
    have had to furnish--this costs me about nine or ten shillings a
    week; I keep a servant (a stupid, pompous, verbose, dirty,
    willing, honest scrub) to run my errands and clean my brushes,
    &c. &c., at half-a-crown a day; models are five shillings a
    sitting here--ruination!--men with good heads there are
    none--women, tol-lol!--a lay figure, twenty-five shillings a
    month; in short, historical painting here is not for nothing; I
    am working at my "Samson" picture; God knows how I shall finish
    it in so short a time! Dearest Mammy, I shall have but a very
    short peep at you this year, I am very sorry to say--I lost a
    full month waiting for this wretched studio. I don't see my way
    through my work before the middle or even end of the second week
    in August, and I cannot well give up going to Scotland though
    only for a very few days, as I have accepted so long ago. I am
    to go there on the 20th; after that I must rush back post-haste
    to Stourhead to finish Lady Hoare; all this will make me very
    late for Italy, as I am anxious to revisit the north of that
    country and study the Correggios a little at Parma before going
    south. I shall be obliged to scamper across the country. I
    _must_ be in Rome or the neighbourhood in October; I am going to
    finish my Cervara landscape on the spot.

    I am in very fair health, London decidedly agrees with me, and I
    don't suffer as much as I expected from the obligato spleen of
    blue devildom. I need not say this is a source of immense
    congratulation to me.

When the picture "Nanna" returned from the Royal Academy, where it was
exhibited in 1859, Leighton sent it to Bath, writing to his mother to
announce its arrival.

                                                    LONDON, 1859.

    DEAREST MAMMY,--I scribble a word in haste to announce to you
    that I have sent "Nanna" off to Bath for you to see, she wants
    varnish very badly as you see, but is not dry enough for that
    yet. You must mind and put her in the right light, the window
    must be on the left of the spectator--the more to the _left_ of
    the picture you stand yourself the less you will see the want of
    varnish. If you stand to the _right_ of the painting you won't
    see it at all. Please send "Nanna" back when you have shown to
    whom you wish, as she is overdue at Paris.


                                        _Saturday Morning, 1859._

    I returned yesterday from the Highlands, and have at last time
    to write you a little word. My stay in the North has been most
    satisfactory, I have enjoyed myself thoroughly, and have felt
    particularly well in the keen bracing air of the mountains. My
    time has been spent exclusively in walks, rides, and drives, for
    the weather was great part of the time too uncertain to allow of
    sitting out to paint (even had there been time), whereas no
    amount of showers prevented our going out, and indeed to those
    showers I owe seeing some of the most superb effects of colour,
    light and shade, that I ever beheld. We used sometimes to have
    three or four duckings in one ride, drying again in the sun, or
    not as the case might be, and never catching even the phantom of
    a cold, so healthy and invigorating is the breath of those
    healthy hills. I said I painted nothing and bring home an empty
    portfolio (all but a flower I drew one _very_ wet morning), but
    I have studied a great deal with my eyes and memory, and come
    back a better landscape painter than I went. On my road home, at
    Dunkeld, where I lingered a day (exquisite spot), I jotted down
    in oils two reminiscences of effects observed at Kinrara with
    which I am rather well pleased--one is a stormy Scandinavian bit
    of cloud and hill, the other a hot sunny expanse of golden corn
    and purple heather, which looks for all the world like a bit of
    Italy. Mind, they are the merest little sketches, but accurate
    in the _impression of the effect_.

    I go on Monday morning to Stourhead, where I stay till Saturday,
    and start Monday week for the Continent. Please send me a line
    to Stourhead. How are you, darling? and Lina and Gus? and Papa?
    Have you had any more drives?--Your loving boy,

                                                            FRED.

On returning to England Leighton took up his abode in his first studio
in England. Hitherto he had paid visits to London,--Rome, and
subsequently Paris, being his real home, for an artist's true home is
in his studio. In the autumn of 1859 he settled in 2 Orme Square, and
from that time to his death London became his headquarters.

After having settled into his studio in Orme Square in the winter of
1859, he wrote to Steinle and to Robert Browning the following
letters:--

    _Translation._]
                                2 ORME SQUARE, BAYSWATER, LONDON,
                                              _December 5, 1859_.

    MY DEAR FRIEND AND MASTER,--What a long time it is since I heard
    from you! my last letter, despatched from Rome, has had no
    answer.

    I enclose a photograph of a memorial tablet which I executed in
    Rome last winter for my poor widowed sister. The monument is of
    white marble with black mosaic decoration; the four dark circles
    are bronze nails, which secure the marble tablet to the wall.

    When I had finished work in Rome, I went south and spent five
    weeks in Capri. You would hardly believe, dear Friend, how this
    wonderful island delighted me. I made vigorous use of my visit
    and executed a fairly large number of conscientious studies. I
    also took the opportunity to visit Paestum for the first time. I
    may say that the _Temple of Neptune_ gave me the most exalted
    architectonic impression that I have ever received; I shall
    never forget that morning. The two neighbouring temples,
    however, are not worth looking at, except from a painter's point
    of view.

    Meanwhile, the season being advanced, I was obliged, with real
    regret, to give up my plan of going to Frankfurt, and to hurry
    back to England. Here I am now permanently established. I
    confess that I did not pitch my tent here without some anxiety;
    I had not spent _a single winter_ in England since my earliest
    childhood, and I had good reason to fear that to me, with my
    love of sunshine, it would prove a little harsh. I also feared
    the climate for my bodily health. However, "native air" appears
    to be not altogether an empty phrase, but I find myself,
    notwithstanding the fog, well and in good spirits. Man must
    indeed carry the sun in his heart--if he is to have it. Of work
    in particular, I have nothing much to say. Later, in the course
    of the winter, I will report more at length.

    Meanwhile, dear Master, write to me very soon. Tell me whether
    you still think of your pupil, and especially tell me about your
    certainly numerous works.--Your grateful pupil,

                                                        LEIGHTON.


    _Translation._]
                                        2 ORME SQUARE, BAYSWATER,
                                      LONDON, _January 12, 1860_.

    I spoke little in my last letter of my present work, partly
    perhaps because of the feeling I have already described, but
    partly also because I intend to send you a photograph directly
    the picture is finished, which will not be till spring. It is a
    commission, and the subject is religious. There is only a single
    figure, and I would describe it to you now, but that I fear you
    would imagine the picture much more beautiful than I can paint
    it, and you would consequently suffer a disappointment later on
    in my work which would be painful to me. For the rest, I am
    striving as hard as I can to make it fine and simple. You will
    perhaps be surprised, but, in spite of my fanatic preference for
    colour, I promised myself to be a draughtsman before I became a
    colourist.

    And now adieu, my dear Friend. Directly I can show you anything
    in "black and white" you shall hear from me again, and I shall
    expect from you, as my old master, the most unsparing criticism;
    that is the greatest proof of love you can give me.

                                                   FRED LEIGHTON.


                                        2 ORME SQUARE, BAYSWATER,
                                               _January 29, '60_.

    DEAR BROWNING,--It is not till the other day that I at last
    received from Cartwright your Rome address, or I should have
    written to you some time ago; before it was too late to wish you
    a merry Xmas and health, happiness, and all prosperity for
    yourself and Mrs. Browning in the present year. I don't know
    that I have anything worth telling you to write about, for all
    the little incidents which have their importance for the space
    of a day, all appear too trivial to write about after a lapse of
    a week or two. Still I write to assure you I keep up my most
    affectionate remembrance of you, and to beg that you won't
    entirely forget me. I received your kind letter at the beginning
    of the winter, and was truly concerned to hear that Mrs.
    Browning had been so alarmingly unwell; I trust that the air of
    Rome, which once before was so beneficial to her, will have
    strengthened and recruited her again this time. Dear old Rome!
    how I wish I could fly over and spend a week or so with you all
    in my old haunts. I suppose I shall never be entirely weaned of
    that yearning affection I entertain for Italy, and particularly
    for Rome and the "Comarea." You must have it all to yourselves
    this year. What a delight it must be to see neither Brown,
    Jones, nor Robinson.

    I suppose Cartwright, Pantaleone, and Odo Russell are the staple
    of your convivial circle; and, by-the-bye, how much more freely
    Mrs. Browning must breathe this winter without certain daily
    visitations which I remember last year. I wonder whether you
    will write to me and tell me what you are doing, socially and
    artistically; everything about you will interest me.

    As for myself, you would not believe it, in spite of my old
    habits of continental life and sunshine, I take very kindly to
    England; _it agrees_ with me capitally, really better than Rome.
    I am fattening _vue d'oeil_. The light is certainly not
    irreproachable, still I can work, and don't find that my ideas
    get particularly rusty. On the contrary, for colour, certainly
    my sense seems to be sharpened in this atmosphere.

    I am soldiering too. I drill three times a week, and make as bad
    a soldier as anybody else. The Sartoris, you know, are no longer
    in London--a great loss to all their friends--but I go pretty
    often to see them in the country, and have spent many a happy
    day there in the course of the winter. By-the-bye, do you hear
    or know anything of those two drawings I did of you and Mrs.
    Browning? If so, will you give the one of you to Hookes that he
    may send with some other things he has? And now, dear Browning,
    "_vi levero l'incomodo_," and will bring this very tedious
    epistle to a close. Remember me most kindly to Mrs. Browning, to
    Cartwright and his wife, to Odo Russell, B----, Pantaleone with
    better half, Storeys, and last, but not least, dear little
    Hatty! Love to Cerinni; tell me about him. Good-bye.--Believe
    me, very affectionately yours,

                                                   FRED LEIGHTON.

    I am hand-and-glove with all my enemies the pre-Raphaelites.
    Woolner sends his affectionate remembrances.

Leighton writes to his sister in Italy:--

                                        2 ORME SQUARE, BAYSWATER,
                                                      _March 12_.

    MY DEAR GUSSYKINS,--You may have heard from Mamma that I went to
    Paris to hear Madame Viardot in "Orphee." What wonderful
    singing! what style! what breadth! what pathos! You would have
    been enchanted, I am sure. Do you know the music? It is
    wonderfully fine and pathetic, the first chorus particularly is
    quite harrowing for the accent of grief about it. Madame
    Viardot's _acting_, too, is superb--so perfectly simple and
    grand, it is really antique. And when you consider all she has
    to overcome--a bad, harsh voice, an ugly face, an ungainly
    person; and yet she contrives to look almost handsome. She
    enters heart and soul into her work; she said it was the only
    thing she ever did that (after fifty performances) had not given
    her a moment's _ennui_. I am afraid there is no chance of her
    singing it in England this year, if at all; I don't believe the
    Covent Garden audience would sit through it.[14]

    I also saw Gounod's new opera, "Philemon et Baucis," and was
    disappointed. Nothing but the care and distinction of the
    workmanship redeems it from being a bore; the subject is ill
    adapted for the stage, and is dragged through three acts with
    portentous efforts. Striking melodies there are few, charming
    accompaniments many; all the pretty music (or nearly) is in the
    orchestra--_c'est la sauce qui fait avaler le poisson_. The
    introductions to the first and second acts, but particularly the
    latter (a little _motif_ on the oboe), are charming; there is
    also a capital chorus. All this, however, is an impression after
    one hearing; I might alter my mind on hearing it oftener, but I
    think not.

In the Royal Academy Exhibition of 1860 Leighton sent one picture
only, "Sunrise--Capri."

    _Translation._]
                             2 ORME SQUARE, _September 15, 1860_.

    MY VERY DEAR FRIEND,--I was almost afraid that you would think
    that I had entirely forgotten you, but this would be a very
    undeserved interpretation of my long silence. No, my dear
    Master, you still live in my constant memory, in my most
    grateful recollection.

    When I last wrote, I promised to send you a photograph of my
    large picture. This work has taken up my time far beyond my
    expectations, and I always put off writing in order not to send
    you an empty letter. At last it is thus far, and I enclose both
    the large photograph and some little ones, in the hope that you,
    dear Master, will be interested also in the unimportant works of
    your old pupil.

    Have I already told you the subject of my religious picture? I
    think not. At the turning-point of a very critical illness, the
    lady who commissioned my picture dreamt that she, as a
    disembodied spirit, soared up heavenwards in the night.[15]
    Suddenly she was aware of a point of light in the far vault of
    heaven. This light grew, developed, and soon she saw coming
    forth from the night the shining form of the Saviour. Full of
    confidence she approached the holy apparition. Jesus, however,
    raised His hands and, gently repulsing her, enjoined her to
    return to earth, and during her life to make herself worthier to
    enter the company of the blessed. She awoke, recovered, and
    ordered the picture.

    You will be able to imagine, my dear Friend, how little
    contented I am with my work; however, I am accustomed to show
    you my weaknesses, and I therefore send you also this
    unsatisfactory work. As regards the photograph, it is in certain
    respects successful, although it makes the whole picture _four
    times too dark_.

    I send also a portrait of my sister; a head of an English
    soldier, who lost an arm at Balaclava, and recently died of
    consumption; and finally a photograph after a drawing on wood,
    which I drew for a book, but which has been _incredibly_
    disfigured by the engraver. Fortunately I had the drawing
    (although bad) photographed before I sent it to be engraved.

    But enough of me and my affairs.

    And you, dear Master, what are you working at? Are your
    cartoons all finished? Shall you soon begin your frescoes? What
    other beautiful things have you composed?

    Do not punish my long silence, but send me a couple of lines to
    tell me what interests me so deeply. So soon as I have finished
    anything new (and I have many pictures in prospect) I will send
    you another specimen of my handiwork.

    Meantime I beg you will remember me most cordially to your wife
    and daughters, and to my other friends in Frankfurt. And
    yourself do not altogether forget, your loving pupil,

                                                   FRED LEIGHTON.

It was in 1860 Leighton joined the Artist Rifle Corps. It was also
then he first made the acquaintance of Sir William B. Richmond (now
Chairman of the Leighton House Committee).

                                             _December 12, 1860._

    DEAREST MAMMY,--I have deferred until now answering your kind
    letter that I might be able to announce to you a little
    circumstance which took place yesterday, and which, though not
    of any real importance, may give you and Papa pleasure. I was
    yesterday raised to the rank of Captain; I command the 3rd
    Company--Lewis was at the same time made Captain of the 2nd--his
    election of course came before mine; he has done three times
    more for the Corps than I have or could have done--he lives very
    near and goes _every day_--as a man of business, and a very
    clever one, he has entirely organised the bookkeeping
    department, and in fact has been altogether the vital principle
    of the Corps. I was chosen next for having shown some zeal in
    this service and some little capability for teaching. The vacant
    lieutenancies go to Nicholson (the musician) and Talfourd. One
    of the ensigncies has been given to Perugini, contingent on its
    being lawful for him to hold such commission; another to old
    Palmer. So much for our volunteering. I wish we had a commander.
    The next question in your letter I thought I had answered in my
    last--however, though Ruskin stayed about three hours and was
    altogether very pleasant, he did not say anything that I could
    quote about my paintings. He was _immensely_ struck by my
    drawing of a lemon-tree, and was generally complimentary, or
    rather, _respectful_, that is more his _genre_. I don't think,
    however, that he cared for Sandbach's picture--which leads me to
    the third point in your letter. Neither of the S.'s have seen
    their picture; last time they were in London, having made no
    definite appointment, I missed them. He wrote to say that when
    he came up to town again, he would fix a day to call on me.
    Gibson, the old traitor, never turned up at all. By-the-bye, I
    see you ask whether I shoot much--no, not often; I am an
    ordinary, average shot--my unsteady hand prevents my shooting
    well. My general health is pretty fair. Many thanks, dearest
    Mammy, for your kind wishes and congratulations on that
    melancholy occasion, my birthday--it is a day I always
    hate--fancy my being _thirty_!!! About marrying, dear Mamma, you
    must not forget it requires two to play at that game. I would
    not insult a girl I did not love by asking her to tie her
    existence to mine, and I have not yet found one that I felt the
    slightest wish to marry; it is no doubt ludicrous to place this
    ideal so high, but it is not my fault--theoretically I should
    like to be married very well.

In another letter to his mother Leighton writes on the subject of
marriage: "If I don't marry, the reason has been that I have never
seen a girl to whom I felt the least desire to be united for life. I
should certainly never marry for the sake of doing so." The same
subject is again alluded to in a letter written in 1863, from
Leighton's mother to her younger daughter who was in Italy. The letter
begins by referring to a servant who was dismissed by Leighton.

    "He has such an effect on him by his profound stupidity and
    intense conceit he can't keep him, for if he did, the irritation
    would render him wicked if he indulged it, and ill if he
    repressed the same--at least that's Fred's feeling just now. He
    means to take an Italian servant if he can find one.

    "Fred has received an invitation to Sandringham (the Prince of
    Wales). If he has not found a suitable servant we are to lend
    him ours--Ellen's husband, a very superior person. I must not
    forget to tell you that we saw ----'s new baby, a very dear
    little thing. Freddy was enchanted with it. He noticed him more
    than ----, who is a delightful little chap, and after caressing
    it several times with exceeding tenderness, he suddenly grew red
    in the face, and said, 'I must nurse him,' which he did for a
    long time, to the wonder and admiration of Miss ---- and the
    nurse. For my part, it gave me actual pain to see that proof of
    his strong love for children, believing that he will never have
    any of his own. He declares he has never seen a girl he could
    marry. Of course this shows he is unreasonably fastidious;
    more's the pity!"

    [Illustration: PORTRAIT OF MRS. SUTHERLAND ORR. 1861]


                                 2 ORME SQUARE, _April 10, 1861_.

    DEAREST MAMMY,--I have deferred writing until now that I might
    be able to tell you the result of my little "private view," now
    over. I am happy to say I have a great success. The "Vision"
    pleased many people much, but was altogether, as I expected, the
    least popular; the subject, though very interesting, was less
    attractive to the many, and besides I have progressed in
    painting since the date of that picture. My little girl at the
    fountain, christened for me by one of my visitors, "Lieder ohne
    Worte," has perhaps had the greatest number of votes.[16] The
    "Francesca,"[17] on the other hand, has had, I think, the
    advantage in the _quality_ of its admirers. Watts, for instance,
    and Mrs. Sartoris think it by far my best daub.

    By-the-bye, you will be particularly pleased to hear that Lina's
    portrait has had an immense success, and indeed, on second
    thoughts, perhaps it was more admired than anything else. The
    "Capri" and the "Aslett" were also much liked. Mind, dear Mamma,
    this letter is "strictly confidential," because although, of
    course, you want to know what people say of my pictures, anybody
    else seeing this letter would (or might) suppose I was devoured
    with vanity.

    I have just made an unexpected acquaintance in the Gladstones,
    who sent me, I don't know why, a card for two parties. It was
    very polite of them, and of course I went. This is a very
    egotistical letter, dear Mamma, but I know that is what you
    want.

    I am very sufficiently well, not strong, but never ill. I
    marched to Wimbledon with the Volunteers last Monday, and got
    wet several times but did not catch cold.[18]


                                                    LONDON. 1861.

    DEAR PAPA,--If the _Public_ receives my pictures as favourably
    as the _Private_ has done, I shall have no cause to complain; as
    far, at least, as the maintenance and increase of my reputation
    is concerned. I should, however, have liked the "market" to be a
    little more "brisk."

    Tom Taylor and Rossetti (Wm.), the only critics that came (as
    far as I know) besides Stephens, were, as far as I can judge,
    both of them much pleased with what they saw. I know at least
    that both spoke well of my pictures behind my back.

    As for Ruskin, he was in one of his queer moods when he came to
    breakfast with me--he spent his time looking at my portfolio and
    praised my drawings most lavishly--_he did not even look at the
    pictures_. However, nothing could be more cordial than he is to
    me.

    I bolted out into the passage after you when you left the other
    day to tell you that one of the gentlemen you saw come in was
    Sir Edwin Landseer, but you had disappeared.


                                                 PARIS. _Monday_.

    DEAREST MOTHER,--I must wind up with bad news, which I hope you
    will bear well: my pictures are badly hung, ill lighted, and
    almost entirely ignored by the press.[19] Of course this is _au
    fond_, a bitter disappointment to a man of my temperament,
    especially after all the praise my work got before the
    Exhibition. However, I shall wear a brave face, and who knows
    but that some good may arise to me out of this? My little
    energies will be sharpened up and my tenacity roused. I trust in
    some future day, as long as hope lives. God bless you, Mammy;
    best love to dear Gussy. From your affectionate son,

                                                            FRED.


                                                   _May 1, 1861._

    DEAREST MAMMY,--Life being a pump handle, first up then down,
    you won't be too much surprised to hear that after the real
    success my pictures had on "private view" they are with one
    exception (the landscape) badly hung, "The Vision" over a door,
    the others above the line, which will make it impossible to see
    the finish or delicacy of execution which is an important
    feature in them. I have not seen them myself, but am told this
    by those who have. Don't take on, dear Mammy, nor let Papa worry
    himself about it. Things come right in the end, and I know that
    many people will be much annoyed at this treatment of me.
    _Millais_, like a good fellow that he is, spoke up for me like a
    man, though he himself feels so differently on art from what I
    do. My good friend Aide is furious. After all perhaps, though
    badly hung, the pictures may still be seen well enough to be
    judged, that is all I really want, then perhaps some of the
    papers will speak up for me. I am glad I let so many people see
    them at the studio, those at least know what the pictures are
    like. Of one thing be sure: if my works have real value, public
    opinion will in the _long run_ force the Academy to hang me--but
    enough of this subject.

    The Prince of Wales saw a photo-portrait of me in Valletort's
    book the other day and begged him to ask me for one. I have had
    some new ones done, and mean at the same time to send H.R.H. a
    photograph of each of my larger pictures, "The Vision," the
    "Francesca," and "The Listener," which, by-the-bye, I have
    christened on the suggestion of a lady friend of mine (a sister
    of Cockerell's) "Lieder ohne Worte."

    Landseer said nothing that was worth repeating, though he gave
    me one or two useful practical hints. He is eminently a
    practical man, and I suspect in his heart sneers at style. He
    was, however, I believe, pleased with my things.


                                       9 PARK PLACE, ST. JAMES'S,
                                           _Sunday, May 5, 1861_.

    DEAR MRS. LEIGHTON,--I know that the news of the bad hanging of
    your son's pictures has reached you (unpleasant tidings
    generally travel fast) and I hasten to tell you, what I hope may
    a little mitigate the annoyance you must have felt about it,
    that they are spoken of in terms of great eulogium by both the
    _Times_ and _Athenaeum_. I was afraid that their unfortunate
    placing might have prevented the possibility of any justice
    being done them by the public critics, but after all the _Times_
    and _Athenaeum_ are the most influential and leading of all our
    public journals. Mrs. Orr's portrait is consistently praised by
    all the papers, even by those which review the others less
    favourably. Fortunately, the pictures were well seen in the
    studio by numbers of people of all classes before they went to
    the Academy, and excited very general admiration in those who
    felt no particular interest either in art or in your son; while
    his friends, and those who _know_, were delighted not only with
    the works themselves, but at the visible indications in them of
    increased power in all ways. They have been thought by all whose
    opinion is of value a great advance upon what he has hitherto
    done. All this will, I hope, be pleasant to you; what will be so
    most of all will be to know that he took the exceeding trial and
    vexation of the abominable hanging of his pictures with the most
    perfect temper, and an admirable desire to be just about those
    who were doing him this ill turn. You will care for this, as I
    do, more than for any worldly success his talent could have
    brought him. I think he is looking well, although he complains a
    little of feeling tired. I daresay it is nothing but the
    weariness that must make itself a little felt after a great and
    all-engrossing exertion. His volunteering occupation is quite
    invaluable to him, giving him the exercise he never would
    otherwise get. I think he seems to like his life in London,
    where he has many friends, so many that if you were here you
    would no longer feel as jealous about me as you once owned to
    feeling--do you remember? I do not apologise for writing all
    this to you, for although excess of zeal may be a sin in the
    eyes of others, and even indeed of those whom one would die to
    serve, a mother will hardly count it as such when her child is
    in question. With best remembrances to Mr. Leighton and your
    daughters, I am, ever faithfully yours,

                                               ADELAIDE SARTORIS.

To his father Leighton wrote:--

                                                            1861.

    As to the article in _Macmillan_, I don't in the least deny its
    value as far as it goes and _quo ad_ the public; it is in that
    sense very gratifying to be spoken of in such flattering terms
    in a periodical of some standing, but I can't individually feel
    much elated at the praise of a critic who in other parts of his
    article shows he is not _au fond_ a judge; as for what he says
    in _interpretation_ (I am not now alluding to the _praise_), it
    is so verbatim what I said myself to those who visited my
    studio, that I suspect he must have been of that number. I
    remember, it is true, telling you _before_ I began to paint
    "Lieder ohne Worte" that I intended to make it _realistic_, but
    from the first moment I began I felt the mistake, and made it
    professedly and pointedly the reverse. I don't think, however,
    that we understand the word realistic alike; the Fisherman and
    Syren which you quote was as little naturalistic as anything
    could be, and, while you urge me to take up some subject
    possessing that quality, I would point out that the Michael
    Angelo and the Peacock Girl both fulfil that condition--to _my_
    mind _to a fault_. I have sent in (or am about to) a formula
    which I received to fill up, stating what I would contribute to
    the Great Exhibition of 1862 (International). I have offered the
    Cimabue, four "Nannas," the "Lieder ohne Worte," "Francesca,"
    and the "Syren." I have obtained permission for all.


    _Translation._]
                                        2 ORME SQUARE, BAYSWATER,
                                               _30th April 1861_.

    MY DEAR FRIEND AND MASTER,--When I last wrote you I promised in
    the spring to send you photographs of my pictures for the
    exhibition. I have just received some prints and hasten to
    enclose them.

    One of them (the girl by the fountain) gives, as is so often the
    case, an entirely false impression of the picture, in that the
    drapery of the principal figure should be much darker, and that
    of the retreating figure much lighter. I have called this
    picture "Lieder ohne Worte." It represents a girl, who is
    resting by a fountain, and listening to the ripple of the water
    and the song of a bird. This subject is, of course, quite
    incomplete without colour, as I have endeavoured, both by colour
    and by flowing delicate forms, to translate to the eye of the
    spectator something of the pleasure which the child receives
    through her ears. This idea lies at the base of the whole thing,
    and is conveyed to the best of my ability in every detail, so
    that in the dead photograph one loses exactly half, also the
    dulling of the eyes, which are dark blue in the picture, gives a
    look of weakness in the photograph that is not quite pleasant.

    The second subject is, as you will know well, the old, ever-new
    motive of Paolo and Francesca. I endeavoured to put in as much
    glow and passion as possible without causing the least offence;
    this picture also would, perhaps, have pleased you in colour.
    How I should like to show it to you, my dear master! However,
    you will no doubt send me your candid opinion of the photographs
    in a few lines, and not spare criticism.

    I am exceedingly curious to know how _your_ work is getting on.
    What are you working at just now? When is the fresco to be
    begun? What easel pictures have you undertaken? I want to know
    all that. I also hope with all my heart, my dear master, that
    your health keeps good, that your wife and children are all
    well. Please remember me most kindly to your family and all in
    Frankfurt who remember me. And yourself, my dear friend, keep in
    remembrance.--Your grateful pupil,

                                                   FRED LEIGHTON.


    _Translation._]
                                2 ORME SQUARE, BAYSWATER, LONDON,
                                                 _June 30, 1861_.

    MY DEAR FRIEND,--Forgive my not having thanked you sooner for
    your kind note. The same thing has happened to me as to you:
    work has left me but little leisure for writing. Now, however,
    my hearty thanks for the open sincerity with which you have
    spoken of my latest work, I am only sorry that you have not gone
    into it even more closely. I shall endeavour in my present works
    to diminish the excessive mannerism of the lines, which will be
    all the easier for me as I am now painting principally from
    nature; in my last picture the subject permitted that but
    little. In any case I hope, dear master, that you will always
    speak to me with the same candour; it is the best proof to me
    that I still possess your friendship.

    I am extremely eager to see how far your works have got on.
    Amongst them, however, my dear friend, keep in remembrance your
    grateful pupil,

                                                   FRED LEIGHTON.

    _P.S._--I notice with regret that already I do not write a
    German letter with my former fluency.

In a letter to his sister, Mrs. Matthews, January 24, 1860, Leighton
wrote: "I am horrified to hear the account you give of Mrs. Browning.
I knew she was a confirmed invalid, but had no idea that one of her
lungs was already gone! What will poor Browning do if she dies? He
adores her, you know."

                                             LONDON, _July 1861_.

    DEAREST MAMMY,--Thanks for your kind letter, which I have been
    unable to answer till now. I had heard of poor Browning's
    bereavement; we were all very much shocked at it, knowing, as we
    do, how entirely irreparable his loss is. I wrote a few lines to
    him that he might know how sincerely I grieved with him; I don't
    at all know what were the circumstances of her death, we have no
    particulars.

Leighton undertook to design the monument over Mrs. Browning's grave
in the English Cemetery at Florence. The work appealed to him in
every sense, and remains as a permanent memorial of those friendships
which made the years spent in Italy so full, so rich, so entrancing.
With reference to the monument Browning writes:--

                                             CHEZ M. LARAISON,
                       STE. MARIE, PRES PORNIC, LOIRE INFERIEURE,
                                               _August 30, 1863_.

    MY DEAR LEIGHTON,--Don't fret; you will do everything like
    yourself in the end, I know; wait till the end of October, as
    you propose. I cannot return before the beginning of it, though
    I would do so were it necessary, but it is not, for I have only
    this morning received the notification of which I told you, that
    "the marble is in the sculptor's studio." We shall therefore be
    in full time.

    The portrait you saw was the autotype which I lent to Mr.
    Richmond, and concerning which I wrote to him before leaving
    London, directing that it should be sent to you. He engaged to
    let you have it whenever you desired. I therefore enclose (oh,
    fresh attack on your envelopes and postage stamps!) a note which
    I presume he will attend to, and which you will of course burn
    should he have sent the portraits meanwhile. I have also two
    others nearly like that portrait, taken the same day with it,
    which I was unable to find, but which shall be found on my
    return.

    Dear Leighton, I can only repeat, with entire truth, that you
    will satisfy me wholly. I don't think, however, you can make me
    more than I am now--Yours gratefully and lovingly,

                                                 ROBERT BROWNING.

Continuation of letter to his mother:--

    I am glad to hear Papa reported favourably of my work, and that
    you like the photographs of my pictures now in the Exhibition. I
    am very glad also that Gussy liked the _receding figure_ in the
    "Lieder ohne Worte," as it was a favourite also with me, the
    _tallness_ of said figure was inseparable from the sentiment of
    it in my mind. I have a photograph of that picture still
    remaining; I will give it to Gus when she comes through, I can
    get myself another some future day. I am getting on tol-lol with
    my pictures, but am rather anxious just now about the extreme
    difficulty of getting a peacock. I want to _buy_ one to have the
    skin prepared, and if I don't get one soon they will all lose
    their tails; and there I shall be--in a fix! A friend of mine
    has written to Norfolk, and hopes to get me one. The season,
    even in the extremely moderate form in which I take it, is a
    fatiguing affair. I get up late and never feel fresh and
    vigorous. I have serious thoughts of entirely giving it up next
    year. I will go now and then to stay at people's houses, but not
    to their parties--_le jeu ne vaut pas la chandelle_. _A propos_
    of country houses, I am going to spend a few days with Lady
    Cowper at Wrest Park towards the end of this month; there are to
    be theatricals and great hilarity. And now about Bath, I hope,
    dearest Mammy, you won't be hurt if I propose to come at the end
    of the _first_ week in September instead of the _last_ week in
    August. The fact is I have a great "giro" I want to make, and if
    I could take Bath in the regular progress it would be both a
    great convenience and a saving of expense. I mean to stay three
    weeks in Bath and have thoughts of painting a _pot-boiler_ of
    little Walker if he is still handsome. I wish Papa would look
    after him, and let me know what he is doing and how he is
    looking. These are my plans: I want, whilst the summer is still
    hot and green, to visit South Hampshire, New Forest, Isle of
    Wight, South Devon, North Devon, and so work my way round to
    Bath, whence to Stourhead for a few days; then to Mason in
    Staffordshire, and then back to London. My pictures will be done
    long before the Exhibition next opening, so I can manage all
    this. I shall visit the following people: Sartoris, Aides,
    perhaps Morants, I hope _Tennyson_, Lady E. Bulteel, and look in
    at Mount Edgcombe--the rest of the journey will be purely
    artistic.


                                              CLOVELLY, _Sunday_.

    DEAREST MAMMY,--I could not find time to answer your note (for
    which best thanks) before I left Ventnor. I am now in one of the
    most picturesque spots on the north coast of Devon--the
    _rendezvous_ of painters and tourists, the _pays de cocagne_ of
    Hook and one of the chief lions of my trip.

    The places I have visited so far are Salisbury, Exeter, and
    Bideford; with the latter I was much disappointed, and think it
    far below its reputation; not so Salisbury, which is a most
    interesting town, full of quaintness and character beyond my
    expectations; it has, however, a look of decay and depopulation
    about it which makes me feel awfully low-spirited. The
    Cathedral, perhaps, _altogether_ rather disappointed me--though
    of course much about it is very beautiful; then, too, its
    general (internal) aspect is entirely marred by a brutal coat of
    whitewash laid on in the last century, covering up the marble
    columns and killing out all life and colour. Unfortunately, it
    would cost very many thousands to restore the church and its
    ancient glories.

    To-morrow I start for Ilfracombe--the next day for Lynton.

Again, later:--

    Many thanks for your letter just received and for all the kind
    wishes therein contained, which I most warmly return for you
    all--a double portion to dear Taily in honour of her birthday.

    I will come on the 8th if I possibly can, and bring some little
    sketches to show you.

    I shall exhibit this year IF I get done in time, but I can't
    hurry--it is entirely immaterial whether I exhibit or not--I
    would rather, of course.

    We have begun drilling, but it will be many weeks before we get
    to rifle-shooting--this is the sort of thing we are doing now.
    Our uniform is plainness itself, all grey, and the cheapest in
    London.

    I weather the cold so-so--I have a gas-stove beside my
    fireplace, but am still tolerably cold when it comes very sharp.

    My dinner with Millais was put off till Monday next--I think
    Millais _charming_ and _so_ handsome.

    I am exceedingly sorry, dear Mamma, you have reckoned on me for
    cotillon figures--with the exception of the one I led at Bath
    once, _I have not seen one for years_, and have not the faintest
    notion what is done--I will, however, _back_ anybody else with
    great zeal.

    I was indeed truly sorry to hear of Lord Holland's death--I had
    expected it for some time; nothing could exceed their kindness
    to me, and the House is an irreparable loss to me.

    I hope to have a very merry Christmas Day. I am running down to
    Westbury (the Sartoris); there is to be a tree; I come up again
    of course Monday morning.

    I am never _ill_. I take my human frailty out in never being
    very well--never equal to much fatigue.


                                                    LONDON, 1861.

    My dinner at Millais' yesterday was very pleasant. I like him
    extremely, and his wife appears an agreeable person. I met there
    John Leech, the man who does all those admirable caricatures in
    _Punch_--he is a very pleasant and gentleman-like person.

    I don't feel sure whether I told you that I am about shortly to
    send my "Paris and Juliet" with the "Samson" to America on spec.
    Mrs. Kemble will do all she can to godmother them; I got a very
    kind letter from her from Boston the other day--she has asked me
    to send her a little sketch of Westbury with the pictures--of
    course I shall.

The following letters from Mrs. Fanny Kemble reveal the interest which
this friend took in Leighton and his pictures, also the genius of the
writer in penning delightful epistles:--

                                            REVERE HOUSE, BOSTON,
                                      _Friday, December 9, 1861_.

    DEAR MR. LEIGHTON,--It was very kind and amiable of you to write
    to me of Westbury and my sister; you cannot imagine the
    forlornness one feels when, to the loss of the sight of those
    one loves, is added that bitter silence which leaves one almost
    ignorant, as death does, of all the conditions in which our
    friends remain. God knows, written words are a poor substitute
    for the sound of a voice and the look of living eyes; still,
    when they are all that can reach us of those towards whom our
    hearts yearn, it is miserable not to be able to obtain them. The
    friends with whom I constantly correspond see and know little or
    nothing of her, and so no one of them can in any degree supply
    me with the news that I most desire from across the sea--how it
    is faring with my sister; so I am very grateful to you for your
    intelligence, which was just what I would give anything for
    (though not in itself, perhaps, very satisfactory) out here,
    where I think you have none of you an idea how _banished_ I
    feel. Now, my dear Mr. Leighton, to your business, about which
    I began my inquiries almost immediately after my return to this
    country, but only received the last of these communications last
    night, and you perceive the other was incomplete without it. You
    must command me entirely in any and every thing that I can do to
    forward your aims, and I will promise to be _severe_ in my
    obedience to any instructions you may like to give me. New York
    is undoubtedly a better market for pictures, and therefore a
    better place to exhibit them than this, but I do not know
    anybody whom I trust there. Mr. Ordway, however, seems inclined
    to take charge of your pictures if they are exhibited there.

    Good-bye. Do not fail to employ me in this matter to the fullest
    extent that I can be of the least use to you; it will be a great
    pleasure to me to help you in any way that I possibly
    can.--Yours very truly,

                                                    FANNY KEMBLE.

    I wish you would send me out some sketch of Westbury with your
    pictures, if they come. I wish for one very much. I wish you
    could see the world here just now--a sky as pure and brilliant
    as it is possible to conceive, and every bough, branch, blade of
    grass and withered leaf coated with clear crystal and _blazing_
    with prismatic colours. There are, every now and then,
    _sentiments_ in this sky that I have seen in none other. There
    are certain points of view in which Boston, rising beyond broad
    sheets of water that repeat them still more tenderly, seems to
    me worthy of a great painter. But do not come out and try unless
    you are quite sure of going back, or you will break your heart.


                                            REVERE HOUSE, BOSTON,
                                            _Friday, February 7_.

    I feel terrified, when you speak of my determining what is to be
    done with your pictures when they arrive in Boston, for
    assuredly I am utterly incompetent to any such decision, and can
    only refer myself to the judgment of my friend Mr. Cabot, who
    will certainly advise for the best in the matter, but who,
    nevertheless, is not infallible. I should think it rather late
    in the season for exhibiting them here, but again would not take
    upon myself to say. I do not know what the percentage on sale
    here is, but presume it is not higher than in London. But here
    people exhibit their pictures at a shilling a head, _i.e._ put
    them in a room hung round with black calico, light up a flare of
    gas above them, and take a quarter of a dollar from every sinner
    who sees them. Two of Churche's pictures (he is a great American
    artist, though you may never have heard of him) have been, or
    rather are, at this moment so exhibiting--his "Falls of
    Niagara," and a very beautiful landscape called the "Heart of
    the Andes." Both these pictures were exhibited in London, I know
    not with what success; they have both considerable merit, but
    the latter I admire extremely. Page had a "Venus" here the other
    day, exhibited by gas-light in a black room; but indeed, dear
    Mr. Leighton, it sometimes seems to me as if you never could
    imagine or would consent to the gross charlatanry which is
    practised--how necessarily I do not know--here about all such
    matters. Certainly your gold medal should be trumpeted--and your
    profession of art and your confession of faith, and anything
    most private and particular that you would not wish known, had
    better be published in several versions in all the newspapers of
    the United States. Your pictures must be placarded over all the
    walls in all the sizes of type conceivable, and all the colours
    of the rainbow. If you will write me your personal history, and
    rampant puffs of your own performances, I will copy them and
    send them to those sources of public instruction, the
    enlightened public press. Moreover, I will go and sit before
    them daily and utter exclamations of admiration on every note in
    my voice, and if anything else remains to be done I will do it;
    but you must not make me in any way responsible for the result,
    because it is not in the least likely that you will write
    yourself up to the mark of puffing as practised here. Basta--I
    will take the very best advice and do the very best I can about
    the pictures, and rejoice in my heart to see them myself, that I
    can assuredly promise you. By-the-bye, I gave your address only
    a few days ago, to be sent to a person now in Europe negotiating
    with French and English artists for pictures to exhibit. I
    wonder if he will find you and enlighten your mind about art in
    America. Thank you for the account of Westbury and its Christmas
    festivities, and thank you, thank you for the sketch of the home
    you are so very kind as to promise me; it will be a blessed
    treasure to see, for you cannot conceive the dreary
    heart-sickness that utterly overcomes me here sometimes. To-day
    I was singing the quartette in "Faust" that we used to sing, and
    was obliged to stop for crying. I wished extremely to have a
    photograph of the house, and, if I could only have afforded it,
    should have asked you to sell me every sketch you took about the
    place. The skies here are beautiful, wonderful in their
    transparent purity. They seem to me of a different _texture_
    from any other I ever saw, more diaphanous, and there is a
    colour in them when they are quite free from clouds that
    surpasses in delicacy all other skies I have seen. It is like
    the complexion of the young girls here, a miracle of evanescent
    brilliant softness. My winter is wearing along pretty tolerably.
    My Christmas was passed entirely alone, but I am quite used to
    that. I am beginning to be much occupied about the plans and
    drawings for a house, which I am thinking of building on some
    land I own in Massachusetts. It is a great undertaking, and
    really at fifty years old seems hardly worth while, and yet,
    till I am ready for my coffin, I must have some place in which
    to rest my head. Perhaps some fine day--who knows?--you will
    come to see me there. That would be a very pretty plot, and I
    think I need not say how welcome you would be, dear Mr.
    Leighton, to yours very truly,

                                                    FANNY KEMBLE.


                                                LENOX, _Tuesday_.

    A thousand thanks, my dear Mr. Leighton, for the minute account
    of Westbury--as I cannot know anything about my sister, it is
    something to know how her house is settled and decorated, and
    how the place where she lives looks. The red velvet drawing-room
    sounds gorgeous, and it must be very becoming to the pictures.
    Of your pictures that have "wandered west" you may be sure I
    should have written you, if I had had the good news to give you
    that either of them was sold, but I am sorry to say this is not
    the case. The New York Exhibition is now closed, and the
    pictures have been sent back to Boston, where they are at
    present hanging in the Athenaeum under the care of Mr. Ordway,
    who wishes, but does not much hope, to be able to sell them. It
    seems that one or two people asked the price of the pictures in
    New York, but considered it, when they received the
    information, "rather a tall price." I am a little consoled at
    the ill success of this venture of yours, by Henry Greville's
    writing me that your hands are full of orders, for which you are
    to be well paid. Your small acquaintance, Fanny, who left me
    this morning after a visit of a month, propounded to me the
    expediency of desiring the purchaser of the reconciliation of
    old Capulet and Montague to buy as its pendant the "Paris and
    Juliet"; and though she has no personal acquaintance with the
    lover of art in question, she said, when she got to Philadelphia
    she should set about intriguing to that effect; and she had my
    full permission to try and to succeed. I wish I could tell you
    anything pleasant in return for your description of the rooms at
    Westbury, but I have nothing very cheerful to impart. I have
    been quite unwell, and am still very far from flourishing; my
    spirits are much depressed, and the life I lead, of incessant
    worry and discomfort with servants and all one's domestic
    arrangements, is something quite too tedious to relate--and that
    indeed it would be impossible to _realise_, as the Yankees say,
    unless you witnessed it. I saw Hetty Hosmer three days after her
    arrival in Boston. Her father is a hopeless invalid, and she
    will certainly not leave him while he lives; but I suspect that
    he is likely to die before this year ends, and then she will
    return to live in Italy. The State of Missouri has voted two
    thousand pounds for a statue of Colonel Benton, one of its
    "great men," to be erected by her, which, of course, is a whole
    plume of feathers in her cap.

    Good-bye, dear Mr. Leighton; believe me always yours most truly,

                                                    FANNY KEMBLE.

    You must not fail to write to me any directions that you wish
    observed about your pictures, while they remain here. I am only
    too glad to try to serve you.


                                 LENOX, BERKSHIRE, MASSACHUSETTS,
                                              _Monday, March 12_.

    Pictures of very high pretensions are exhibited, like the scenes
    in a theatre, by gas-light, and advertised in coloured _posters_
    all over the streets like theatrical exhibitions. However, it is
    no use vexing your soul with what neither of us can help. I
    cannot and will not accept the responsibility of disposing of
    your pictures; but I will get the best advice I can about them
    and follow it, and spare no personal pains to have them
    advantageously dealt with; only, I hope it will not be very long
    before they arrive, because my own stay in Boston is now drawing
    to a close, and after the end of the present month I shall be at
    Lenox, a remote village in a lonely hill district one hundred
    miles from Boston, or rather I should say seven hours distant
    from the nearest railroad station, which is six miles away again
    from Lenox. When once I come here--for I write at this moment
    from this snowy wilderness--it will be to remain for the next
    nine or ten months, so you see I must make all arrangements
    about your pictures before taking my leave of civilised
    communities. I came up to this place from Boston yesterday to
    look at a house that I think of hiring for a year, and shall
    return to the city next week. I have left your pictures (should
    they arrive during my absence) to the charge of a friend of mine
    who is one of the directors of the Athenaeum, and will see that
    they are properly received. Thank you a thousand times for the
    promised likeness of Westbury, which will be a treasure to me.
    What a contrast is my recollection of that charming place, to
    the abomination of desolation of the dreary savage winter
    landscape of low black hills, bristling with wintry woods and
    wide, bare, snow-covered valleys, that stretch before me here at
    this moment. I am well, but much worn out with my last course of
    public readings, which I had just ended in Boston. My daughters
    are well, and write to me tolerably frequently; the eldest seems
    happy and contented in her marriage; your small acquaintance,
    Fanny, writes to me from Savannah of sitting with the doors and
    windows wide open, and wiping the perspiration from her face in
    the meantime; and here everything is buried in snow. I shall
    wait till I return to Boston to finish this, as I shall hope to
    send you then news of the arrival of your pictures.


                                           _Wednesday, March 14._

    Your pictures are arrived, my dear Mr. Leighton; they reached
    Boston last week while I was absent at Lenox. I only returned
    yesterday evening, and found a letter from Mr. Cabot announcing
    that they were at the Athenaeum; thither I went this morning, and
    spent a most delightful half-hour in looking at them. I like
    the "Samson" very much indeed; I think it is beautiful, and am
    charmed with the treatment of the subject, though you have
    chosen a different moment for illustration from the one I had
    imagined. This evening I have been having a long conversation
    with Mr. Ordway about the future destinations of the pictures. I
    am little sanguine, I regret to say, about their being bought
    here, for the only rich picture purchaser that I know here has a
    predilection for French works of art, small _tableaux de genre_,
    and Troyon's landscapes. However, it must be tried. Mr. Ordway
    says he will exhibit your pictures in the Athenaeum, which
    (should they be sold while there) will save you your commission,
    because, being an artist himself, he will not charge you any. If
    after due experiment they do not seem likely to sell here, we
    will send them to New York, and then to Philadelphia; in short,
    the best that can be done for them shall, as far as my agency is
    concerned, you may be sure.


                                    BOSTON, _Thursday, March 15_.

    I have this moment received your letter of the 25th February,
    for which I thank you very much. It does not require any further
    answer with regard to your pictures, of the safe arrival of
    which I wrote you word last night. I did not tell you,
    by-the-bye, that they are both slightly _streaked_ across from
    side to side with what Mr. Ordway thinks must have been small
    infiltrations of sea-water; he says the pictures are not injured
    by them, nor do they indeed appear to be so in the least, and
    that he can wipe off the stains with no damage whatever to them.
    Thank you for all you tell me of my sister; it is not much,
    indeed, nor very cheerful, but it is more than reaches me
    through any other channel, and far better than the miserable
    conjectures of absolute ignorance. Dear Mr. Leighton, thank you
    a thousand times for the _portrait_ of Westbury--it is exactly
    what I wished for--but, oh, why could there not be the lovely
    upland beyond, and the sheep slowly rolling up and down the
    slopes, and the tinkle of the bell, and you and she and they and
    all of us. Oh dear, if you could conceive what it is to me to be
    _here_, you would know a thousand times better than I can tell
    you how precious such a memento of _there_ is to me. Thank you,
    too, for the good inspiration of telling me about the change of
    place of the pictures at Westbury; it is wonderful how much one
    small particular has power to bring the whole of what surrounds
    it, back to the mind, and what vividness it gives to the picture
    that, in spite of the distinctness with which it was stamped
    upon the memory, becomes so soon, and yet so unconsciously,
    obliterated in the minor parts that give it charm and vitality.
    I spent a long hour to-day again looking at your pictures and
    wishing most heartily that I could afford to buy them both.
    Good-bye, dear Mr. Leighton; I shall leave this open till
    to-morrow, in case I should hear anything more about them before
    I go. I enclose the receipts for what I have paid. I suppose it
    is all right, but it seems a most monstrous price for mere
    conveyance, and indeed reminds us that our humorous forefathers
    called _stealing_ _conveying_.


                                 LENOX, BERKSHIRE, MASSACHUSETTS,
                                              _Friday, April 27_.

    Your pictures are at present in the New York Exhibition. Mr.
    Ordway tells me that it is extremely rare for pictures to sell
    without the intervention of dealers. In this country they cry
    down and undervalue all pictures that are not expressly
    committed to them, and the ignorance of the rich shopkeepers who
    purchase works of Art, is so excessive that they do not feel
    safe in making any acquisition without the advice and permission
    of some charlatan of a dealer, to whom these wiseacres come
    saying (verbatim, so Mr. Ordway informed me), "I want some
    pictures; can't you recommend any to me?" and then, of course,
    the picture-dealer recommends what brings him the highest
    percentage; and the man who buys pictures exactly like
    looking-glasses, window-curtains, or any other _furniture_ for a
    new house, departs satisfied that he possesses a work of Art.
    The things that are bought and sold here in the shape of
    pictures, and the things that are said about them, _vous
    feraient pouffer de rire_, if you did not live in this country.
    If you did, they would be like many other proofs of the
    semi-civilisation of the people, that would be rather doleful
    than otherwise to you. Thank you for all you tell about my
    sister and her children. I feel very much both for my sister and
    Anne in their separation. I have just parted with my maid Marie,
    who has lived with me fifteen years, and who leaves me now
    because her health is so much broken down that her physician
    tells her, she must go to some other climate or she will die.
    So she is gone, and here I remain absolutely alone, looking, not
    for the "wrath to come," but what may be supposed no bad
    instalment of it--the advent of four new servants with whom I am
    to begin housekeeping in my small cottage next week. Just before
    leaving Boston I saw Hetty Hosmer. She has come home to her poor
    old paralytic father, who, I suppose, is not likely to live very
    long. Whenever the event of his death happens, Hetty will gather
    up her substance, and depart hence for the rest of her natural
    or artistic life. She is very little changed in appearance, and
    only a little in manner. She seemed very glad to see me, and so
    was I to see her, for she represented to my memory a whole world
    of things and places and people that I am fond of. I have not
    seen Lord Lyon, and do not expect to do so, as I understand he
    does not mean to stir from Washington all the summer, and
    thither I shall assuredly not go, though I would go a good way
    to see him. I'm told he lives in dread of being married by some
    fair American, and it is not always a thing that a man can
    escape; but he is too good for that, and I trust will not
    succumb to these intrepid little flirts. Good-bye, dear Mr.
    Leighton; I have a settled nostalgia, which is the saddest thing
    in the world. Your sketch of Westbury is always before me, and
    your letters are the most kindly return you could possibly make,
    for any service that you could require of me. I wish with all my
    heart I might have the great pleasure of writing you, now that
    one of your pictures was sold.

    Addio.


                                         LENOX, _Friday, June 7_.

    Thank you, dear Frederic Leighton, for your letter and the
    photographs, by means of which, and your description, I have a
    sort of vision (not quite what the Yankees call a "realising
    sense") of your pictures. The girl at the fountain is
    charming,[20] the other beautiful and terrible, as it should
    be.[21] I can well imagine the beautiful effect the sentiment of
    the picture must receive from that regretful return, as it were,
    of the daylight that has set upon the poor people for ever. In
    the English newspapers that are sent to me I looked eagerly
    among the notices of the Exhibition for your name, and read the
    meagre little bit allotted to each picture. I was especially
    delighted with the critic who thinks your "Paolo and Francesca"
    too _earthly_ in the intensity of their passions. The gentleman
    apparently forgets that it was not in Heaven that Dante met
    these poor things. With regard to your other pictures, dear Mr.
    Leighton, I think you are right to withdraw them from America. I
    wish with all my heart that I could have presented myself with
    one of those pictures; however, that is one of the vainest of
    all human desires. My income is already docked of two hundred
    pounds this year by the disastrous state of public affairs; but,
    of course, if one is in the midst of a falling house, one can
    hardly hope to avoid bruises and broken bones. The attitude of
    England is highly unsatisfactory to the North, who now choose to
    consider the whole action of the Government a crusade against
    slavery--which it is not, and was not, and will not be except in
    the New England state where the Abolitionist party has always
    been strongest, and where the character of the people is more of
    the nature to make fighters for abstract principles. The
    Southerners hate the Yankees, and _vice versa_, for this very
    reason; and if the crisis comes really to anything like
    fighting, the New England, especially the Massachusetts men,
    will probably fight very maliciously as against slaveholders,
    and the slaveholders against them as Abolitionists, which _they_
    now are, pretty much to a man. A huge volunteer force is levying
    and being prepared for action; but in spite of the very
    unanimous feeling of the North and North-West, and the warlike
    attitude of the South, I shall not believe in anything deserving
    the name of war till I see it. The South is without resources
    that can avail for a six months' struggle. The North has a huge,
    unarmed, undisciplined force of men at its command; but the
    Southerners do not want to fight, and neither do the
    Northerners; _but_ if any combination of circumstances (and of
    course matters cannot stand still, especially with the border
    states all _au pied en l'air_) should occasion any collision
    accompanied with considerable effusions of blood, I believe the
    North would pour itself upon the Southern States and annihilate
    the secessionist party. It is extremely difficult to foresee the
    probable course of events, but I believe eventually the Southern
    States will be obliged to return to their allegiance, and
    _then_ I believe the North will, once for all, legislate for the
    future limiting of the curse of slavery to those states where it
    _now_ exists, and where, of course, under such circumstances, it
    would very soon cease to exist, as if it cannot extend itself it
    must die. In one sense slavery is undoubtedly the cause of the
    present disastrous crisis--and in the profoundest sense, for the
    character of the Southerners is the immediate result of these
    infernal "institutions"; and but for Southern slavery Southern
    "Chivalry," that arrogant, insolent, ignorant, ferocious and
    lawless race of men, would never have existed.

    Oh, how thankful I shall be to be at home once more! Farewell,
    dear Mr. Leighton; pray, if there is anything special to be done
    about your pictures, write to me and let me have the pleasure of
    doing something for you. Oh, I am so enraged that I could not
    get them sold; and yet though you may not think it, I should
    have thought it a pity for them to have to live the rest of
    their lives here. Thank you again for the photographs; I look at
    them constantly. All _such things_ are like being lifted into
    another atmosphere from that which surrounds and stifles one
    here. Believe me always your obliged and sincere friend,

                                                    FANNY KEMBLE.

    Emil Devrient's was the best Hamlet I ever saw. It would not
    have been if my father's had not been too smooth and harmonious.
    I hope I shall see Fechter's.


                                   LENOX, _Thursday, October 11_.

    How good an inspiration it was that made you send that beautiful
    photograph to me! It came to me really like a special
    providence, on the day when I had parted from my children for an
    indefinite time, and with more than usual sadness and anxiety;
    for my eldest child's health has failed completely since her
    confinement, and she came to me for a visit of ten days only,
    looking like the doomed, wan image of some woman whose enemies
    were wasting her by witchcraft. My small comfortless home was
    intolerably lonely to me, and towards sunset I went out to find
    some fortitude under the open sky. I wandered into a copse of
    beech trees that clothe the steep sides of a miniature ravine
    with a brook at the bottom, and here gathered a handful of the
    beautiful blue fringed gentian (do you know that exquisite
    flower that grows wild in the woods here?). The little glen with
    its clusters of mysterious blue blossoms was all but dark, but,
    emerging from it, I stood where I saw a wide valley flooded with
    the evening light, and hills beyond rising in waves of amber and
    smoke colour and dark purple; it was so beautiful that it cannot
    be imagined. The autumn has turned all the trees into gold and
    jewels, like the enchanted growth of fairy-land, and the whole
    world, as I saw it from the entrance of that shadowy dell,
    looked as if it was made of precious metals and precious stones.
    I was very sad, and stood thinking of our Saviour and the widow
    of Nain, and how pitiful He was to sorrowful human creatures,
    and with some sparks of comfort in my heart I returned home,
    where I found your letter waiting for me. I have told you all
    this of my previous state of mind and feeling, because--without
    knowing that--you could not conceive how like an express message
    of consolation your work appeared to me. May it be blessed to
    many hearts for admonition and for consolation as it was to
    mine, dear Mr. Leighton. It is no wonder that it seemed to me
    beautiful, and I do not think I shall ever sufficiently
    disconnect it with this first impression, to be able to judge of
    its merit as a work of art; it was, as I said before, a special
    Providence to me. I long to have it framed and hung where I can
    see it constantly. I have within the last few days moved into a
    house which I have hired for the next two years. It is all but
    in the village of Lenox, and yet so situated that it commands
    from the windows of every room a most beautiful prospect. The
    whole landscape is a harmonious confusion of small valleys and
    hills, rolling and falling within and around and beyond each
    other, like folds of rich and majestic drapery. Oh, what lights
    and shadows roam and rest over these hill-sides and in the
    hollows between them! The country is very thickly wooded, and
    the woods are literally of every colour in the rainbow, all
    mixed together under a sky, the peculiar characteristic of which
    is not so much softness or brightness, as a transparent purity
    that seems as if there was _no_ atmosphere betwixt oneself and
    the various objects one sees. I expect this would make it
    difficult to paint these beautiful aspects of nature here; but,
    oh, how I _do_ wish you could see it, for, in the matter of
    American autumnal colouring, seeing alone is believing. The
    house itself is very tolerably comfortable, but hideous to
    behold both within and without; and I have begun my residence in
    it under rather depressing circumstances, _i.e._ without _being
    able_ to obtain the necessary servants for the decent comfort of
    my daily existence. Ever since the beginning of May I have been
    endeavouring, in vain, to procure and keep together a decent
    household. Not for one _single week_ have I had my proper
    complement of people in the house, and I have done every species
    of house-work myself, from cleaning the cellar and kitchen to
    washing the tea-cups; it is a state of things as incredible as
    the colour of the autumn woods, and as peculiar, thank God, to
    America. I am now making my last experiment by trying coloured
    servants. Their manners and deportment are generally much better
    than those of either the Irish or American, and they seem
    capable of personal attachment to their employers, which neither
    of the other races are. The incessant worry, discomfort, and
    positive fatigue that I have undergone during the whole summer
    has completely shaken my nerves, so that I have been in a sort
    of hysterical condition of constant weeping for some time past.
    I trust, however, it will not be so wretched now, for I am at
    any rate close to the village inn, and if I am left without
    servants, can go there and get some food; it is a state of
    existence _qu'on ne s'imagine pas_. You will not wonder, after
    all this, to hear that I declined a ticket to the Prince's ball
    at New York, to which the whole population of the United States
    are struggling to get admittance; but at the best of times "I am
    not gamesome," and feel as if I had swept my own rooms quite too
    recently to be fit company for my Queen's son. Thank you, dear
    Mr. Leighton, for all you tell me about my sister and the
    children; she never writes, you know, and so I am thirsty all
    the time for some tidings of her. It is very sad to be so far
    away and hear so seldom from those one loves. Good-bye, God
    bless you; and thank you once more for the "Vision." I am sorry
    I cannot tell you of the sale of either of your pictures; they
    are in the Boston Athenaeum, very safe, and highly ornamental to
    it, but not, I regret to say, sold. If you wish me to do
    anything more about them, you must write me your directions,
    which I will fulfil with every attention and accuracy of which I
    am capable.


                                    LENOX, _Sunday, November 11_.

    I trust before long you will receive your children safe and
    sound. I wish the two hundred pounds I have lost this year had
    been invested in one of those pictures instead of in St. Louis.
    Thank you for your account of Adelaide and her children; it is
    not much, but it is all that much better than nothing. The state
    of the country is very sad, and any probable termination of the
    war quite out of calculable distance. England, no doubt, will
    maintain her absolute neutrality in spite of secession, cotton,
    and anti-slavery sympathies; it is her only part. Good-bye, dear
    Mr. Leighton.

    I beg you will not scruple to write me now if there is anything
    more that I can do, either in the matter of the pictures or any
    other by which I can be of use to you here.


                                                        NEW YORK,
                                              _Sunday, March 10_.

    I am sure you have not forgotten the charming farmhouse at West
    Mion, to which you and your sketch-book were the means of
    introducing us, ---- farm: well, his brother is one of the
    richest shopkeepers in New York--and, upon the strength of my
    visit to the paternal acres in Hampshire, his wife, a funny
    little specimen of vivacious vulgarity, called upon me, and I,
    of course, upon her. I was shown into a drawing-room at least
    thirty feet long, with two massive white marble chimney-pieces,
    green silk brocade curtains and furniture to match, magnificent
    carpets, mirrors, gildings, hideous _works_ in marble on
    scagliola pillars--in short, the most marvellous palace of
    shopkeepers' _beaux ideaux_ that you can conceive; through this
    to a beautifully fitted-up library; through this to a picture
    gallery, noble _seigneur_, _pensez y bien_! Oh, my dear Frederic
    Leighton, it was enough to make one fall down and foam at the
    mouth, to see such a hideous collection of daubs and to think of
    the money hanging on those walls; and then I thought of your
    pictures, and why the wretched man couldn't have procured them
    for some of his foolish money; and then I begged your pardon
    internally for the desecration of imagining your pictures in
    such company; and then I gazed amusedly about me, and at length
    gave tongue: "Mr. ----," said I, "this is a vastly different
    residence from the old homestead in Hampshire." The worthy man
    could not see in my heart which way the balance of preference
    inclined, and answered with benignant self-satisfaction: "Ah,
    well, you see, ma'am, they've been going on there for the last I
    don't know how many hundred years, just about in the same social
    position; they haven't a notion of the rapidity of our progress
    here." I hate to advise you to have your pictures back, for
    there really does seem to me to be a _greedy desire for
    pictures_ (I cannot qualify in any other way the taste which
    covets and buys such things) here; but I suppose pictures, at
    any rate, must be what these people want, and will not buy dear
    and good ones, when cheap and nasty do as well. I think, while I
    am here in New York, I shall take the liberty of making some
    further inquiry as to whether the great print and picture seller
    here does not think they could be seen to selling advantage in
    his shop; in short, it throws me into a melancholy rage to think
    what pictures are bought while yours are not. The state of this
    country is curious--strange and deplorable beyond precedent in
    history, it seems to me; and it is absolutely _impossible_ to
    foresee to what issue things are tending. The opinions one hears
    are all coloured by the particular bias of the speaker, and the
    confusion is so great in the general excitement of sectional
    partisanship that even one of the members--and a very
    influential one--of the peace convention sent to Washington for
    the purpose of proposing terms of conciliation--which should
    not, however, compromise the Northern principles--said that
    nothing had been done, that all was "sound and fury, and
    signifying nothing"--or if anything at present, the confirmed
    secession of the Southern, the disruption from the North of the
    Northern slave States, and, not impossibly, civil war. Of
    course, the more time elapses in palavering before the first
    fatal blow is struck, the less probability there is of its being
    struck at all; but, on the other hand, the longer the present
    state of things continues, the more accustomed people become to
    the idea of the dismemberment of the Union, and therefore,
    though the clangour of an appeal to arms diminishes, so I think
    does the prospect of anything like "making up" the family
    quarrel--indeed, if it were patched, and soldered to the very
    best, I do not believe that it will ever "hold water again"; but
    it is impossible to foresee from day to day what may be the turn
    of events.

    If I live till a year from this summer I will be in England in
    July, and if I live till the November after that I will be in
    Rome, and you and Edward and Adelaide have my full permission to
    come too.

    Good-bye, dear Mr. Leighton. Your letters are a great comfort as
    well as pleasure to me; I am extremely obliged to you for them.

    I showed my daughter the photograph of your "Vision," and she
    was enchanted with it. She has not a cultivated or educated
    taste in matters of art--this country affords no means for such
    a thing--but she is a person of very fine natural perceptions
    and great imagination and sensibility, and she was so charmed
    with it that I hope you will not think it foolish or impertinent
    in me to tell you of it.

    The last political news I have is that the border or Northern
    slave States will probably not join the cotton states, in which
    case the latter will, of hard necessity, very soon be compelled
    to abandon their absurd and infinitely perilous position; but
    one does not see the end of it all, for if they _do_ come back
    into the Union, it will be under a burning sense of humiliation
    which will hardly facilitate their future intercourse with the
    North, for humiliation and humility are difficult things, and
    the cotton Lucifer under coercion will not be a pleasant devil
    to deal with.


                                  LENOX, _Saturday, September 7_.

    You owe me nothing, and you will owe me nothing, dear Mr.
    Leighton, for expediting your pictures to England. When I wrote
    to Mr. Ordway about them desiring him to send them back to you,
    and to let me know the amount of any expenses he incurred in
    doing so, his reply was that the mere cost of packing and
    putting them on board ship would not be worth charging you with,
    and that the possession of your pictures in his gallery was well
    worth the small outlay of merely despatching them to you. I
    hope they will reach you safely. I am sorry, _sorry_ they have
    not remained here; but latterly, as you will easily believe,
    people's minds have been little inclined to the peaceful arts or
    any influences of beauty and grace; moreover, the pockets of the
    wealthiest amateurs are affected, as those of their poorer
    neighbours are, by the public disasters. My own loss this year
    is two hundred pounds of my income. What it may be next year, or
    how far my capital itself is safe, is more than anybody can
    tell. We are to be taxed moreover beyond all precedent in this
    country hitherto, and as it is already nearly the dearest place
    in the world to live in, what with onerous imports and the
    failure of interest from one's investments it will be simply
    ruinous. Thank you for all you tell me of my sister and her
    children. I am beginning to _see them again_, as the time when I
    may really hope to do so draws nearer. I am sorry for what you
    and all my friends tell me about Harry's strong dramatic
    propensities. Of course, if he is fit for nothing else, or
    fitter for that than anything else, he had better become an
    actor, and his being so in England need not prevent his being a
    worthy fellow and respectable and respected member of society. I
    am, however, much reconciled to what at first disappointed me
    extremely--my not being able to bring him out to this country;
    for if he should eventually take to the stage, here that is
    simply in most instances equivalent to taking to the gutter. My
    daughters are both with me just now, and Fanny desires me to
    remember her very kindly to you. The incidents of the war which
    reach the other side of the water no doubt strike you as amazing
    enough; but anything more grotesque than the daily details in
    the midst of which we live, you cannot conceive. A young
    gentleman, a friend of ours who has just returned from his share
    in the campaign in a three months' volunteer regiment (he has
    entered the regular army, as a very large proportion of the
    volunteers did as soon as their three months' amateur service
    expired), described to us a volunteer corps which happened to be
    encamped in the neighbourhood of his company. He said they were
    one of the finest bodies of men he ever saw. Lumberers, that is,
    wood-fellers from the forests of Maine and New Hampshire,
    perfectly brave and reckless and daring--perfectly undisciplined
    too, to the tune of replying to their officers when ordered to
    turn out on guard, "No, I'll be damned if I do," with the most
    cheerful good humour. Thereupon the discomfited "superior"
    simply turns to some one else and says, "Oh, well--you're so and
    so--go." Good-bye; I shall rejoice to see you again, and be once
    more at home among people who know how to behave
    themselves.--Believe me, always yours most sincerely,

                                                    FANNY KEMBLE.

After the Prince Consort's death in 1861 Leighton wrote the following
letter to his younger sister, who was in Italy:

    I have just returned from a fortnight in Bath, where I have at
    last finished the Johnnies,[22] I believe, and hope you will
    like them; they are at all events much improved. I am glad for
    the poor lad that the _corvee_ of settling is over; he was dying
    to get back to his work. If zeal and enthusiasm can make an
    artist, he ought to become one.

    I don't attempt to give you home news, as you are amply supplied
    with that article by Mamma. Everybody here is in great sorrow
    for the poor Queen. She bears up under her overwhelming grief
    with admirable fortitude, and expresses her anxious desire to do
    _her duty as he_ would have wished it, but she speaks of all
    earthly happiness as at an end. The tender sympathy manifested
    by the whole nation is touching, but deserved.

    Whether there will be war or not, the beginning of the year will
    show; it is, I think, more than probable; there is no
    probability of the Americans giving up Mason and Slidell. If we
    do fight, it will be agreeable to feel that we are supported by
    the sympathy and approval of _all Europe_; that we are entirely
    in the right is _universally_ recognised, even by those who have
    no love for us. Sooner or later, a war with America was, I fear,
    unavoidable. There is a limit to what even we can overlook. All
    this need not prevent your coming to England that I can see; it
    won't stop the Exhibition, nor make any perceptible difference
    in anybody's doings, except perhaps the picture buyers.--Your
    very affect. brother,

                                                            FRED.


                                                  _Sunday, 1862._

    Arrived here safe and sound on Thursday night, and began my work
    on Friday. I am making studies[23] for the "Eastern King" which
    I shall begin to paint shortly after New Year. I found the frame
    for the large "Johnny" on my return. It improves the picture
    very much, and looks very handsome. I also found a letter from
    Henry Greville waiting for me. He says the Queen bears up
    admirably, because, she says, _he_ would have wished it, but
    that she always talks of her earthly career as at an end. The
    equerries, &c., will remain attached to the court.

In 1862 Leighton sent eight pictures to the Royal Academy, and six
were accepted. Before the sending in he writes to his father:--

                                                            1862.

    DEAR PAPA,--I am afraid I don't take exercise _very_ regularly,
    still, I walk a _little_ nearly every day.

    With regard to the volunteering, the zeal for the matter is
    necessarily not what it was when every third man really expected
    to be called to defend the country. Nevertheless, the movement
    is not dead, but has found a level on which I fancy it will
    remain; the _shooting_ will keep it together a good deal. We
    (the artists) shall join the great business at Brighton on
    Easter Monday.

    Had I thought you would have taken my remark about the M. Angelo
    and the Johnnies so much to heart, I should have thought twice
    before I made it. Against what I said you must set the paragraph
    in the _Athenaeum_ two or three weeks back--my doubt is not
    whether they will be admired--I think they will be _that_--my
    only question is whether they will be _cared_ for. Mrs. Austin
    admires and likes the M.A. beyond anything, and if she could
    afford it would, I believe, buy it at once.

    You will perhaps be surprised to hear that the pictures from
    which I expect most are the three which you have not seen--the
    "Eastern King" and the two others I mentioned in my last. One of
    them is Pocock's smaller order, a girl with a _swan_ (not with
    _peacocks_ as the _Athen._ says)--the other is a kitcat of a
    girl listening to a shell. Both these are very luminous, and are
    in that respect the best things I have done.

And later:--

                                                    LONDON, 1862.

    DEAR PAPA,--I think I may confirm the report made to you of the
    success of my pictures, particularly the "Odalisque" and
    "Echoes" (by-the-bye, I have just received a letter from
    somebody who wants to know if they are sold). What the papers
    say, you have seen. You will be glad to hear that I have
    received congratulations on all sides, which gives me the idea
    of being tolerably secure; at all events, I got no such last
    year, nor indeed at all since the "Cimabue." That two of my
    pictures should not have been accepted does not indeed surprise
    me, and least of all would it do so if they were rejected on the
    score of _number_, but I have reason to suspect that they were
    _not_ liked; in fact I _know_ it. I have put my name down as a
    candidate for associateship.

    I don't think I have anything of interest to communicate; nobody
    has as yet asked the price of the "Eastern King" or the "Michael
    Angelo." There is no mistake now about what people in this
    country like to buying point; whether I shall conform to their
    taste is another question.

    Pocock liked the "Michael Ang." much, but did not seem to wish
    to have it. The same remark applies to the Johnnies.

    Millais has been, and liked the yellow woman[24] extremely. I
    think he liked them all _of their kind_, but the yellow woman
    was his favourite by far. Stephens has also seen my pictures. He
    seemed altogether much pleased, but most especially with the
    design for the "Eastern King," which is also Fred Cockerell's
    favourite.

To his mother he wrote:--

                                                            1862.

    I have deferred answering your letter till now, that I might be
    able to inform you definitely of my fate as regards the Royal
    Academy. I have just been there; I must tell you at once the
    least pleasant part of my news--they have rejected the large
    "Johnny" and "Lord Cowper." On the other hand, the other
    pictures are well hung; two (the "Odalisque" and the yellow
    woman), _very_ well, being on _the line_ in the _East Room_. The
    "Michael Angelo," the "E. King," and the shell girl are just
    above the line and well seen--the small "Johnny" just below the
    line. I think the pictures all look well, though not so luminous
    as in the studio. I am confirmed in my opinion that the Academy
    Exhibition is a false test of colour; what looks sufficiently
    _silvery there_ is _chalky_ out of it. The "Odalisque" looks
    best from general aspects. Lady Cowper wrote me a very nice note
    about the rejection of her son's portrait, and said she was
    delighted to get it so soon. I am sorry about the large
    "Johnny," because my chance of selling it is much diminished.

That Leighton received great encouragement from personal friends there
can be no doubt. The following is one of very many letters he received
which expressed warm appreciation.

                                                 64 RUTLAND GATE.

    MY DEAR MR. LEIGHTON,--I do not know how to express my thanks to
    you. I have this moment come home and found your beautiful
    drawing, and can hardly hold my pen, I am in such a state of
    delight at possessing such a reminiscence of my favourite
    picture. You really _do_ not know what pleasure you have given
    me, and I think it _too kind_ of you to have parted with this to
    give to me. One thing you may be quite sure of, that the
    "Eastern King" will receive the greatest homage to the end of
    days from his devoted admirer and your sincere friend,

                                                MARY SARTORIS.[25]
    _Past Midnight, Tuesday._

Among Leighton's friends was Charles Dickens. The following notes,
written in 1863, have turned up in a packet of miscellaneous
correspondence:--

                              OFFICE OF "ALL THE YEAR ROUND,"
                  NO. 26 WELLINGTON STREET, STRAND, LONDON, W.C.,
                                       _Thursday, April 9, 1863_.

    MY DEAR LEIGHTON,--I owe you many thanks for your kind reminder.
    It would have given me real pleasure to have profited by it had
    such profit been possible, but a hasty summons to attend upon a
    sick friend at a distance so threw me out on Friday and Saturday
    in obliging me to prepare for a rush across the Channel, that I
    saw no pictures and had no holiday. I was blown back here only
    last night, and believe that I shall deliver your message to
    Mrs. Collins to-day; that is to say, I am going home this
    afternoon and expect to find her there.

    When the summer weather comes on, I shall try to persuade you to
    come and see us on the top of Falstaff's Hill. A hop country is
    not to be despised by an artist's eyes.--Faithfully yours
    always,

                                                 CHARLES DICKENS.


                                            GAD'S HILL PLACE,
                                       HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,
                                       _Saturday, July 18, 1863_.

    MY DEAR LEIGHTON,--Shall I confess it? I never went out to
    breakfast in my life, except once to Rogers'. But what I might
    have done under this temptation is a question forestalled by my
    having engaged to go down to Bulwer Lytton's in Hertfordshire on
    Monday, to stay a few days.--Cordially yours,

                                                 CHARLES DICKENS.

It was in 1863 that Leighton paid the notable visit to his friend of
the Roman days, George Mason, to whom the world's Art owes so much.
Assuredly, without Leighton's encouragement and help, those lovely
idylls which stand with the most precious treasures of the English
school of painting would never have been created. Mason had returned
to England in 1856; he married and settled in his own manor-house,
Wetley Abbey. Children were born and expenses increased, and little or
nothing was there with which to meet them. After Rome England seemed a
hopeless place to work in, and Mason's surroundings were quite dumb to
his artistic sense. Leighton, when he heard of his depression and
poverty, sought him out in his rural retreat, beamed mental sunshine
on his spirits, made him walk with him, pointing out the pictorial
beauties of Mason's own native country, and ended by taking him a tour
through the Black Country. Mason's poetic sense was again awakened; an
artistic purpose was again inspired; and, feeling the despair of
hopeless poverty removed (Leighton was ever ready with substantial
aid), he painted the pictures for which the world has so much reason
to be grateful. When in 1872--nine years after this visit--George
Mason died, Leighton arranged for a sale of his pictures and property,
from the proceeds of which his wife and children obtained an income of
L600 a year. Leighton wrote to Mrs. Matthews at the time of Mason's
death: "Poor Mason's death has been a great shock to me, though indeed
I should have been prepared for it at any time. His loss is quite
irreparable for English Art, for he stood entirely alone in his
especial charm, and he was one of the most lovable of men besides."


FOOTNOTES:

[8] The critics, judging from the following extracts, were amiably
inclined towards him that year:--"Among the pictures familiar to London
loungers of 1858, is Mr. F. Leighton's scene from 'Romeo and Juliet,' a
work lost and, it may be submitted, undervalued, owing to the
disadvantageous place given it in Trafalgar Square. The depth and
richness of its colour, the picturesque manner in which the story is
told, the contrast in some of the heads, that, for instance, of Friar
Lawrence, hopeful in the consciousness of knowledge of Juliet's secret,
with that of the entrancing maiden of Verona, or again with that of the
weeping nurse, whose grief is a trifle too _accentue_. The truthful
conception and careful labour of this picture have now a chance of
being appreciated, and but that Pre-Raphaelitism is resolute not to
give in, might fairly have entitled it to the prize bestowed
elsewhere."--_Athenaeum_, 1858.

"We will take the second-named gentleman first, and come at once to his
'Fisherman and Syren.' The picture is not of any commanding size, nor
does it relate any very exciting legend. The story is of the mystic
Undine tinge, and with a shadowy semblance in it to that strange
legend, current among the peasants of Southern Russia, of the 'White
Lady' with the long hair, who, with loving and languishing gestures,
decoys the unwary into her fantastic skiff, then, pressing her baleful
lips to theirs, folds them to her fell embrace, and drags them
shrieking beneath the engulfing waves. The 'Fisherman and Syren' of Mr.
Leighton has something of this unreal, legendary fatality pervading it
throughout. There is irresistible seductiveness on the one side,
pusillanimous fondness on the other. That it is all over with the
fisherman, and that the syren will have her wicked will of him to his
destruction, is palpable. But it is not alone for the admirable manner
in which the story is told that we commend this picture; the drawing is
eruditely correct, most graceful, and most symmetrical. The syren is a
model of form in its most charming undulations. The fisherman is a type
of manly elegance. That Mr. Leighton understands, to its remotest
substructure, the vital principle of the line of beauty, is pleasurably
manifest. But there is evidence here even more pleasing that the
painter, in the gift of a glowing imagination, and a refined ideality,
in his mastery of the nobler parts of pictorial manipulation, is worthy
to be reckoned among the glorious brotherhood of disciples of the
Italian masters--of the grand old men whose pictures, faded and
time-worn as they are, in the National Gallery hard by, laugh to scorn
the futile fripperies that depend for half their sheen on gilt frames
and copal varnish. This young artist is one of Langis' and Nasasi's
men. He has plainly drunk long and eagerly at the painter's Castaly.
The fount of beauty and of grace that assuaged the thirst of those who
painted the 'Monna Lisa' and the 'Belle Jardiniere'; who modelled the
'Horned Moses' and the 'Slave'; who designed Peter's great Basilica,
and the Ghiberti Gates at Florence."--_Daily Telegraph_, 3rd May 1858.

[9] The Prince of Wales, who lent the picture to the exhibition of
Leighton's works at Burlington House, 1897.

[10] Mr. Augustus Craven's wife, _nee_ Pauline la Ferronnay, was the
authoress of the famous book, _Le Recit d'une soeur_, in which several
of the most charming scenes took place at Naples.

[11] Mr. George Aitchison wrote: "In 1859, while at Capri, he drew the
celebrated Lemon Tree, working from daylight to dusk for a week or two,
and giving large details in the margin of the snails on the tree."

[12] The drawing had been lent to Ruskin at the time he was lecturing
at Oxford.

[13] Leighton knew Mr. Chorley through Mrs. Sartoris. He accompanied
the great _cantatrice_ when she made a tour abroad. "Mrs. Kemble's
children and their nurse are with them, and Mary Anne Thackeray, a
life-long friend, and Mr. Chorley, and the great Liszt, who
subsequently joined them in Germany."--Preface by Mrs. R. Ritchie to "A
Week in a French Country House," by Mrs. Adelaide Sartoris.

[14] Leighton was perfectly right. "Orphee" was produced at Covent
Garden, and the great artist, Madame Viardot, sang in it superbly. The
opera was given after one or two acts of a well-known work, and I can
vouch for the fact, having been one of the audience, that the house was
very nearly empty at the close of "Orphee," Lord Dudley and a very few
true lovers of music only remaining in the stalls to the end.

[15] The lady was Mrs. Sandbach, a _Hollandaise_, who was Maid of
Honour to the Queen of Holland. In after years, on an occasion when she
and I paid a visit together to Leighton's studio in Holland Park Road,
she recounted the incident above related by Leighton, which happened in
the palace at the Hague when she was in waiting. She also added that
from her description Leighton painted what she had seen in her dream to
perfection; but that he subsequently added two _amorini_, which in her
opinion did much to mar the otherwise true feeling of the picture.

[16] See sketches in the Leighton House Collection. The picture itself
is, I believe, in America.

[17] _Ibid._

[18] A visitor to Leighton's "private view" wrote him the following
suggestions:--

                       13 CHESTER TERRACE, N.W., _Easter Monday_.

    DEAR MR. LEIGHTON,--Pardon intrusion. I thought much of your
    beautiful pictures after my yesterday's visit, and I anticipated
    a struggle with the difficulty you mentioned of worthily naming
    them.

    Don't think me impertinent for volunteering the result. It
    seemed impossible without verbal description to explain the
    sacred subject to the profane imagination, while a prose
    translation of its sentiment must be heavy and subversive of
    romance.

    I think, were I fortunate enough to own the picture, I would
    call it "Not Yet," and I would put some little lines in the
    catalogue, which, for aught any one knows, might have come from
    some volume of rhyme, and which should explain that it is a
    story of a dream, and that the rejection is not final: something
    in this spirit, only better:--

                                 "Not yet--not yet--
            Still there is trial for thee, still the lot
            To bear (the Father wills it) strife and care,
            With this sweet consciousness in balance set
            Against the world, to soothe thy suffering there.
                   Thy Lord rejects thee not."
            Such tender words awoke me, hopeful, shriven,
            To life on earth again from dream of heaven.

    For the beauty at the fountain I once thought the best title
    might be some couplet like the following:--

            "So tranced and still half-dreamed she, and half-heard
            The splash of fountain and the song of bird."

    But my wife, from my description of the picture, suggested a
    name better suited to the "suggestiveness" of the work:--

    "Lieder ohne Worte": don't you think it rather pretty?

    In the multitude of counsellors some one says there's wisdom,
    and this liberty we take with you may beget some thought that
    had not struck you.

    I have Mr. Cockerell's commands to express to you the
    gratification his visit afforded him and his sense of your
    kindness and attentions.--I am, faithfully yours,

                                                 RALPH A. BENSON.

Another friend wrote of "Lieder ohne Worte," adding a poem suggested by
the "Francesca":--

                           TRINITY HOUSE, E.C., _8th April 1861_.

    MY DEAR LEIGHTON,--If you did not paint better than I write you
    would not be the man of abounding promise that you are.

    What I meant to say was that Law and Restraint are healthy life
    and the infraction of them ghostly death and dissolution, and
    that meaning is in your picture, whether you know it or not.
    Your "daemon" may have put it there, but then you can trust
    _your_ daemon.

    Still, best love to the little girl at the fountain, who knows
    that though Speech may be silver, Silence is Golden.--Ever
    yours, with many thanks,

                                                     ROBIN ALLEN.
    FRED. LEIGHTON, Esq.

              LEIGHTON'S "FRANCESCA DI RIMINI."

            "That day they read no more." Virtue grows faint,
            One hand lies powerless, the wife's sweet face
            Is half-convulsed by loss of self-restraint.
            Outstretched to resist, remaining to embrace,
            The extended arm will clasp her guilty lover,
            And all the bright, pure world beyond for her be over.

            Their very forms grow blurred and change their colour
            Into dim snaky wreaths of purple pallor,
            Fading away with Honour's fading Law
            Into the pale sad ghosts that Dante saw;
            Which we too see, crowned with departing glory,
            When Leighton's genius deepens Dante's Story.

                                                  R.A.
        _6th April 1861._

[19] D.G. Rossetti, in a letter to William Allingham, May 10, 1861,
writes: "Leighton might, as you say, have made a burst had not his
pictures been ill-placed mostly--indeed one of them (the only very good
one, _Lieder ohne Worte_) is the only instance of very striking
unfairness in the place."

[20] "_Lieder ohne Worte._"

[21] "Paolo and Francesca."

[22] These two pictures were painted from John Hanson Walker. Leighton
sent both to the Royal Academy Exhibition of 1862 with the titles
"Duet" and "Rustic Music." The first only was accepted.

[23] See water-colour and chalk drawings: Leighton House Collection.

[24] "Sea Echoes."

[25] The Hon. Mrs. Alfred Sartoris, sister-in-law of Leighton's friend,
Mr. Edward Sartoris.




CHAPTER II

ILLUSTRATIONS FOR _CORNHILL MAGAZINE_--FRESCO FOR LYNDHURST
CHURCH--ASSOCIATE OF THE ROYAL ACADEMY--MRS. LEIGHTON'S DEATH

1863-1865


In 1860 Leighton drew his first illustration for the _Cornhill
Magazine_:--

    _Translation._]
                                    _Friday, 30th November 1860._

    MY DEAR FRIEND AND MASTER,--Best thanks for your dear letter of
    the 7th, thanks also especially, because in your kind praise you
    do not spare criticism also; you could give me no better proof
    that you still esteem and love your old pupil. I feel the
    justice of your remarks about the drapery of the Saviour very
    much, and can only say in my excuse that I have treated this
    kind of subject very little, for I am only really a profane
    fellow; but should I at some future time again treat such a
    theme, I should endeavour to avoid similar faults. I send you
    this time, for fun, a proof impression of a woodcut after a
    drawing I made for one of our good monthly periodicals (_The
    Cornhill Magazine_). It seems to me to be not bad for wood. It
    illustrates a poem, and represents Ariadne kneeling on an
    eminence, looking out for Theseus. This as a preliminary; I hope
    to send you something in April.


    DEAREST MAMMY,--My wretched picture is causing more delays! I am
    very sorry to say I shan't be able to get to Bath before
    Wednesday evening. I am due at Stourhead the 27th; this I cannot
    defer any more, as I must be on duty with the Rifle Corps at the
    beginning of September, and can't do all I have to do in less
    than a week--this will, however, still leave me three weeks, all
    but two days, at Bath.

    I enjoyed myself at Panshanger very much--did I write to tell
    you who our party was? In case I did not, it was as follows:
    Henry Greville, Lord and Lady Katherine Valletort, Lord and Lady
    Spencer, Mrs. Leslie, Lord Listowel, Mr. Clare Vyner, and Mr. E.
    Lascelles--all young people; so that it was very pleasant.

    There are, as you know, most beautiful pictures at Panshanger--a
    magnificent Vandyke, a splendid Rembrandt, Correggio, Andrea del
    Sarto, and two beautiful Raphaels.

    G. Smith sent me a kind note and a cheque to fill up for drawing
    in the _Cornhill_ ("Ariadne"). I put ten guineas, telling him
    that I could not, as a general rule, interrupt my work for that
    sum, but that I would not take more because the cut had turned
    out so extremely bad.

    I am going to expend the money, adding a few pounds, on a cup,
    to be shot for in the spring by our Rifle Corps. Arthur Lewis
    has already given one, and another of our men has promised a
    second prize to go with my cup. My picture will be _finished_ by
    the time I go to Bath. My eye is too accustomed to it to know
    whether it is successful; I shall know better when I return from
    the country.

    I have no news, so good-bye, dear Mammy. Best love to all.--From
    your very affectionate boy,

                                                            FRED.

    I go to Windsor (to Miss Thackeray) for two days next week; that
    also is an old invitation; I have no time for it, but must go. I
    keep my parties going tolerably, but shall give that up with a
    few exceptions when I settle here; it makes work impossible from
    unavoidably late hours, and produces a general deterioration of
    mind and body, mostly the former; the Hollands I shall always
    keep up--they are most kind; I dine there frequently and meet
    interesting and remarkable people.

Very remarkable drawings in pencil on other lines followed the
celebrated "Lemon Tree"--surpassing in dramatic truth of expression
any Leighton had executed since the early design he drew of the
"Plague in Florence in 1850."[26]

    [Illustration: SKETCH FOR "MICHAEL ANGELO NURSING HIS DYING
    SERVANT." 1862
    Leighton House Collection]

The group of drawings for "Michael Angelo Nursing his Dying Servant"
are among those preserved in the Leighton House collection, but were
not seen by the public before Leighton's death. Though slight, they
are among the most admirable he ever achieved in subtle tenderness of
feeling and expressive truth of drawing. The feeble twitching clutch
of the hands of the old man--announcing the speedy approach of
Death--is a convincing proof of imaginative realism of a high order.
This group of sketches, however, exemplify the curious artistic
discrepancy which at times existed, especially before and about the
time when the Michael Angelo was painted, between Leighton's pictures
and the studies he made for them--a discrepancy which had no reference
to his feeling for colour, but simply arose from an absence of
sensitiveness for texture. In turning from the drawings to the
painting, we find the noble feeling and conception, the lines and
forms of the design much the same in all; but the heavy and yet
insufficient texture of the actual surface mars the full conveying,
even in the completed painting, of the feeling of the motive--so
imperative is a simultaneous union of the idea with a happy echo of it
in the touch of the human hand, if a work of art is fully to convey
its message. Leighton's genius for using the point is referred to in a
letter from Mrs. Browning, on the subject of a drawing he had made of
her husband:--

    _Copy._]

    DEAR MR. LEIGHTON,--The portrait is beautiful, and would satisfy
    me entirely except for a want of strength about the brow, which
    I must write of, because I can't trust Robert himself with the
    message. I think the brow is feeble, less massive than his,
    with less fulness about the temples. In fact, your temple is
    _hollow_, instead of full. Will you look at it by the original?
    The eyes and mouth are exquisite. _Your pencil has the
    expressiveness of another's brush._

    How much I thank you for having put so much of my husband on
    paper is proved by the very insolence of my criticisms.--Most
    truly yours,

                                      ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING.
    _April 1._

In the same category as the Michael Angelo studies may be placed the
first sketch of "Samson Wrestling with the Lion," designed as an
illustration for Dalziel's Bible. This drawing is also in the Leighton
House Collection, also the original drawings for "The Spies' Escape"
and "Samson at the Mill." The following was written with regard to it:
"An animal model never 'sits.' The artist must catch the action he
wants from fleeting suggestions. His imagination alone can guide his
pencil when he depicts such action with realistic power. It is in a
pencil drawing of a lion that we find the work that evinces, more
distinctly perhaps than does any other of Leighton's utterances in
art, the highest kind of imagination in the drawing of form in action,
namely in the sketch of 'Samson Wrestling with the Lion' for the
illustrations in Dalziel's Bible. Where, indeed, for vigour of
invention, can we find a drawing to surpass these few pencil lines?
The sinews in the legs and claws of the animal are drawn up, clenching
the vacant air with a quivering grip; the tail straightened stiffly
through the strain of the wrestling; the whole animal convulsed with
the force of the struggle. This is treatment of form no model could
suggest, no knowledge evolve, no labour or industry produce. A true
imagination alone can inspire such vivid realism." The other subjects
Leighton illustrated were "Death of Abel," "Moses Viewing the Promised
Land," "Samson Carrying the Gates," "Abraham and the Angel,"
"Eliezer and Rebecca at the Well," "The Slaying of the First-born."

    [Illustration: ORIGINAL DRAWING FOR "SAMSON AND THE LION" IN
    DALZIEL'S BIBLE
    Leighton House Collection]

       *       *       *       *       *

In 1862 Leighton illustrated George Eliot's great novel "Romola." He
writes to his father:--

                                                       _Tuesday._

    DEAR PAPA,--Though I am not able, I am sorry to say, to report
    the sale of any more of my pictures, you will be glad to hear of
    a commission just given me by G. Smith of the _Cornhill_ which
    is very acceptable to me. I am to illustrate (by-the-bye this is
    "_strictly confidential_") a novel about to appear in the
    _Cornhill_ from the hand of _Adam Bede_. It is an Italian story,
    the scene and period are Florence and the fifteenth century,
    nothing could "_ganter_" me better. It is to continue through
    _twelve_ numbers, in each of which are to be _two_
    illustrations.

    I am to have for each _number_ L40; for the whole novel,
    therefore, L480. I have conferred with the authoress to-day, and
    am to get the first-proof sheets this week. The first number
    will be published in July. Miss Evans (or Mrs. Lewes) has a very
    striking countenance. Her face is large, her eyes deep set, her
    nose aquiline, her mouth large, the under jaw projecting, rather
    like Charles Quint; her voice and manner are grave, simple, and
    gentle. There is a curious mixture in her look; she either is or
    seems very short-sighted. Lewes is clever. Both were extremely
    polite to me; her I shall like much.

    I have no other news; no one asks about my pictures, though
    their success is decidedly great; hard times! Are you writing to
    Gussy? if so will you tell her that I mean to give her some
    lessons with Halle when she comes to London? she shall have
    _three_ a week for a month. Tell Lina with my love not to be
    jealous, it will be her turn next. How is she? and how is Mamma?
    Give them my best love, and believe me, your affectionate boy,

                                                            FRED.

That George Eliot should write a Florentine story at a time when
Leighton was available to illustrate it, was certainly a most
fortunate coincidence. Each scene which he represents is impregnated
with a feeling which records the strong hold Italy had on his artistic
resources. With a few exceptions, these illustrations for "Romola" are
the last examples of his art, when a dramatic or a humorous treatment
was a prominent feature of the designs. The last picture exhibited at
the Royal Academy in 1897--the passionate, despairing figure of
"Clytie"--was notably one of these exceptions. Unfortunately
Leighton's letters to George Eliot respecting the "Romola" drawings
cannot be found, and were probably destroyed before the author's
death. The following were preserved by Leighton:--

                                       16 BLANDFORD SQUARE, N.W.,
                                                        _Friday_.

    DEAR MR. LEIGHTON,--Thanks for the sight of the Vignettes. They
    are satisfactory.

    Your delicious drawing was with me all day yesterday and made
    the opera more delightful to me in the evening. I never saw
    anything comparable to the scene in Nello's shop as an
    illustration. There could not be a better beginning.

    I should very much like to have a little conversation with you,
    and will arrange to see you at any hour that will best suit you,
    in the evening if you like, any time after the morning working
    hours, which last till two o'clock. I know your time is very
    precious to you just now, but I think we shall both benefit by a
    little talk together after you have read the second
    proof.--Yours very truly,

                                                      M.E. LEWES.
    F. LEIGHTON, Esq.


                                       16 BLANDFORD SQUARE, N.W.,
                                                     _Wednesday_.

    DEAR MR. LEIGHTON,--I feel for you as well as myself in this
    inevitable difficulty--nay, impossibility of producing perfect
    correspondence between my intention and the illustrations.

    I think your sketch is charming, considered in itself, and I
    feel now with regret that if we had seen each other and talked a
    little together after you had read the proof, the only important
    discrepancy might have been prevented. It is too late for
    alterations now. If it had not been, I should have wished
    Bardo's head to be raised with the chin thrust forward a
    little--the usual attitude of the blind head, I think--and
    turned a little towards Romola, "as if he were looking at her."

    Romola's attitude is perfect, and the composition is altogether
    such as gives me a very cheering prospect for the future, when
    we have more time for preparation. Her face and hair, though
    deliciously beautiful, are not just the thing--how could they
    be? Do not make yourself uneasy if alteration is impossible, but
    I meant the hair to fall forward from behind the ears over the
    neck, and the dress to be without ornament.

    I shall inevitably be detestable to you, but believe that I am

                                 (Unfinished)


                                       16 BLANDFORD SQUARE, N.W.,
                                                      _Thursday_.

    DEAR MR. LEIGHTON,--Unmitigated delight! Nello is better than my
    Nello. I see the love and care with which the drawings are done.

    After I had sent away my yesterday's note, written in such haste
    that I was afterwards uncomfortable lest I had misrepresented my
    feelings, the very considerations you suggest had occurred to me
    and I had talked them over with Mr. Lewes--namely, that the
    exigencies of your art must forbid perfect correspondence
    between the text and the illustration; and I came to the
    conclusion that it was these exigencies which had determined you
    as to the position of Bardo's head and the fall of Romola's
    hair. You have given her attitude transcendently well, and the
    attitude is more important than the mere head-dress. I am glad
    you chose Nello's shop; it makes so good a variety with Bardo
    and Romola. In a day or two you will have the second part, and I
    think you will find there a scene for Tessa "under the Plane
    Tree." But perhaps we shall see each other before you begin the
    next drawings.--Ever yours truly,

                                                      M.E. LEWES.


                                       16 BLANDFORD SQUARE, N.W.,
                                                        _Monday_.

    DEAR MR. LEIGHTON,--Your letter comforts me particularly. I am
    so glad to think you find subjects to your mind. I have no
    especial desire for the view from S. Miniato, and indeed a plan
    we started in conversation with Mr. Smith this morning, namely,
    to have moderately sized initial letters--the opening one being
    an old Florentine in his _Lucco_ and generally the subjects
    being bits of landscape or Florentine building--seems to do away
    with any reason for having the landscape to begin with. The idea
    of having Tessa and the mules, or Nello's sanctum, smiles upon
    me, so pray feel free to choose the impression that urges itself
    most strongly. Your observation about the "che, che" is just the
    aid I besought from you. With that exception, I have confined
    myself, I believe, to such interjections as I find in the
    writers of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, and in them,
    curiously enough, this exclamation now said to be so constant
    and "to mean everything" (according to our authority) does not
    seem to occur.

    Thank you. Pray let me have as many criticisms of that kind as
    you can. I am more gratified, I think, by your liking these
    opening chapters than I have yet been by anything in these
    nervous anxious weeks of decision about publication.--Very truly
    yours,

                                                      M.E. LEWES.
    F. LEIGHTON, Esq.


                                       16 BLANDFORD SQUARE, N.W.,
                                               _Tuesday Evening_.

    DEAR MR. LEIGHTON,--I am enchanted! purely delighted! which
    shall I begin with, to tell you that I delight in Baby's toes or
    that exquisite poetry in the scene where Romola is standing? Is
    it not a pleasant change to have that opening made through the
    walls of the city, so as to see the sky and the mountains? In
    the scene with Baldassarre and Tessa, also, the distant view is
    charming. Tessa and her Babkin are perfect--Baldassarre's is, as
    you say, an impossible face to draw, but you have seized the
    framework of the face well, both in this illustration and the
    previous one.

    I want to tell you that a man of some eminence in art was
    speaking of your drawings to a third person the other day as
    "remarkable" in a tone of genuine admiration. I don't know
    whether you care about that, but it is good to know that there
    is any genuine admiration in one's neighbours.

    I am glad to have the drawings left. I shall go now and have a
    long look at them. The February number will soon be out of my
    hands, but you will have it when it pleases the pigs--or
    printers.--Ever yours truly,

                                                      M.E. LEWES.


                                      PARK HOTEL, LITTLE HAMPTON,
                                     SUSSEX, _September 10, '62_.

    DEAR MR. LEIGHTON,--Thanks for your letter, which I have
    received this morning.

    My copy of Vasari has a profile of Piero di Cosimo, but it is of
    no value, a man with a short beard and eyes nearly closed. The
    old felt hat on his head has more character in it than the
    features, but the hat you can't use.

    Of Niccolo Caparra it is not likely that any portrait exists, so
    that you may feel easy in letting your imagination interpret my
    suggestions in the First and the Fifth Parts of Romola. There is
    probably a portrait of Piero di Cosimo in the portrait room of
    Uffizi, but in the absence of any decent catalogue of that
    collection it was a bewildering and headachy business to assure
    oneself of the presence or absence of any particular personage.

    If you feel any doubt about the _new_ Romola, I think it will be
    better for you to keep to the original representation, the type
    given in the first illustration, which some accomplished people
    told me they thought very charming. It will be much better to
    continue what is intrinsically pretty than to fail in an effort
    after something indistinctly seen. If you prefer the action of
    _taking out_ the crucifix, instead of the merely contemplative
    attitude, you can choose that with safety. In the scene with
    Piero di Cosimo, I thought you might make the figures
    subordinate to those other details which you render so
    charmingly, and I chose it for that reason.

    But I am quite convinced that illustrations can only form a sort
    of overture to the text. The artist who uses the pencil must
    otherwise be tormented to misery by the deficiencies or
    requirements of the one who uses the pen, and the writer, on the
    other hand, must die of impossible expectations. _Apropos_ of
    all that, I want to assure you again of what I had said in that
    letter, which your naughty servant sent down the wind, that I
    appreciate very highly the advantage of having your hand and
    mind to work with me rather than those of any other artist of
    whom I know. Please do not take that as an impertinent
    expression of opinion, but rather as an honest expression of
    feeling by which you must interpret any apparent criticism.

    The initial letter of the December part will be W. I forgot to
    tell you how pleased I was with the initial letter of Part V.

    I am very much obliged to you for your critical doubts. I will
    put out the questionable "Ecco!" in deference to your knowledge.
    I have a tremulous sense of my liability to error in such
    things.

    I don't wonder at your difficulty about the modification of
    _com_ into _ciom_. The writers of the fifteenth century,
    speaking of the insurrection of the _Ciompi_ which occurred in
    the previous century, say that the word was a corruption of the
    French _compere_, the same word of course as _compare_,
    constantly on the lips of the numerous French who were present
    in Florence during the dictatorship of the Duke of Athens. The
    likelihood of the derivation lies in the analysis of transition
    in the meaning of words _compere_ and _compare_, like the
    English "gossip," beginning with the meaning of godfather and
    ending with, or rather proceeding to that of companion. Our
    "gossip" has at least parted with its secondary meaning as well
    as its primary one.

    The unlikelihood of the derivation lies in the modification of
    the sounds, and I felt that unlikelihood as you have done. But
    in the absence of a Max Mueller to assure me of a law to the
    contrary, I thought the statement of Tuscan writers a better
    authority than inferences. I ought to have written "is stated by
    the old historians."

    I am really comforted by the thought that you will mention
    doubts to me when they occur to you. My misery is the certainty
    that I must be often in error.

    Mr. Lewes shares my admiration of the two last
    illustrations.--Ever yours truly,

                                                 MARIAN E. LEWES.
    F. LEIGHTON, Esq.


                                       16 BLANDFORD SQUARE, N.W.,
                                                       _Tuesday_.

    DEAR MR. LEIGHTON,--Since I saw you I have confirmed by renewed
    reference my conclusion that _gamurra_ was the equivalent of
    our _gown_, _i.e._ the constant outer garb of femininity,
    varying in length and cut according to rank and age. The poets
    and novelists give it alike to the peasant and the "city woman,"
    and speak of the _girdle_ around it. Perhaps it would have been
    better to call Tessa's gown a _gamurrina_, the word sometimes
    used and indicating, I imagine, just that abbreviation of
    petticoat that active work demands.

    If you are going to see Ghirlandajo's frescoes--the engravings
    of them I mean--in the choir of Santa Maria Novella, I wish you
    would especially notice if the women in his groups have not that
    plain piece of opaque drapery over the head which haunts my
    memory. We were only allowed to see those frescoes once, because
    of repairs going on; but I am strongly impressed with a
    belief--which, _au reste_, may be quite false--in the presence
    of my "white hood" there. As to the garb of the luxurious
    classes at that time, a point which may turn up in our progress,
    I think the painters can hardly be believed to have represented
    it fully, since we know, on strong evidence, that it ran into
    extravagances, which are even in contrast with the general
    impression conveyed not only by the large fresco compositions
    but by the portraits. You must have had sufficient experience of
    the _eclecticism_ in costume which the artist's feeling forces
    upon him in the presence of hideous or extreme fashion. We have
    in Varchi a sufficiently fit and clear description of the
    ordinary male costume of dignified Florentines in my time; but
    for the corresponding feminine costume the best authority I have
    seen is the very incomplete one of a certain Ginevra's
    _trousseau_ in the Ricordi of the Rinuccini family of rather an
    earlier period, but marking even there the rage for embroidery
    and pearls which grew instead of diminishing.

    I imagine that the woman's _berretta_, frequently of velvet
    embroidered with pearls, and apparently almost as prevalent as
    our bonnet, must have been that close-fitting cap, square at the
    ears, of which we spoke yesterday. I trouble you with this
    note--which pray do not think it necessary to answer--in order
    to indicate to you the very slight satisfaction my anxiety on
    this subject can meet with, and the obligation I shall be under
    to you if you will ever give me a positive or negative hint or
    correction.

    Approximative truth is the only truth attainable, but at least
    one must strive for that, and not wade off into arbitrary
    falsehood.--Ever, dear Mr. Leighton, yours very truly,

                                                 MARIAN E. LEWES.

Leighton preserved the records of a friendship with Mr. Robin
Allen,[27] established and for most part continued through a
correspondence which lasted for many years from the early 'sixties.
The letter sent with the following poem refers to Leighton's
illustration to Mrs. Browning's poem, "Musical Instrument," of which
the original drawing is reproduced. (See List of Illustrations.)

                                              TRINITY HOUSE, E.C.

    MY DEAR SIR,--If I send this to the author of a lovely
    illustration to a lovely poem, it is not for its worth, but to
    give me an excuse for saying that I go out of town for a month
    next Wednesday, and hope that I may call on you on my return,
    perhaps get leave to show you over Loughton Woods in the
    autumn.--Believe me, my dear sir, yours truly,

                                                     ROBIN ALLEN.
    F. LEIGHTON, Esq.

    SEQUITUR TO MRS. BROWNING'S "MUSICAL INSTRUMENT" IN THE
    "CORNHILL MAGAZINE" OF JULY 1860.

    A greater God than the great god Pan
      Planted the reed in the river,
    And he is the only God who can
    Break through its heart without killing the reed,
    And make of its very life indeed
      An organ, to utter His psalm as the Giver.

    This greater God than the beast-god Pan,
      As He watches the reeds in Time's river,
    Counts for best poet that perfect Man
    Who holds lightly his song, at its loftiest strain,
    So he live a man's life!--and at all cost and pain
      _Is_ a reed among reeds in the river.

                                                  R.A.

    [Illustration: "THE GREAT GOD PAN"
    Original Sketch for Illustration to Mrs. Browning's Poem in the
    _Cornhill Magazine_, 1861]

    [Illustration: "AN EVENING IN A FRENCH COUNTRY HOUSE"
    Illustration for Mrs. Adelaide Sartoris's story, "A Week in a
    French Country House," published in the _Cornhill Magazine_, 1867
    By permission of Messrs. Smith, Elder, & Co.]

In a letter to his mother Leighton expresses a warm admiration for
these lines by Mr. Robin Allen.

In the autumn of 1863 the following letter to his mother mentions a
notable visit to Compiegne. The charming story Mrs. Edward Sartoris
wrote, which appeared some years later in the _Cornhill Magazine_, "A
Week in a French Country House," owes its local colour to this home at
Compiegne to which Leighton refers. It belonged to Mr. Edward
Sartoris' brother-in-law, the Marquis de l'Aigle. For this story
Leighton made two admirable illustrations--"An Evening in a French
Country House" and "Drifting." Leighton is supposed to have suggested
the character of Monsieur Kiowski, the Polish artist in the story; and
the figure in the boat holding the rudder in "Drifting" he certainly
meant to represent himself, while the figure singing is Adelaide
Sartoris--drawn, as shown by the head-dress, from the sketch Leighton
made in 1856. (See List of Illustrations.)

    _Commencement of letter missing._]
                                                            1862.

    I have a fit of the blues instead.

    I hope for the sake of my pictures that I shall soon get over
    them (the blues, not the pictures). I believe if I could find
    models I should recover at once; but I foresee that I shall have
    no such luck.

    I had a delightful time at Compiegne--the place is charming, the
    house comfortable in the extreme, and the life the perfection of
    unconstraint (if that is English); I have told you already how
    hospitable and kind my host and hostess were. I have, of course,
    no news to give you yet, except, by-the-bye, that the bailiffs
    were in the house the other day because Mr. and Mrs. Gedy had
    not paid L3, 5s. 6d. taxes; they stayed two days in the house,
    and if the money had not come, would have walked off with some
    of _my_ furniture. I wish I had a house; they are beginning a
    house on Campden Hill, and would build it for an artist after
    his own designs.

Mr. and Mrs. Alfred Sartoris, the admirer of "Eastern King," were also
among the visitors during this week in a French country house, and
write the following anecdote:--

    "Those who knew Lord Leighton require no record of his kindness
    and unselfishness. For those who had not that privilege the
    following little anecdote may be interesting. In the late autumn
    of 1863 we were all staying with my sister-in-law, the Marquise
    de l'Aigle, at Francport, near Compiegne. Mrs. Sartoris was also
    there and Mr. Leighton. There was to be a service on the Sunday
    in a little neighbouring village church for some children who
    had made their first communion, and it occurred to Mme. de
    l'Aigle to have some special music on the occasion, and profit
    by the glorious voice of Mrs. Sartoris, who kindly offered to
    sing. Mr. Leighton also volunteered to take the tenor part in
    various sacred pieces. We were all to help in the concerted
    music, and the old cure was in the seventh heaven of delight at
    the prospect of such a grand service. Our dismay can be imagined
    when three days before the service Mr. Leighton announced that
    he must leave us as business required his presence in London.
    'Oh!' we all exclaimed, 'what shall we do? the tenor pieces must
    be given up; the cure will die of grief,' &c. ... 'No, no,' said
    Mr. L., in his cheery way, 'don't change anything; I shall be
    back all right on Sunday morning in time to sing;' and so, sure
    enough, he did return, having travelled two nights to London and
    back. He never would tell us why he had gone; and it was not
    till long afterwards that it transpired that he had made the
    hurried double journey to help a struggling artist, whose work
    he wished to bring forward and introduce to some influential
    person. He attained his object, and thought nothing of the time
    and trouble involved, only glad to have been a help to one who
    needed assistance, and also to keep his promise by singing in
    the little village church."

    [Illustration: "DRIFTING"
    Illustration for Mrs. Adelaide Sartoris's story, "A Week in a
    French Country House," published in the _Cornhill Magazine_, 1867
    By permission of Messrs. Smith, Elder, & Co.]

In 1863 Leighton began painting the fresco of "The Wise and Foolish
Virgins," which he presented to the Church at Lyndhurst. It was
painted on the plaster wall above the altar at the east end. While
at work on it, he stayed with his old friend Mr. Hamilton Aide, who
formed one of the happy company of _intimes_ of the Roman and Lucca
days. Several visits to this charming home in the New Forest were made
before the work was finished.

In the following letter to Steinle he mentions his first experiment in
Mr. Gambier Parry's medium for painting in fresco.

    _Translation._]
                                        2 ORME SQUARE, BAYSWATER.

    MY VERY DEAR FRIEND,--When I last wrote I asked you when the
    German exhibition of which you spoke was to take place, and
    whether it was to be held in Cologne itself; but as I received
    no answer I supposed that this exhibition either had not come to
    anything (as I have seen nothing about it in the newspapers), or
    that it did not seem sufficiently important to you for me to go
    specially to Germany for it. Nevertheless, I would have gone to
    Cologne, if it had been in any way feasible, exclusively on
    account of you and your works, which I am very anxious to see;
    unfortunately, however, I could not arrange it, and must content
    myself with learning from a letter (if you will write me one)
    how your work succeeds, and how far you have got with it. Two
    walls are already finished, are they not?

    As for myself, I am fairly industrious. Amongst other things, I
    am painting at present the composition which you have already
    seen, of Michael Angelo and his old servant Urbino. I have
    endeavoured to keep the action of the figures simpler and
    smoother than in the first sketch; and, in fact, I think the
    picture will please you better than the drawing. For the rest, I
    am sick of painting small pictures, and would like to undertake
    something large; but it is not very agreeable to paint pictures
    which will probably remain always hanging round one's neck.

    I think I shall very soon test the public again in this
    respect--but _what_ I shall paint I do not know. A friend of
    mine (Mr. Gambier Parry), a great art devotee and first-rate
    amateur, has discovered a medium to replace fresco painting in
    our damp climate. I have seen his experiments, and have myself
    painted a head under his rules,[28] and to my complete
    satisfaction. The result is scarcely to be distinguished from
    fresco, and is quite as easy, indeed even easier to achieve. At
    the same time this method has advantages which _buon_ fresco
    does not possess; it dries exactly as one lays it on (and is
    then flat), it has no deposit (_Ansaetze_), and one can go over
    it as often as one likes. The wall (a granular lime wall) is
    saturated with the same preparation as you paint with. This
    preparation, which is _stone hard_ against water, can always
    dissolve _itself_ with moisture, so that one can retouch it
    perpetually, at the same time the _whole_ of one's palette is
    available. My friend is going to publish his system; I will
    then, if you like, tell you exactly about it.

    And now, farewell, dear Master. Remember me most kindly to your
    wife and children, and keep in remembrance your friend and
    pupil,

                                                   FRED LEIGHTON.

He wrote to Steinle in 1862 that he was making studies for the
Lyndhurst fresco, and expected to finish it that summer; but it was
apparently only begun in August 1863.

    _Translation._]
                                        2 ORME SQUARE, BAYSWATER,
                                                _April 22, 1862_.

    MY VERY DEAR FRIEND,--When I last wrote to you, I promised and
    hoped that this time I should be able to send you some
    photographs of my latest works, but unfortunately at the last
    moment time ran short. My pictures are only just ready for
    exhibition, and I must send them off unphotographed. In order
    that you may not think I have been idle, I write these lines;
    also because I am unwilling, my dear Master, to fade entirely
    from your memory. I am exhibiting _eight_ pictures this year, an
    unusually large number. But the case is not so bad as it looks
    at the first glance. Two only of these pictures are important in
    size and subject. One of them you already know from a former
    composition. It represents Michael Angelo with his dying servant
    Urbino. In the principal idea I have not deviated much from the
    first sketch, but have endeavoured to treat the whole with more
    unity and the details with more simplicity than in the
    drawing which you saw, and the faults of which you pointed out
    to me. This picture is life-size, and extends down to the knees.

    The other is of a somewhat fanciful description. I have imagined
    one of the three holy kings, when he sees the Star in the East
    from the battlements of his palace. The picture is curious and
    open to much fault-finding, but I think it will please you by a
    certain poetry in the conception. The shape is long and narrow.
    The king, half life-size, almost turns his back upon the
    spectator, and is, in the midst of the dark night, only lit by
    the mystic rays of the Star. In contrast to this pure light one
    sees, quite at the bottom, through an arch, into the hot
    lamp-light, which illuminates a gay orgy. I have allowed myself
    a certain amount of pictorial licence, which may well surprise
    the general spectator at first glance, but which to me heightens
    the poetical impression of the whole.

    Five other pictures are smaller, and three of the subjects are
    idyllic or fanciful (_e.g._ a shepherd playing on a flute, an
    Oriental girl with a swan, &c. &c.), all carried out with great
    love, and certainly my best works.

    At present I am busy making studies for a large wall painting
    (the "Wise and Foolish Virgins"), which I am giving to a church.
    I shall execute it this summer, and tell you more about it.

    Now, my dear Friend, I have given you a long and full report of
    myself; I hope you also will tell me what you are doing. I am
    very anxious to know how the Cologne frescoes get on. How I
    should like to see them! PERHAPS I may manage it this autumn. In
    the meantime, however, write to me, and believe me to be, your
    devoted pupil,

                                                   FRED LEIGHTON.

    [Illustration: PORTRAIT FROM A PHOTOGRAPH OF LORD LEIGHTON TAKEN
    IN 1863]


                                          _April 1863, Saturday._

    DEAREST MAMMA,--You have seen in the papers that the Review at
    Brighton went off capitally. I enjoyed my day very much, and
    though I was a _little_ tired and _very_ sleepy for two days
    after, was altogether the better for it. It was a stiff day's
    work too--nine or ten hours without sitting down, and with the
    additional responsibility of having the command of the Artists'
    Company. I was sure you would be pleased at the reception of my
    "Fruit Girl"[29] by my brother artists--you must understand,
    though, that this applies chiefly to the younger men (and not to
    _all_ of _them_), for there are several of the older painters
    who strongly object to my style of painting and are bent on
    suppressing it.

    Will you thank Papa for his hint about the _Athenaeum_--I am
    pretty sure he is mistaken about it, but I shall take measures
    about it--indeed I _have_.

    I spoke to _Charles_ Greville (Henry's brother) and told him I
    thought I should be coming on before very long; he very kindly
    overhauled the lists and said he thought I might be up by the
    end of the summer, and, what was still more kind, seeing me
    unseconded, he put his name down as seconder.


                                          FOREST BANK, LYNDHURST,
                                      _Thursday, August 6, 1863_.

    If I was not more explicit about being with Aide, it was because
    I made sure you knew it. You will be pleased to hear that when
    after many _peripeties_ I did begin my fresco I got on
    capitally; I have now finished the task for this year, having
    painted _three_ life-size figures, with a good bit of
    background, in _four_ days. I worked hard for it, and am rather
    tired--head and eyes; otherwise flourishing.

    I am delighted with my new fresco material (Parry's)--the effect
    is excellent--nearly as fine as real fresco. Everybody seems
    much pleased with what I have done, particularly the parson. I
    like it myself; I enjoy working at it immensely; it is my real
    element. I find it (for mere _manipulation bien entendu_)
    absurdly easy.

The following letter from Mr. Gambier Parry explains the "fresco
material" Leighton used.

                                             HIGHNAM, GLOUCESTER,
                                                _August 3, 1863_.

    MY DEAR LEIGHTON,--In reply to your last note about the use of
    the wall itself rather than of canvas, there can be no doubt on
    the subject, if only the plaster is _good_ and _well put on_.
    You speak of two or three months to get it dry. I assure you
    that that is _not near enough_. When the surface feels dry to
    your hand you must not suppose that it is all dry inside, and if
    the _wall_ is new, I doubt a year being enough to dry it. The
    water must evaporate somewhere--it is drawn _to the_ surface of
    _interiors_ because they are the warmest.

    You ask whether the rough cast on the wall must be scraped off
    before you wash the wall for painting. If by the _rough cast_
    you mean rough plaster, which is a totally different thing to
    rough cast, certainly use it as it is. The coarser the plaster
    the better, because it is all the more porous, so long only that
    it is of the best materials (viz. perfectly _washed_ sand, and
    good lime), and well put on a good wall. _Nothing in the world
    could equal it for painting upon_, except a surface of _coarse
    clean_ Bath stone, with _all its pores open_. If you have such
    plaster as I have just described, and both it and the wall
    thoroughly dry, nothing could be better. The smooth surface,
    with what granulated texture you please, can be got according to
    the directions in my paper--viz. after two or three washes of
    pure diluted medium, give another or two more of the same, with
    dry whiting and a little white-lead, then go ahead _while it is
    all fresh_, viz. _two or three days_ after the process of
    preparation has been completed.

    Take care in painting not to rub it up too much, for fear of
    _drawing up the glossy resins to the surface_ away from the wax.
    Paint right _into_ your prepared surface _solidly_ and with
    _decision_ in the way of fresco painting, not as oil. Keep the
    brush clean, and the volatile oil in the dipper clean, and then,
    oh! how shall I envy you your power to use them all![30]

    At the _Ely ceiling_, which is of hard wood _not_ porous, but
    prepared with three coats of oil white-lead, I am painting with

                             Liquid Measure.
      Pale drying oil             2
      Japan gold size             2
      Turpentine                  2
      Artist copal                1

    well shaken up every time it is used. The colours are all ground
    up in it, and then painting is done as in water-colour, using
    _pure spirits of turpentine_ as a vehicle. Colours dry extremely
    rapidly and with a dead surface. The stuff looks horribly black,
    but the colours are not materially affected by it. Of course it
    is not to be compared with my former medium, because there is
    that bane of the palette oil in it, but I used it because of its
    great facility (used transparent like _water-colour on a white
    ground_), and because the surface was hard, so that wax might
    (in great heat) shrink or play tricks on it, as it has done in
    Murillo's pictures and many others.--Ever most sincerely yours,

                                                T. GAMBIER PARRY.

    If I can do anything for you, command me; we go to Scotland on
    the 14th.


                                        LONDON, _April 26, 1863_.

    DEAREST MAMMA,--You were no doubt surprised to see a sock arrive
    in Bath in solitary grandeur, unaccompanied by any sort of note.
    The fact is, for some days past I have been working at a rate
    which made me altogether unfit for correspondence. I have just
    returned from Lyndhurst, where I have been doing a bit more
    fresco--and very stiff work it was--up and at work at seven, and
    at it best part of the day, perched generally on an
    uncomfortably narrow ladder, and with my head almost blown off
    by the agreeable but overpowering smell of the vehicle with
    which I painted. The result is as far as it goes tolerably
    satisfactory--everybody there is delighted, and though that, of
    course, does not prove much, it is at all events agreeable to me
    that they derive so much pleasure from my work. The
    stained-glass window, too, which has been executed at my desire
    from Jones' designs, gives great satisfaction--is a lovely piece
    of colour, and (which was, to me, of paramount importance) does
    not hurt my fresco, though, of course, in the nature of things,
    it outshines tenfold in point of brilliancy; hence the folly, to
    my mind, of ever putting glass and wall painting in immediate
    juxtaposition. I shall go and paint another slice in June, after
    which Aide leaves, so I may not be able to finish my work till
    he returns in autumn. On my road to Lyndhurst, I paid a visit
    to Lady Dorothy Neville (Lady Pollington's sister) at
    Dangstein--a very beautiful place near Petersfield.

    On Monday week the Royal Academy opens--I shall be curious to
    see what pictures they have taken; my work at present will be a
    woodcut for Dalziel--then that for the _Cornhill_--then a
    drawing for Cundall's Bible--Mrs. Magniac's portrait--the
    cartoon for the remainder of the Lyndhurst fresco--then perhaps
    a new picture. I wish some one would buy the old ones!

    Have you read "Sylvia's Lovers"? Don't read "Salammbo"--it is
    hideous.


    DEAREST MAMMA,--My chair has arrived safe and sound; once more,
    my very best thanks for it.

    Aide _is_ one of the most _excellent_ men that ever lived--I
    like him extremely.

    By-the-bye, I am made one of the ensigns in our Rifle Corps, so
    that when you come to town you have a chance of seeing me
    strutting about with a sword.

    I write in haste. Good-bye, best love to all.--From your very
    affectionate boy,

                                                            FRED.

    [Illustration: THE FRESCO PRESENTED BY LORD LEIGHTON TO
    LYNDHURST CHURCH--"THE WISE AND FOOLISH VIRGINS." Completed 1864]

In a letter to his father dated 1864 Leighton announced the completion
of the fresco, "The Wise and Foolish Virgins." The design of the whole
and the lines of the draperies in each figure are all admirable, and
the work is one which proves Leighton's powers of achieving rapidly,
and under great difficulties, a complete work and one in which his
great sense of beauty is very salient. There is also sufficient
dramatic feeling in the gestures and expressions of the faces. Perhaps
the most interesting (because the most spontaneous) attitude in the
figures of the wise virgins is that which is kneeling, profile-wise,
under the figure of the angel, who is indicating to her the presence
of her Saviour. She seems dazed with awe and rapture. Her arm is
caught up with a sudden unstudied angularity of movement which, though
not so beautiful intrinsically as are most of those in Leighton's
work, is very expressive, and produces a happy effect amid the more
obviously arranged lines in the rest of the design. Among the many
drawings preserved in the Leighton House Collection made for this
fresco there is a slight but very sensitive sketch for this figure,
also a finished pencil drawing for the head of Christ. The model who
sat for this head was the Italian whom Leighton painted in "Golden
Hours," and whom Watts used for the picture he (many years after its
execution) entitled "A Prodigal." The type of this model may be felt
by some to have been an unfortunate one to choose for the central
imposing figure in the design of the fresco. It is, perhaps, weak--too
good-looking in a commonplace style for such a subject.

Ruskin, on seeing the photograph of this work, wrote to Leighton (a
postscript to a letter): "I was much struck--seriously--by the
photograph from your fresco; it is wonderfully fine in action."

Leighton wrote to Steinle on receipt of his criticisms on the
Lyndhurst fresco:--

    _Translation._]
                                                  _3rd December._

    MY DEAR FRIEND,--Just now returned from a long journey (to
    Constantinople and Athens), I find two very welcome letters from
    you, by which I see with great pleasure that your old pupil may
    still reckon upon your invaluable friendship and sympathy, and I
    see it all the more certainly because you enclose a kind but
    pertinent criticism of the photographs I sent you.[31] I agree
    entirely, and can only pretend in my defence that it was
    difficult, with the long space (all having to be filled) and the
    altar standing in the middle of it, not to fall into rather a
    panic. That, after all, is but a lame excuse, and I hope that
    you will always rap me over the knuckles with the same friendly
    sincerity.

    My dear Friend, the idea of appearing as a collaborator beside
    you, my master, would be in the very highest degree delightful
    and flattering to me. It is therefore only after mature
    deliberation, and in the firm confidence that you will at least
    appreciate the sincerity of your Leighton, that I have to
    decline with real regret Herr Bruckmann's flattering invitation.
    _You_, more than any one else, will agree with me that an artist
    can execute no first-rate work, indeed dare undertake no work,
    that is not a genuine expression alike of his feelings and his
    convictions. I must candidly confess I cannot agree about a
    complete illustration of the Shakespearian plays, those
    masterpieces already in existence as _exhaustively finished_
    works of art; it seems to me that in literature only those
    subjects lend themselves to pictorial representation which stand
    in the written word more as _suggestion_. Subjects perhaps which
    are provided in the Bible or in mythology and tradition in great
    variety, or are not already generally in possession of the minds
    of the spectators of living plays (_e.g._ the Greek Tragedies).
    It is for the most part a struggle with the incomparable,
    already existing _complete_--which is quite intimidating to my
    capabilities. Do not take this ill, my dear Friend, and do not
    consider it too great a presumption that I, your pupil, declare
    so plainly against you where you think so differently. To go
    back over one detail, I must also confess that _to me_ a
    _coloured cartoon_ is not a natural mode of expression; a
    _drawn_, or a _grey in grey_ (grau in grau) painted
    cartoon--well enough. A size five feet high is to me, for a
    _suggestion_ of colour, at least five times too large; just as
    little could I give a suggestion of form in this size. Colour is
    not necessary; but if one should use it in half life-size, it is
    too noble and poetic, I think, for one to venture, so to speak,
    to clarify it. Will you forgive me for all this, dear master?
    However, I shall see with deep interest the progress of the
    beautiful work which you will certainly execute.

    I have heard with some sorrow of the burning of the venerable
    Dome, and am just writing to Otto Cornhill in respect to a
    lottery which is to be arranged for the re-erection of the
    tower.

    I have read what you tell me of your dear family with great
    pleasure; please remember me most kindly to your wife and
    children; also to my old comrades V. Mueller, Wecker, and the
    rest. I am very glad to hear that G. Wecker, the apostate, has
    returned to art. He was, undoubtedly still is, a very gifted
    man, but had to guard somewhat, had he not? against the
    _ornamental_.

    But my letter is becoming too long.

    Farewell, my dear Master; take nothing amiss from your grateful,
    devoted pupil,

                                                   FRED LEIGHTON.


                                               _Friday 10, 1864._

    DEAR PAPA,--You will be disappointed, after waiting so long, to
    receive no paper after all, and a skimpy note instead. I am
    amused at the studied ill-nature of the _Spectator_; I wonder
    who _V._ is. The author of an article on sensation pictures in
    the _Realm_, in which I am flatteringly quoted, is by Mrs.
    Norton. _En somme_ I think my "_Golden Hours_" is the most
    successful of my pictures (perhaps more than anything since
    "Cimabue") and the "Orpheus" (deservedly) the least. I am about
    to begin two new pictures. Mrs. Guthrie's portrait--a full
    length--is postponed for her health till the winter.


                                                            1864.

    I should not leave the place I am in except to build; a mended
    house would be most unsatisfactory and _temporary_. I feel sure
    I shall nowhere get standing room for a house for less than L28,
    still less room for a house and _large garden_. If I find the
    terms exactly as I expect and my lawyer (Nettleship) satisfied
    with the title I shall, I think, close the bargain, the more so
    that another painter (I don't know who) is after it.[32] I am
    staying for a day or two at Dangstein (Lady Dorothy Neville's).
    I met here last night Mr. Henry Woolfe, who very kindly offered
    me introductions to one or two charming Venetian families
    (Mocenigo) which will be very pleasant for me, as I want to see
    a Venetian interior. Gambart has paid the L1050 for "Dante." The
    "Honeymoon" was bought by a Cornhill dealer yclept Moreby.

    I will let you know how all goes off on Saturday at the Council,
    meanwhile best love to Mamma.--From your affectionate son,

                                                            FRED.


                                               _August 23, 1864._

    I found your letter on returning from Lyndhurst this morning. I
    may as well tell you at once that I have finished my fresco,
    retouching a great deal of what was already painted, and I think
    I may add, greatly improving it--so much for that.

    With regard to the draft, my assent was only general and
    preliminary (besides being subject to the approval in the
    details of my solicitor) and bound me to nothing. My surveyor
    and solicitor have conferred together and with Lady H.'s agent,
    and though the agreement is not yet signed, the matter is
    virtually settled. I have several minor clauses altered which
    had been inserted originally in the general draft to meet cases
    different from my own. With regard to the title, I was surprised
    and vexed to hear that it was stipulated that _no title should_
    be called for. My lawyer told me that this was frequently the
    case--that he would go to Doctors' Commons to see the Will to
    ascertain the truth of the statement that the property was Lady
    H.'s in fee simple (as it is). Even this he said did not
    _legally_ exhaust the matter, as there might be encumbrances not
    alluded to in the Will. He said, however, that many other leases
    had been granted on that property on precisely the same terms,
    that the matter turned on the character of the landlord, and
    that, _en somme_, I ran but little risk. _Since then_ I have
    seen him, and he tells me that he has fortunately been able to
    ascertain through a very respectable firm of solicitors, who
    _have_ seen the titles, that _it is all right_; he has therefore
    not thought it desirable to put me to the expense of
    investigating the Will--so far so good. As to the possible
    expense of the house, my dear Papa, you have taken, I assure
    you, false alarm. I shall indeed devote more to the
    architectural part of the building than _you_ would care to do;
    but in the first place architecture and much _ornament_ are not
    inseparable, and besides, whatever I do I shall undertake
    _nothing without an estimate_.

    You need never fear that I shall take otherwise than it is
    meant the advice that your experience and interest in me suggest
    to you. You will also, I am sure, allow for the difference of
    feeling between yourself and an artist who lives by his eyes.

    A line will find me at Venice, _poste restante_, all September.
    I am just off.

    Best love to Mammy.--From your affectionate son,

                                                            FRED.

    I knew neither _Poole_ nor _Jones_. Grant said he thought it
    probable I should be an R.A. before long.


                                     VENICE, _September 20, '64_.

    MY DEAR PAPA,--Many thanks for your letter, which reached me
    safely a few days ago. I do indeed contemplate building my house
    so as to be enlarged at a future day. I find, however, that I
    shall probably be obliged to build at once rather more than I
    absolutely require for practical building reasons, but I need
    not therefore furnish more than I require. About the well I am
    now entirely in the dark. It would never have occurred to me to
    ask myself the question, Are there not _pipes_ or something?
    With regard to the Will, if the perusal of it only cost a
    guinea, it might have been worth while to look at it, though
    Palmer and Nettleship thought it superfluous; but then P. and N.
    tell me it would cost L20! to have it gone over, and as my
    expenses with Browne (Lady H.'s agent) are already very
    great--he makes a preposterous charge, _which I can't dispute_,
    for the agreement--I don't think I shall care to add to them.

    My architect is Aitchison, an old friend.

    I wrote to the Academicians (Poole, Grant, and Jones) almost
    immediately on hearing from them, and expressed a hope, vague
    but polite, that we might meet on my return. _Poole_ I should
    like to know; he is a man of poetic mind. I need scarcely tell
    you that the idea of my being elected President (!!!) for many
    years to come is simply _ludicrous_, even if there is a chance
    of my ever having the offer of that dignity.

    I am quite aware that people do talk of it _laughingly_, but I
    don't think it goes beyond "chaff" yet. No doubt many other
    young artists are chaffed in the same way with imaginary
    dignities. I am delighted that Mamma is better; I should have
    said this before but that I have answered your letter
    systematically. I trust the improvement will be lasting.

    I congratulate you on Colenso's visit, and shall be very anxious
    to hear from you how it went off.

    As for myself, I am very snugly ensconced in a little mezzanino
    on the Grand Canal, with a sort of passage which I use as a
    studio and a bath-room, inasmuch as it opens straight on the
    water, and enables me to take a very jolly swim every day. I am
    not attempting a picture, but am making a sketch for one which I
    shall probably paint on the spot next autumn, staying here a
    couple of months or so. Meanwhile I have got several heads in
    hand--_studies_, _not_ for _sale_, for use--and a few sketches in
    Saint Mark's, which I think promise well. _Et voila._

    I stay here a fortnight longer, so that a letter written on
    receipt of this would still catch me; after that _Rome_ is the
    safest address. I shall be there from the 20th to the 28th of
    October.

    Best love to Mamma, and believe me, your affectionate son,

                                                            FRED.

In the preceding letters mention is made of the final arrangements for
the building of Leighton's house in Holland Park Road. Mr. George
Aitchison, R.A., his old friend, undertook to be the architect. It was
begun in 1865, and first occupied by Leighton in 1866.

Referring to opinions expressed regarding Florentine Art, past and
present, Leighton wrote to his younger sister: "----'s remark about
----, if I remember it, was utter bosh and pedantry. The Florentines
of the end of the fifteenth century were _emphatically_ realists,
though their realism was animated by a higher genius and a deeper
humanity than the modern Italians exhibit, though _they_, by-the-bye,
are mostly not _realists_ but mannerists. The chief characteristic of
English Art is (I speak of course of the better men) originality and
humanity on the one hand, and on the other, absence of acquired
knowledge and guiding taste. Some day I will write you a lot more
about it."

Fully launched into the English art world, deeply interested in every
phase of sincere work produced by contemporary brother artists,
Leighton nevertheless adhered in his own practice to the views and
principles which he held from the time he became Steinle's devoted
pupil. To a question which referred to his art development, asked by
Mrs. Mark Pattison when she was about to write an account of his life
in 1879, Leighton answered, "I can only speak of what is not a
_change_ but virtually a growth, the passage from Gothicism to
Classicism (for want of better words) _i.e._ a growth from
multiplicity to simplicity. Artists' manners are not changed by
books!" "As regards English artists," he writes in the same letter, "I
can only of course speak with great reserve. Elmore treated me with
marked kindness, lending me a studio. Millais, Rossetti, Hunt were
most cordial and friendly, though I openly told them I was wholly
opposed to their views; but, indeed, few men have more cause to speak
well of their brethren."

The artistic events of the years 1862, 1863, and 1864 culminated in
Leighton being elected an Associate of the Royal Academy. His old
friend, Mr. George Aitchison, wrote at the time of Leighton's death:
"In 1860 he took a studio at Orme Square, Bayswater. It was during
this time that his conversation was so brilliant and so free from
restraint. I remember a summer afternoon I spent with him, Mason, and
Murch on the terrace at the Crystal Palace, when he gave vent to the
freest criticism on books, artists, philosophy, science, and the
methods of teaching, and deplored the waste of time to students of
making large chalk studies, when everything that was wanted could be
shown on a sheet of smooth paper, seven inches high, with a hard
pencil. He was a great admirer of Boxall and his delicate painting, of
Mr. Watts' and Sir E. Burne-Jones' work, and persuaded the last two to
join the Royal Academy. In 1864 he was made an A.R.A., and after this
he became very cautious of expressing any but the most general
opinions on contemporary English art, as his remarks generally got
into the papers."

"Eucharis," 1863; "Dante at Verona," and "Golden Hours," 1864, are
three works which might be placed in the first rank of Leighton's
achievements. In the following letters references are made to the
pictures:--

                                                _April 29, 1863._

    DEAR MAMMY,--I have just been to the R.A., having been invited
    to the "Varnishing Day." _Four_ pictures are hung--"Elijah,"
    _high_, of course, but in a centre place; it looks well, but
    _much_ darker than in the studio. "Peacock Girl,"[33] very well
    hung, exactly where "The Vision" was a few years ago; it looks
    well. "The Crossbowman" and "The Girl with the Fruit"[34] are
    fairly hung, but look, to me, less well than in the studio. The
    "Salome"[35] is the one not taken. Altogether I am well treated.

In the following letters from Ruskin his interest is expressed in the
pictures exhibited in the Academy of 1863, and for the "Romola"
illustrations:--

    MY DEAR LEIGHTON,--I've only just had time to look in,
    yesterday, at R. Ac., and your pictures are the only ones that
    interest me in it; and the two pretty ones, peacocks and basket,
    interest me much. Ahab I don't much like. You know you, like all
    people good for anything in this age and country (as far as
    Palmerston), are still a boy--and a boy can't paint Elijah. But
    the pretty girls are very nice--very _nearly_ beautiful. I can't
    say more, can I? If once they _were_ beautiful, they would be
    immortal too. But if I don't pitch into you when I get hold of
    you again for not drawing your Canephora's basket as well as her
    head and hair! You got out of the scrape about the circle of it
    by saying you wanted it hung out of sight (which _I_ don't). But
    the meshes are all wrong--_inelegantly_ wrong--which is
    unpardonable. I believe a Japanese would have done it better.
    Thanks for nice book on Japan with my name Japanned. _It_ is
    very nice too. I wish the woodcuts were bigger. I should like it
    so much better in a little octavo with big woodcuts on every
    other page. But I never do anything but grumble.--Faithfully
    yours,

                                                       J. RUSKIN.


    MY DEAR LEIGHTON,--The public voice respecting the lecture you
    are calumniously charged with, is as wise as usual. The lecture
    is an excellent and most interesting one, and I am very sorry it
    is not yours.

    I am also very sorry the basket _is_ yours, in spite of the very
    pretty theory of accessories. It is proper that an accessory be
    slightly--sometimes even, in a measure, badly--painted, but not
    that it should be out of perspective; and in the greatest men,
    their enjoyment and power animated the very dust under the feet
    of their figures--much more the baskets on their heads: above
    all things, what comes near a head should be studied in every
    line.

    There is nothing more notable to my mind in the minor tricks of
    the great Venetians than the exquisite perspective of bandeaux,
    braids, garlands, jewels, flowers, or anything else which aids
    the _roundings_ of their heads.

    It is my turn to claim Browning for you, though I know what your
    morning time is to you. I must have you over here one of these
    summer mornings, if it be but to look at some dashes in sepia by
    Reynolds, and a couple of mackerel by Turner--which, being
    principals instead of accessories, I hope you will permit to be
    well done, though they're not as pretty as peacocks.

    I have been watching the "Romola" plates with interest. The one
    of the mad old man with dagger seemed to me a marvellous study
    (of its kind), and I feel the advancing power in all.

    Will you tell me any day you could come--any hour--and I'll try
    for Browning.--Ever faithfully yours,

                                                       J. RUSKIN.

    I'm always wickeder in the morning than at night, because I'm
    fresh; so I'll try, this morning, to relieve your mind about the
    peacocks. To my sorrow, I know more of peacocks than girls, as
    you know more of girls than peacocks--and I assure you solemnly
    the fowls are quite as unsatisfactory to me as the girl can
    possibly be to you; so unsatisfactory, that if I could have
    painted them as well as you could, and _had_ painted them as
    ill, I should have painted them out.[36]


                                                        _Monday._

    DEAR LEIGHTON,--I saw Browning last night; and he said he
    couldn't come till Thursday week: but do you think it would put
    you quite off your work if you came out here early on Friday and
    I drove you into Kensington as soon as you liked? We have enough
    to say and look at, surely, for two mornings--one by ourselves?

    I want, seriously, for one thing to quit you of one impression
    respecting me. You are quite right--"ten times right"--in saying
    I never focus criticism. Was there ever criticism worth
    adjustment? The light is so ugly, it deserves no lens, and I
    never use one. But you never, on the other hand, have observed
    sufficiently that in such rough focussing as I give it, I
    measure faults not by their greatness, but their avoidableness.
    A man's great faults are natural to him--inevitable; if _very_
    great--undemonstrable, deep in the innermost of things. I never
    or rarely speak of them. They must be forgiven, or the picture
    left. But a common fault in perspective is not to be so passed
    by. You may not tell your friend, but with deepest reserve, your
    thoughts of the conduct of his life, but you tell him, if he has
    an ugly coat, to change his tailor, without fear of his
    answering that you don't focus your criticism. Now it so happens
    that I am in deep puzzlement and thought about some conditions
    of your work and its way, which, owing to my ignorance of many
    things in figure painting, are not likely to come to any good or
    speakable conclusion. But it would be partly presumptuous and
    partly vain to talk of these; hence that silence you spoke of
    when I saw you last. I wish I had kept it all my life, and
    learned, in place, to do the little I could have done, and enjoy
    the much I might have enjoyed.--Ever faithfully yours,

                                                       J. RUSKIN.

    Send me a line saying if you will give me the Friday morning,
    and fix your own hour for breakfast to be ready; and never mind
    if you are late, for I can't give you pretty things that spoil
    for waiting, anyhow.

Leighton writes to his mother:--

    I had a kind note this morning from Ruskin, in which, after
    criticising two or three things, he speaks very warmly of other
    points in my work and of the development of what he calls
    "enormous power and sense of beauty." I quote this for what it
    is worth, because I know it will give you pleasure, but I have
    NOT and _never shall have_ "enormous power," though I have some
    "sense of beauty." The "Orpheus" and "Golden Hours" are not in
    the _great_ room but in the next to it. I have not seen Gambart
    lately, and do not, therefore, know whether he has got rid of
    any more of my pictures (by-the-bye, I have sent the
    "duet"--"Johnny"--to America to an Exhibition for the Sanitary
    Commission, on the request of Mrs. Kemble's daughter). He will,
    _I think_, engrave the "Honeymoon," but probably only photograph
    the others; by-the-bye (again), Mammy, tell Gussy with my love
    that I shall present her with a copy of each and shall not
    "_think her greedy_," having no thoughts for her but
    affectionate ones. With regard to the money paid me by Gambart,
    I invested as soon as I got it L1000 in Eastern Counties Railway
    _debentures_, at par, 4-1/2 per cent., this on the advance of
    Coutts' stock clerk. Lord Ashburton's portrait was scarcely
    begun.[37] I have offered to try to finish _tant bien que mal_
    from photographs, and to _give_ it to Lady A. She is very
    grateful. The child's picture also goes to the wall, as she
    won't be able to sit for some time, and would then be _changed_.
    Lady A. wanted to pay the price of the sketch as it stood; this
    I of course refused. She has commissioned me to paint her a
    fancy picture for L300.

Leighton was for five years an Associate before being elected a full
member of the Royal Academy in 1869. During these years the number of
important pictures he exhibited each season notably increased. In at
least twelve of these works the many-sided Leighton is worthily
represented--"Dante at Verona,"[38] "Golden Hours," "David,"
"Syracusan Bride" (exhibited at the Royal Academy in 1866 and in the
Paris International Exhibition in 1868), "Helen of Troy,"[39]
"Greek Girl Dancing," "Venus Disrobing from the Bath," "Ariadne
Abandoned by Theseus, Ariadne Watches for his Return, Artemis Releases
Her by Death," "Actaea, the Nymph of the Shore," "Daedalus and Icarus,"
"Electra at the Tomb of Agamemnon," "Helios and Rhodos." The extreme
variety from every point of view which exists in this group of twelve
pictures, chosen from the twenty-six paintings and the numerous
sketches executed in these five years, would be a proof in itself, if
one were needed, of Leighton's extraordinary versatility as regards
the _motives_ of his pictures.

    [Illustration: "GREEK GIRL DANCING." 1867
    By permission of Mr. Phillipson]

    [Illustration: DRAWING FOR THE PAINTING "A PASTORAL." 1866
    Leighton House Collection]

In the spring of 1865, after years of delicate health, Mrs. Leighton
at the last died suddenly, at her home in Bath. At the time Leighton
was staying at Sandringham where he received a telegram announcing her
death, and on the same day he joined his family at Bath. It has been
said that, as long as a man is blessed by possessing a mother, he
still retains the blessing of being--in the eyes of one person at
least--a child. To Leighton's tender-hearted nature this blessing was
a very real one, as is testified by his correspondence with his
mother.[40] The first chapter of Leighton's life seems, in a sense,
only to end with this great sorrow.

    _Translation._]
                                               FRANKFURT AM MAIN,
                                                _April 30, 1865_.

    DEAREST FRIEND,--As your last friendly lines of 14th March did
    not bring your address, I grasp the opportunity offered me by
    Mr. Tobie Andre to express to you my heartfelt sympathy on the
    loss of your dear mother. I remember that you often spoke to me
    of this mother with true filial affection, and I have secretly
    blessed you for it; I know now also that you will treasure her
    memory!--Always, your truly devoted,

                                                         STEINLE.


FOOTNOTES:

[26] See Appendix, "Lord Leighton's Sketches."

[27] See page 59, vol. ii., poem, Leighton's "Francesca di Rimini," by
R.A.

[28] Head painted on the wall of the Vestry of Highnam Church--since
destroyed.

[29] "Eucharis."

[30] Sir Hubert Parry writes: "I remember Leighton made a practical
test of my father's medium by painting a fine dashing sketch of a head
on the wall of the Vestry at Highnam Church. I used to admire it
greatly. Unfortunately that Vestry was pulled down; and though efforts
were made to preserve the sketch by cutting a great piece of plaster
out of the wall, I understand that during the many years when I was
hardly ever at Highnam, the plaster crumbled and collapsed." See letter
to Steinle.

[31] Photographs of the Lyndhurst fresco.

[32] The ground on which Leighton built his house, 2 Holland Park Road,
now preserved for the public.

[33] "Girl feeding Peacocks" (see sketches in Leighton House
Collection). Leighton painted a small and exquisite water-colour on
ivory of the picture, which was sold at Christie's after his death.

[34] "Eucharis."

[35] See List of Illustrations: reproduction from sketch in Leighton
House.

Mr. Frith, R.A., wrote the following respecting the rejection of
"Salome":--

                              10 PEMBRIDGE VILLAS, BAYSWATER, W.,
                                                _April 29, 1863_.

    MY DEAR LEIGHTON,--We have been unable to hang one of your best
    pictures--not because it was an excellent work, as the profane
    world would say--but because we had already placed so many of
    your pictures that the space due to Leighton was more than
    exhausted. M.C. Mortlake called us over the coals dreadfully on
    your behalf, but I, for one, resisted his arguments, and I
    believe you have to blame me for your picture being returned to
    you. I should have said nothing about the matter, but for the
    fear that I might be thought so stupid as not to see the merit
    of your work. Pray believe that my motive was a good one, and
    that I have tried to do what is right to you and to the
    rest.--Ever, dear Leighton, faithfully yours,

                                                      W.P. FRITH.

[36] Ruskin would not, I believe, have spoken thus of the peacocks in
the exquisite water-colour on ivory--presumably a sketch in colour for
the picture.

[37] Refers to Lord Ashburton's death.

[38] This picture illustrates the verses in the _Paradiso_:--

                  "Thou shalt prove
    How salt the savour is of others' bread;
    How hard the passage, to descend and climb
    By others' stairs. But that shall gall thee most
    Will be the worthless and vile company
    With whom thou must be thrown into the straits,
    For all ungrateful, impious all and mad
    Shall turn against thee."

"Dante, in fulfilment of this prophecy, is seen descending the palace
stairs of the Can Grande, at Verona, during his exile. He is dressed in
sober grey and drab clothes, and contrasts strongly in his ascetic and
suffering aspect with the gay revellers about him. The people are
preparing for a festival, and splendidly and fantastically robed, some
bringing wreaths of flowers. Bowing with mock reverence, a jester gibes
at Dante. An indolent sentinel is seated at the porch, and looks on
unconcernedly, his spear lying across his breast. A young man, probably
acquainted with the writings of Dante, sympathises with him. In the
centre and just before the feet of Dante, is a beautiful child,
brilliantly dressed and crowned with flowers, and dragging along the
floor a garland of bay leaves and flowers, while looking earnestly and
innocently in the poet's face. Next come a pair of lovers, the lady
looking at Dante with attention, the man heedless. The last wears a
vest embroidered with eyes like those in a peacock's tail. A priest and
a noble descend the stairs behind, jeering at Dante."--_Athenaeum_,
April 1864.

The following expresses the admiration of a brother artist, Richard
Doyle, for the exiled "Dante":--

                                  54 CLIFTON GARDENS, MAIDA HILL,
                                                 _April 5, 1864_.

    MY DEAR LEIGHTON,--I feel so awkward whenever I attempt to
    praise a man's works to his face, and I felt that you,
    yesterday, were so likely to be bored with the repetition of
    similar speeches from your large influx of visitors, that at the
    moment of my going I could not bring myself to say what I wished
    to say--how much I liked your pictures. To-day, however, when
    "Dante" and "Orpheus," and the music and drawing parties are
    before my mind as vividly as they were yesterday before my eyes
    in your studio, I cannot resist sending you a few lines to say
    what pleasure my visit gave me, although I was "without words."

    The "Dante" seemed to me a very impressive picture, and I think
    one of the most important as well as most successful of your
    works, historical in a higher sense than the mere representation
    of an event--an illustration of the man and the time. I could
    mention many of the figures that especially pleased me, but, for
    beauty, can only single out that most delightful little child in
    the foreground, toddling at the feet of Dante, laden with
    flowers, the childhood and innocence of whose whole figure and
    face, although we do not see the face, contrasts so beautifully
    with the worn, ascetic, melancholy Poet. I think these two are a
    poem in themselves.

    The lady in the "drawing lesson" struck me as a charming figure,
    so graceful, and the painting of her dress as a perfect piece of
    work. The lady leaning over the instrument in the "music"
    ("Golden Hours") subject is also a great favourite of mine.

    The "Orpheus," although there is a great deal to admire in it, I
    don't think I liked so well as the others. Perhaps it is that
    the classic subject does not come home to me, but I say this
    doubtingly, feeling that it is a picture that would very likely
    grow upon me.

    Anyhow, I end by offering you my most hearty
    congratulations.--Most sincerely yours,

                                                   RICHARD DOYLE.

[39] Referring to Leighton's painting of "Helen of Troy," exhibited in
1865, Mr. Martin Tupper wrote:--

                                      ALBURY HOUSE, NR. GUILFORD,
                                                  _May 23, 1865_.

    DEAR SIR,--It is just possible that the following few words of
    comment upon your wonderfully spiritualised "Helen of Troy" may
    be acceptable to you from the undersigned.

    The "Helen" of Euripides is very little read amongst us, and yet
    it is as strangely sensational as "The Woman in White": there
    being two Helens in the play, the real substantial wife
    remaining faithful to Menelaus in the island of Pharos, while
    Juno gives to Paris--out of jealous rage at him for his
    "judgment" in favour of Venus--"an image composed of ether" in
    the likeness of Helen.

    This Ethereal Presence you have so exquisitely portrayed that it
    is probable you know the play! only that I think you would then
    have quoted from it in the R.A. catalogue, in explanation of
    what confuses some of your ignorant reviewers as to this
    embodied spirit.

    The counterfeit Helen was of "unsubstantial air," a figure
    marvellously rendered in your picture, and which I can fully
    appreciate: and you quote a very apposite passage from Lord
    Derby's "Homer," as that which you illustrate; but if there are
    reprints of the catalogue, I would suggest the addition of a
    line from Euripides, as thus:--

        "Juno to Paris gave me--yet not me,
         But in my semblance formed a living image
         Composed of ether."
                                   WODHALL'S _Eur. Hel._

    If haply you do not know the book, inquire at Longman's for the
    fifth volume of the Greek Tragic Theatre (in English); or,
    should you prefer it, of course it is extant in the Greek. If
    not easily attainable in London, I shall be happy to lend you
    the volume by post. Congratulating you on your difficult and
    exquisite achievement--I am, dear sir, truly yours,

                                                MARTIN F. TUPPER.
    F. LEIGHTON, Esq.

[40]

                                                WARNFORD COTTAGE,
                                                BISHOP'S WALTHAM.

    MY DEAR MR. LEIGHTON,--I was very sorry indeed when I returned
    to Park Place on Sunday evening and found that you had been so
    kind as to call upon me.

    I have not ventured to intrude upon you in your late affliction
    with the expression of a sympathy which cannot have much value
    for you, but had I seen you when you called I should hardly have
    refrained from telling you how sincerely I feel for your
    sorrow.--Pray believe me, yours always most truly,

                                                    FANNY KEMBLE.
    WARNFORD, _Thursday, 2nd_.


                                                     FOREST BANK,
                                                       LYNDHURST.

    MY DEAR LEIGHTON,--I cannot let the post go out without offering
    you my sincere sympathy on your loss. I know how deeply attached
    you were to your mother, and am very sure the bereavement is a
    heavy grief to you. You are right in saying that to me your
    sorrow comes especially home. My mother sends you her
    affectionate love, and we both beg you to remember that,
    whenever you have a few spare days and want quiet, you must
    consider this home as a temporary home.--Believe me always, in
    all affection, yours,

                                                   HAMILTON AIDE.


    MY DEAR LEIGHTON,--I must write to you to express the grief both
    myself and my wife felt on hearing of the loss which has
    befallen you. I am well aware that no words can afford
    consolation against such afflictions, but I should be sorry if
    you had construed silence into want of sympathy. If you have
    time I should be glad to hear from you, and to know how may be
    your father, from whom I have received on every occasion so much
    kindness. You have much distress to go through, for death has
    recently touched you in many ways by striking your own family,
    your friends, and imperilling others to a degree that must have
    inspired every pain it can produce.

    Good-bye, my dear Leighton; remember me to your father, and
    express to him my deep sympathy with him in his
    misfortune.--Yours ever affectionately,

                                                 W.C. CARTWRIGHT.
    PALAZZI GIORGI, ROME,
      _January 31_.


                                           13 EATON PLACE (WEST),
                                     _Tuesday, January 17, 1865_.

    MY DEAR LEIGHTON,--I heard at the Marqs', on Sunday, of your
    late bereavement; and, as perhaps the one of all your many
    friends whose mind the most habitually dwells among thoughts of
    loss and deprivation, I can assure you of thought of it with
    sincere concern and sympathy, and just write a line to say so.
    There is nothing to be said, I well know, which is of any
    immediate good or alleviation, and time only strengthens
    affectionate recollection: but after a time, among gentler
    thoughts which will come, I hope you will, as you may justly,
    find comfort in thinking that your mother's life was spared so
    as to permit her to be cheered by the certainty of your success.
    This is much--especially to a woman's heart.--Faithfully and
    sincerely yours,

                                                HENRY J. CHORLEY.




CHAPTER III

JOURNEYS TO THE EAST--CONSTANTINOPLE--SMYRNA--ATHENS--DIARY "UP THE
NILE TO PHYLAE"

1866-1869


Leighton visited Spain in 1866. There exists apparently no letters or
written record of this journey, but he made many sketches remarkable
for strong and characteristic colouring.

The letter written to Mrs. Mark Pattison in 1879, already quoted,
contains an amusing endeavour on Leighton's part to date the various
journeys he had made in answer to questions she had asked.

    "I am sorely perplexed to answer this; I can only approach an
    answer by a sort of _memoria technica_. I made studies in
    Algiers for 'Samson Agonistes'; that will give you roughly the
    period. 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 alluded to as 'The Niggers'], which was
    thought very well of by my friends. To Spain (into which I had
    made a raid of a few days on a previous occasion when visiting
    the South of France for architecture, to which I am much
    devoted) I went the year of the cholera. I remember this because
    I was going to Constantinople, but was dissuaded by a friend
    there because of the ravages of that epidemic. The following
    year I _did_ go: Vienna, Danube, Varna, Constantinople, Broussa,
    Smyrna, Rhodes, Athens (the greatest architectural emotion of my
    life, by far), &c. This was the year _before_ those poor young
    Englishmen were murdered on Pentelicus, up which I had been
    with _the same_ guide. My visit to Egypt, and up the Nile on a
    steamer, given me by the Khedive, was a year before the opening
    of the Suez Canal; I rode over the Salt Lakes with Mons. de
    Lesseps and a party of his friends. Damascus a year before I
    exhibited the 'Jew's House,' I _think_. Spain, revisited, and
    Morocco, the year before last. This is a roundabout way of
    getting about dates, but, contrary to my expectation, I think I
    have contrived to fix all the chief journeys approximately."

In 1867 Leighton wrote to his father:--

                                        LLOYD STEAMER "ADRIATIC,"
                                             _November 28, 1867_.

    MY DEAR PAPA,--As I am likely to be busy during my very short
    stay in Venice, where I hope to find a letter from you, I take
    advantage of the leisure which I find in excess on board this
    steamer to begin an epistle which, however, I shall not close
    till I have seen yours, in case anything in the latter should
    require an answer. Of course my getting to the end of even this
    first page depends upon the state of my feelings--physical, not
    moral, for I am a poor sailor at best. I told you, I believe, in
    my last how much I had enjoyed and, as I hope, profited by my
    stay in Rhodes and Lindos. I am uncertain whether I added that I
    had received great kindness and attention from our consul and
    his brothers, and also from one or two other gentlemen with whom
    I became acquainted. Through the assistance of Mr. Biliotti (our
    consul) I had an opportunity, which could never present itself
    again, of buying a number of beautiful specimens of old Persian
    _faience_ (Lindos ware), chiefly plates, which will make a
    delightful addition to my collection of Eastern china and
    pottery. I know that you, personally, care little for such
    things, and have small sympathy with purchases of that nature;
    you will, therefore, be glad to hear that though I spent a
    considerable sum, knowing that such a chance would never again
    be given me, I could, _any day_, part with the whole lot for at
    least double--probably treble--what I gave.

    The weather, which was very beautiful at the beginning--indeed
    during the greater part of my stay in the Island--was not
    faithful to me to the end; it broke up a few days before my
    departure, and, to my very great regret, prevented my painting
    certain studies which I was very anxious to take home: on the
    other hand, I had opportunities of studying effects of a
    different nature, so that I can hardly call myself much the
    loser as far as my work in Rhodes was concerned. In Athens,
    however, the effect of the absolute instability of the weather
    (an instability of which I have never seen the like anywhere)
    was that I left that place almost empty-handed, although I
    stayed there a week longer than I had originally intended. If,
    however, I got through little or no work, I had infinite
    enjoyment in the frequent and unvaried study and contemplation
    of the ruins on the Acropolis. Familiar as I was, from casts and
    photographs, with the sculptures and some part of the
    architecture which I found there, my expectations were very
    highly wrought, but it is impossible to anticipate, nor shall I
    attempt to describe, the impression which these magnificent
    works produce when seen together and under their own sky.
    Indeed, it is quite strange how one seems to read with new eyes
    things which one conceived oneself to have understood thoroughly
    before. The scenery about Athens, depending a good deal on
    effects of light, only rarely displayed its full beauty during
    my stay; sufficiently often, however, for me to see that it is
    of exquisite beauty, and that that part of it described by Byron
    in certain favourite lines of yours does not receive full
    justice at his hands. I had letters, as you probably knew, to
    Mr. Erskine, our Minister, and to Mr. Finlay, the historian;
    both of them received me with the greatest cordiality and
    kindness, as did also two or three other persons with whom I
    became acquainted, so that my stay was socially agreeable as
    well as artistically delightful; but herewith ends my journey,
    for heavy weather, rain, sleet, fog and the rest prevented my
    seeing any of the scenery of the Gulf of Lepanto, which I might
    as well not have visited, and although I passed Zante,
    Cephalonia, and Corfu under rather more favourable skies, I did
    not see them to advantage--_ce sera pour une autrefois_. Your
    letter, which I have found on my arrival, and for which thanks,
    does not call for any particular reply beyond that I have
    painted _no_ figures, though I might have been tempted by
    several fine heads I saw, but time only sufficed for my
    landscape studies, which in this journey were my chief care. The
    extract from the _Saturday Review_, which is highly flattering,
    was shown me by Mr. Finlay in Athens.

    Of Venice I have nothing to say, except that my first impression
    of the Gallery, coming as I did straight from the Parthenon, was
    that everything but the very _finest_ pictures was wanting in
    dignity and beauty, and was _artificial_. I was much surprised
    myself, as the Venetian school always exercises a great
    fascination over me. You may infer from that what an impression
    of beauty Athenian Art has left on me. I was incessantly
    reminded, in looking both at the sculpture and architecture of
    the Acropolis, of the admirable words which Thucydides puts into
    the mouth of Pericles: those are the beginning and the end of
    the Greek artistic nature.

    I shall be in London by the 10th, and right glad to get home
    again--meanwhile, with best love to Taily.--I remain, your
    affectionate son,

                                                            FRED.
    VENICE, HOTEL DE L'EUROPE.

    [Illustration: SKETCH WITH DONKEY. EGYPT. 1868]

Respecting the knowledge Leighton possessed of the Greek language, he
wrote in a letter to a friend, "In Greek I never got beyond Homer and
Anacreon. I have just retained this, that, having read a passage in a
translation (I generally read Homer in _German_ or _Latin_), I am able
to feel, on referring to the original, its superiority to the foreign
rendering."

In 1868 the great desire which Leighton for many years had felt to see
Egypt was gratified. In October of that year he wrote to his father
from Cairo:--

    _Beginning of letter missing._]

    I find that the Prince (the Prince of Wales) asked him in the
    said letter to introduce me as a personal friend of his to the
    Viceroy, adding that he would be obliged by anything he (Col.
    Stanton) could do for me. This was more than I had expected
    from what Col. Tait also had written me. Well, to make a long
    story short, I communicated to Col. S. the ambitious desires
    that Smart had stirred up in me, assuring him, however, that I
    should never have dreamt of entertaining them of my own accord.
    He took my case in hand at once, by asking for an audience,
    which the Viceroy granted as soon as he should have returned to
    Cairo; he was too busy to see me at Alexandria. Meanwhile Col.
    Stanton hinted to the secretary of H.H. what my wish was, but
    nothing was said to the Viceroy himself. Wednesday being fixed
    for my reception, I went to his palace of Abbassia with Col. S.,
    and was there received in a pavilion in the open air, which
    overlooked a tract of country covered with tents in which some
    5000 men were quartered. Round His Highness' pavilion were the
    tents of his chief ministers in attendance. It was rather a
    picturesque sight. The Viceroy was alone, and, having received
    us very courteously, and asked after the health of the P. and
    Pcess. of Wales, made us sit down. He then clapped his hands,
    and on a word from him long _tchibouques_ were brought, of which
    the amber mouthpieces were enriched with enormous diamonds and
    emeralds. A little conversation on general matters then followed
    between him and Col. S., after which he questioned me about my
    projects; and after asking whether he could assist me, and Col.
    S. throwing out a little hint about a steam tug to get me on
    quicker, he said, "Would you not rather have a steamer to go in?
    it is the same to me, and you will be more comfortable." Here
    Col. Stanton, very judiciously and promptly, said he was sure
    the P. of Wales would be much gratified by this mark of favour
    to me; so that I have only to name the day, and the vessel will
    be at my orders, and I shall do all I wish in _half the time_,
    or less, it would otherwise have taken me. I bowed myself out
    with my best thanks, and went home much pleased at my good
    fortune and at everybody's kindness. I should not forget to say
    also that Mr. Ross (Lady Duff Gordon's son-in-law, you know) was
    full of _empressement_ and kindness to me, and Lady D.G. lent me
    a gun for the Nile. I start in ten days or thereabouts, and hope
    before that to hear from you, for no letters will follow me and
    I shall lose sight of everybody for nearly two months. I will
    write again before I start; meanwhile, when you write which it
    will be no use your doing till _November_, address, please New
    Hotel, Cairo, Egypt.

    And believe me, meanwhile, with best love to Taily, your affte.
    son,

                                                            FRED.

Happily, while Leighton lost sight "of everybody for nearly two
months," he kept the following diary:--

    _Wednesday, October 14, 1868._--Went on board, dined and slept.

    _Thursday, 15th._--Started at about 7 A.M. There had been a
    storm in the night, and the east was still heavy with clouds;
    but the western sky was pure and soft.

    At about ten caught up the Sterlings, becalmed in their
    dahabyeh; their crew was making a futile attempt to tow them
    against the current. I let out a rope and tugged them as far as
    Benisoef, which, owing to the additional weight, I did not reach
    till Friday morning (16th).

    The first day's journey up the Nile is enchanting, and I enjoyed
    it thoroughly. The sky was bright, but tempered by a glimmering
    haze which produced the loveliest effects; those of the early
    morning were the most striking. The course of the river being
    nearly due north, the western bank was glowing in varied sunny
    lights; the other seemed made up of shadowy veils of gauze
    fainting gradually towards the horizon. The boats that passed on
    the left, dark in the blaze of light, looked, with their
    outspread wings, like large moths of dusky brown; those on the
    right shone against the violet sky like gilded ivory. The
    keynote of this landscape is a soft, variant, fawn-coloured
    brown, than which nothing could take more gratefully the warm
    glow of sunlight or the cool purple mystery of shadow; the
    latter perhaps especially, deep and powerful near the eye (the
    local brown slightly overruling the violet), but fading as it
    receded into tints exquisitely vague, and so faint that they
    seem rather to belong to the sky than to the earth. At this time
    of year the broad coffee-coloured sweep of the river is bordered
    on either side by a fillet of green of the most extraordinary
    vivacity, but redeemed from any hint of crudity by the golden
    light which inundates it. The brightest green is that of the
    Indian corn--the softest and most luminous that of an exquisite
    grass, tall as pampas (perhaps it _is_ a kind of pampas, I have
    not seen it close yet), and like it crowned with a beautiful
    plume-like blossom of the most delicate hue; seen against a dark
    shady bank, and with the sun shining through it, it shimmers
    with the sheen of gossamer.

    Frequent villages animate the river's edge; they are built of
    unbaked bricks coated with mud, and have a most striking effect.
    The simplicity and variety of the shapes of the houses, with
    their slightly sloping sides and flat roofs, give them a certain
    dignity in their picturesqueness which delights me; the colour,
    too, is particularly agreeable, and is the most beautiful foil
    to the bronze-brown of the naked, or nearly naked, fellaheen and
    the indigo of the robes of their wives; to the sparkling white
    of the doves that swarm in the gardens, and to the cinder-colour
    of the buffaloes that wink and snooze along the bank. Every
    village nestles in a dense grove of date-palms, and one cannot
    conceive a lovelier harmony than that which is made by the
    combination of the browns below with the sea-green of the
    sweeping branches and the flame-like orange of the fruit. The
    acacia (here a large, massive tree, with a vigorous dark green
    foliage) is frequent in the villages.

    The shape of the hills and mountains is very peculiar and
    striking. It gives the idea of a choppy sea of sand thrown up
    into abrupt peaks and then uniformly truncated by a sweep of a
    vast scythe, sweeping everything from horizon to horizon. Here
    and there a little peak, too low to be embraced in the general
    decapitation, raises its head amongst innumerable table-lands
    and gives great value and relief to the general outline.

    Meanwhile an occasional train and not infrequent lines of
    telegraph poles don't add to the poetry of the scene.

    Nor the flies to one's comfort! What a curse they are! they
    _infest_ one's face. I wonder what the epiderm of Egyptian
    children is made of; you see babies with a dozen flies settled,
    no, stuck, embedded in and round each of their eyes, and as many
    in and about their noses and mouths; and they make no attempt to
    remove them--seem absolutely unconscious of them.

    Scenery this afternoon less interesting--river wider--banks more
    monotonous.

    Opposite a place called Magaga, some fine mountains on the east
    bank, scored with innumerable horizontal lines marking the
    monotonous parallel strata of which they are composed; a
    characteristic peculiarity in all the Egyptian hills I have seen
    as yet. (The finest in outline are the Quarries opposite
    Sakkara, on the right bank, and like those behind the Citadel at
    Cairo.)

    Spent the night at a village called Kolosana, not having made
    Minyeh owing to delay at Benisoef, where we coaled, and took
    leave of the Sterlings, with whom I breakfasted. The sunset
    before reaching Kolosana was magnificent, like a sunset at sea;
    almost as grand in its simplicity. Between the broad flaming sky
    and the broad flaming river there was only a long narrow strip
    of dark bronze-green bank, that seemed to burst into flame where
    the almost white hot sun sank scowling behind it. The after-glow
    was also very fine, though less grand than I should have
    expected. The sky was of a deep violet, and the distant rolling
    sand-tracks wore the most mysterious tints, faint, glimmering,
    uncanny, vague fawn colours, pale dun browns, and ghostly pinks.

    _Saturday, 17th._--Started at dawn, and arrived at Minyeh about
    eight o'clock.

    Stayed two hours and coaled.

    Obeying the custom of the country, I have presented the crew
    with a sheep--great satisfaction.

    Took a stroll in the Bazaars, which are rather picturesque.
    Minyeh is a largish place (chef lieu), and, like every second
    village on the Nile, disfigured by the tall chimneys of sugar
    factories.

    There is a striking line of hills opposite Minyeh, quaintly
    jagged in outline and curiously regular in the marking of its
    strata.

    Passed Beni Hassan, where I shall stop on my return.

    It is curious to see the incessant toiling of the natives at
    irrigation. The poor people literally _make_ their country every
    year, and it is marvellous to see how a narrow fillet of water
    will, as by enchantment, conjure up in a few weeks an oasis out
    of an arid desert. The land of Egypt is born afresh out of the
    Nile every returning year.

    I observe, with pleasure, in this part of the country those
    little white-domed tombs of Sheykhs which make such a pretty
    feature in the landscape of Algeria.

    At Minyeh there is one, close to the riverside, in which rests
    the "Sheykh of the Crocodiles" whose holy dust prevents those
    man-eating ornaments of the Upper Nile from going any further
    towards Cairo--below this tomb they never venture.

    Not having reached Manfalut by sunset, we have drawn up for the
    night by the bank of the river, nowhere in particular. This
    entire freedom in our movements (I should say _mine_, for the
    steamer stops exactly where, when, and as often as I choose) is
    very agreeable. Less pleasant is the storm of flies and insects
    of every kind, that rush in literally by myriads as soon as
    candles are lighted within reach of shore; my tablecloth is
    darkened with thousands of little flies no larger, wings and
    all, than a moderate flea; the nuisance is intolerable.

    A wonderful sunset again this evening. The western bank like
    yesterday was low and brown and green, but, unlike yesterday, it
    was alive with the sweet clamour of many birds. On the eastern
    side the long wall of rock which seems to enclose the whole
    length of the valley of the Nile came flush, or almost flush, to
    the water's edge; and with what an intense glory it glowed! The
    great hills seemed clad in burnished armour of gold fringed and
    girt below with green and dark purple; but the smooth face of
    the water was like copper, burnished and inlaid with sapphire.

    I sat in the long gloaming enjoying the soft, warm, supple air,
    and watching the tints gradually change and die round the sweep
    of the horizon, and across the immense mirror of the Nile as
    broad as a lake. It was enchanting to watch the subtle
    gradations by which the tawny orange trees that glowed like
    embers in the west, passed through strange golden browns to
    uncertain gloomy violet, and finally to the hot indigo of the
    eastern sky where some lingering after-glow still flushed the
    dusky hills; and still more enchanting to watch the same tones
    on the unruffled expanse of the water, slightly tempered by its
    colour and subdued to greater mystery. A solemn peace was over
    everything. Occasionally a boat drifted slowly past with
    outspread wings, in colour like an opal or lapis lazuli, and
    then vanished. It was a thing to remember.

    I hear an altercation between Ottilio (my Italian waiter) and a
    stoker who has put down his grease can on one of the Pasha's
    smartest plates. "O--(adjective)--Madonna! se si puo vedere una
    carogua simile! e se me la rompi pas? costa piu di te--sa!"

    My young dragoman having fastened a hook to a bit of string, and
    the bit of string to the stern of the steamer, has been waiting
    some hours for a fish. After the first hour he reasoned with
    himself, and said: "Brabs (perhaps?) he know!"--then, dolefully,
    "He come touch the 'ook, and then he go run away!"--_cela c'est
    vu._ To-morrow to Asyoot. 10-1/2 P.M. Just been on deck again.
    Dragoman still fishing! He says, "I tink he _won't_." I incline
    to agree with him.

    _Sunday, 18th._--Started about six. Reached Syoot, or rather El
    Hamza for Syoot, which is a mile inland, at eleven. Between
    Manfalut and Syoot the Nile takes an immense sweep west, and
    assumes altogether a tortuous course; the plain opens out, the
    eastern mountains recede, and for the first time an important
    chain closes in on the west. Game is already beginning to be
    abundant. I saw a sandbank full of pelicans and geese just below
    this place. I wish I could get at the names of the small birds I
    see here, which are mostly new to me; an Arab invariably answers
    your questions on this subject by the word "asfoor," _i.e._ a
    bird--thankee! The peasants here all wear a loose dark brown
    robe like that of a Franciscan monk; and as they squat fishing
    on the brown bank of the river with their skull-caps and black
    beards, I fancy I see the monks of the Thebaid coming, as in old
    days, to get their daily meat out of the Nile.

    Irrigation seems to go on more actively even than lower down; I
    saw to-day no less than twenty-four shadoofs all in a row, and
    in full play. The men that worked them, mostly naked, were of
    every colour between a new halfpenny and an old shoe, and the
    effect of them all toiling away and surrounded by groups of
    squatting onlookers was very striking.

    Hosseyn, my servant, the angler, is having his head shaved on
    deck; when he has done I shall visit the town.

    Meanwhile I have had a visit from the government doctor, a
    rather intelligent man who made his studies in Pisa.

    Pipes and coffee as usual.

    Here comes Hosseyn clean-shaven. He is a nice boy, eager and
    willing--but wants varnish; he can never address me without
    scratching his spine at its lowest extremity; Audrey herself
    could not have done it in a manner more naively unconventional.
    Though only twenty, he has had two wives; not liking the first,
    who snubbed his relations, he gave her three months' wages and
    dismissed her. To avoid further unpleasantness he then married
    his cousin: "She good woman--very quiet--good tongue."

    The village at which we have landed is very picturesque. The mud
    and brick architecture is here carried out with some care and is
    entirely delightful. The walls are mostly crowned with an
    openwork finish made by a simple arrangement of the bricks which
    is most effective. Sometimes, as, for instance, in the cemetery,
    they are surmounted by crenulations like those we see in the old
    Assyrian monuments; the heads of the doorways are decorated with
    a charming sort of diapered ornament, capable of great variety
    and produced entirely by the arrangement in patterns of the
    bricks; the patterns being painted black and the ground filled
    in with white. The woodwork in the windows is also very pretty,
    and altogether the general aspect of the houses most novel and
    striking.

    Beyond the village I wandered into a delightful garden; a half
    cultivated wilderness of palm and gum trees in which one came on
    unexpected pergolas, and lovely garden trees all pouring out
    their most intoxicating scents under the fiercest sun I ever
    walked beneath. I saw oleanders, the flowers of which were as
    thick as roses and smelt like a quintessence of nectarines;
    there were also some beautiful olive trees with weeping
    branches--a thing I had never seen before--and with berries as
    large as plums. Overhead, amongst the yellow dates, sat doves
    the colour of pale violets.

    Syoot itself is beautifully situated amongst groves and gardens;
    except in that it is brown and not white, it reminded me much of
    an Algerine town; it is very unlike Cairo. The rock-cut tombs in
    the mountain above the town are so mutilated and disfigured that
    little can be made of them; but they have that stamp of
    vastness which is so characteristic of all the ancient monuments
    of this country.

    The view from the height is very fine. The river has barely
    begun to fall yet, so that everything is reflected in the great
    sheets of water that cover the land. At evening I saw the sunset
    through the tall palm trees, with the domes of Syoot dark
    against its flaming light.

    For a fine showy assertion that looks very original and
    striking, but is not calculated for pedantic verification,
    commend me to a Frenchman. The other day, at Boulay, Mariette
    Bey, the creator and the curator of the Museum of that ilk, and
    a man of high standing as an Egyptologist, told me that the Nile
    was turned into its actual course by a great chain of hills at
    Syoot which, serving as a rampart, alone prevented it from
    following its obvious tendency to flow into the Red Sea. "Il
    allait _evidemment_ se jeter dans la Mer Rouge;" in fact, but
    for this hill, there would have been no Lower Egypt, that
    country being literally the child of the Nile which alone
    prevents the sands of the central deserts from ruling over the
    whole breadth of the land. Here was a dramatic revelation of
    coincidences! Here was a startling suggestion of contingencies!

    It fairly took your breath away! without that hill no Nile north
    of Syoot! half Egypt would not have been! No Memphis! Memphis
    with its wisdom! No Alexandria with its schools! No Cairo with
    its four thousand mosques! No Pharaohs! No Moses! (The poor
    devil of a sculptor who drowned himself in his own fountain
    because he found he had made _his_ Moses too short might have
    died in his bed.) No Cleopatra! (turn in your grave, noble dust
    of Antony!)--"forty centuries" would have had no Pyramids from
    which to look down on the conquering arms of Buonaparte. Mr.
    Albert Smith's popular entertainment would have been shorn of
    half its glories! Let me breathe! To what fantastic proportions
    did that hill grow as one thought of it!

    Alas! then, for prosaic fact; and oh! for unimaginative maps! On
    consulting the latter I observed that, by the time it reached
    Syoot, the Nile had been flowing for nearly two hundred miles in
    a _north-westerly_ direction, away from the Red Sea rather than
    towards it; and on visiting the spot I saw, oh confusion! that
    the hills which bore the responsibility (according to Mariette)
    of making the history of the world what it is, were on the
    _western_ bank of the river!--there, at least, or nowhere, for a
    vast plain closes in on the east.

    This evening more visitors on board--lemonade and cigars--_pour
    changer_; Consuls, &c. &c.--tedious.

    _Monday, 19th._--Left Syoot at six, and arrived at Sohag before
    three. Suffered a good deal in the morning from spasms of some
    sort, and was not in a frame of mind to appreciate the scenery.
    Was, moreover, driven near the verge of exasperation by the
    steersman (Reis Ali), who droned select passages from the Koran,
    _sotto voce_, within two yards of my ears from 8 A.M. till 2 P.
    ditto; the same four bars over and over, for ever and for ever
    in one unceasing guttural strain. I trust the pious exercise did
    more for his soul than for my temper. Hosseyn informs me that he
    is about to buy a lamb, and "make him big sheep." It appears
    that, during a serious illness three years ago, he vowed a
    votive sheep to Sitteh Zehneb--the granddaughter of the
    Prophet--on condition that he should recover. Since then he has
    put her off (oh, humanity!) with candles and occasional prayer;
    now, at last, he is going to fulfil his vow. Admire thrift
    combined with piety, and observe the economy on the _lamb_.

    Habit is a strange thing! Hosseyn, whose manners have been
    corrupted by evil communication with Europeans, occasionally
    attempts to use a _fork_ in the bosom of his
    family--particularly when salad is put before him. On these
    occasions his elder brother invariably asks him with grim
    sarcasm whether he has no fingers. Hosseyn desists at
    once--"Brabs he beat me!--he big!"

    This evening I went out shooting amongst the palms and gum
    trees. It was very delightful, though ferociously hot. The
    village is charmingly situated; the ground prettily tumbled
    about, and trees and houses group themselves in the most
    picturesque manner. (I noticed some new mouldings over the
    doorways that had a very artistic effect.) I can't shoot at all;
    but the birds are so plentiful that something is sure to cross
    your gun if you only fire. I got a hawk, some doves, a dozen
    little birds nameless for me, and two little green birds of a
    kind that I have not seen before; they are quite lovely; must
    ascertain what they are called. The sun had set when I reached
    the boat, and all the dark plumes of the palm trees stood clear
    over the black outlines of the village; above, the new moon, a
    keen, golden sickle.

    Hosseyn has given up fishing. "Oh, oh! nasty fish! he to laugh
    me!"

    Was much amused this morning by the device and trade-mark on a
    tin of jam. (Jam, if you please, of Messrs. Barnes & Co. of
    Little Bush Lane _and_ Tooley Street.) The device was "Non sine
    labore"--and the trade-mark?--a beehive?--no!--the Pyramid of
    Cheops! _Excusez._

    Some twenty miles above Syoot, or, say, fifteen, the eastern
    chain of mountains makes a bend towards the river, and for some
    distance ranges near it; the stream, in its usual tortuous
    course, sometimes flowing for a few hundred yards towards them
    and then for a few hundred yards in the opposite direction. I
    wonder whether one of these bends served as a foundation, or
    rather as a blind, for Mariette's astounding assertion that the
    Nile "allait evidemment se jeter dans la Mer Rouge." Did he "to
    laugh me," as the fish did by Hosseyn? Or did he merely mean to
    say that, if the Valley of the Nile had not turned north-west
    between Keneh and Manfaloot, it might have turned north-east? If
    so, joke for joke, I prefer the great Pyramid on the jam-pot of
    Mr. Barnes of Little Bush Lane and Tooley Street.

    _Tuesday, 20th._--Started at about half-past five, and reached
    Disneh in the evening. There was a dead calm in the morning, and
    I congratulated myself, not for the first time, on my steamer;
    in a dahabieh I might have taken a week, and more, over the
    stretch of river I have just covered in a day; and the scenery
    just here, though fine, is monotonous. I am sorry for the
    Sterlings, who will, I fear, be unusually long getting up. This
    afternoon I saw Sheykh Selim, a sort of St. Simeon Stylites
    without the column. This holy man's peculiar form of piety
    consists in sitting stark naked on the bank of the river and
    exacting presents in money and kind from all passers-by.

    Hosseyn had spoken to me at great length of his wisdom and
    piety, and assured me that when the crocodiles, which are
    numerous about here, presented themselves before the eyes of
    the Sheykh, he merely waved his hand and said "Biz, biz!"
    whereat they fled, rebuked. He informed me also that no boat
    refusing him tribute could expect to get on--it would infallibly
    be becalmed until his holiness was propitiated. To my surprise I
    found that my captain, a sensible old gentleman in other
    respects, believed this just as firmly, though he expressed his
    faith more vaguely. When I asked him whether the Sheykh's power
    extended also to steamers, which did not wait on the wind, he
    said: "Well, Allah was great, and though, certainly, a _steamer_
    might, no doubt--so well appointed a steamer particularly--might,
    no doubt, get past--yet who should say? Allah was great!" In
    fact he believed with the best; so, of course, I said, by all
    means let the Sheykh be propitiated. Accordingly when we hove in
    sight of the little mound where he sits, and has sat for God
    knows how many years, we turned the steamer (a vessel of
    seventy-five horse-power) and ran straight in for the bank at
    considerable risk, it struck me, of not getting off again. The
    whole crew then went ashore in great excitement, headed by the
    captain, and surrounded the Saint, kissing his hand and
    salaaming. As I did not wish to hurt the old gentleman's
    feelings by not kissing his hand, I stayed on board and looked
    on. Sheykh Selim is a very vigorous-looking old fellow of the
    colour of a very dusky mahogany table; his hair and beard are
    woolly and of a dirty white; his countenance, as far as I could
    judge from a little distance, good-humoured and sagacious. He
    squats on the ground with his knees up and his arms folded
    across them. He inspects his presents, and asks for more. After
    the levee was over, and when our crew were about to come on
    board, he called after them and asked for roast meat, and then
    again a second time for oil wherewith to anoint himself.
    "There," said Hosseyn triumphantly, "he know everything! he know
    we have roast meat--how he know that?"

    I was amused at the intellectual superiority of Ottilio, the
    Italian waiter. "Quanto sono stupidi questi Arabi!" For my part
    I don't see much more difficulty in swallowing Sheykh Selim than
    a stigmatised nun or a winking picture--I told him so.

    We should have reached Keneh to-day, but the coals were bad, and
    we had to stop at Dishulh, three hours this side of that place.
    Where was thy favouring grace, O Sheykh? It appears that, like
    the gods of ancient Greece, the Sheykhs of Egypt have their
    little misunderstandings; I am told that on one occasion Selim,
    having a few words with another holy man thirty-five miles up
    the river, by name Sheykh Fadl, and waxing wroth, threw a stone
    at him (what are thirty or forty miles to a saint?) and blinded
    him of one eye; whereon Sheykh Fadl returned the amenity by
    throwing "some fire" at Sheykh Selim, thereby sorely burning
    him. "I have seen the scar," my coxswain informs me.

    Killed another fatted sheep for the crew.

    _Wednesday, 21st._--Arrived at Lougsor (El Uker) about three. It
    was too hot for sightseeing, so I waited till evening and went
    out shooting in a boat; at least I went out with the idea of
    shooting--if possible a pelican or a crane--but the birds were
    too shy--I could not get within fair shooting distance; wounded
    a pelican, but could not get after him in the deep mud. Got
    belated on the river, and the crew had to pull hard for an hour
    and a half to reach the steamer; fortunately there was a moon.
    Anything more good-humoured or more ineffective than the way in
    which the sailors pulled and shoved, I never saw; they hopped in
    and out of the boat in the shallows, up to their hips in the
    water--pushed, tugged, rowed and sang _die era im piacus_; they
    can do nothing without the accompaniment of some rhythmic,
    droning refrain, which they can keep up for an indefinite time.
    Anything will do; my fellows pulled on this occasion to the
    following words--

            "Min Min_yeh_
            fi Beniso_ef_,"

    which is as who should say--

            "From Hen_lee_
            to Cookham _Reach_,"

    giving the stroke and the emphasis on the last syllable.

    In the evening was visited by Mustafa Aga, H.B.M. Consular
    Agent, one of his sons, the Turkish Governor (Hassan Effendi),
    and the local doctor. Mustafa is a very courteous old gentleman,
    with half a nose, and much respected by all who know him; I
    observed that Said, his son, would not smoke in his father's
    presence, in accordance with an Arab custom, which did not much
    remind me of the manner in which "the gov'nor" is treated in
    England.

    On Thursday morning, 22nd, I started to see the tombs of the
    kings, leaving the eastern bank and Karnak for my return. It was
    a lovely morning, and I crossed the Nile before the air had had
    time to get thoroughly heated. On the other side I found horses,
    kindly lent me by Mustafa (whose son accompanied me), and
    donkeys for the rest of the party. There were a good many of us,
    and we made a very absurd-looking procession--_en tete_, a
    couple of fine brawny Arabs, one of whom has been the guide to
    these ruins since Champollion; then Said and I on our
    horses--mine a good-looking chestnut, caparisoned with scarlet
    finery; behind us, on their respective donkeys, the captain in
    full uniform holding a large umbrella over his head, Hosseyn in
    his Arab dress, the French cook in his official white jacket and
    cap, the Italian waiter with a large handkerchief over his head,
    and the engineer; further behind, lesser menials and the hamper.
    I forgot the Turkish Cawass in uniform and armed to the teeth.
    Hovering round, brandishing water-bottles, was a swarm of Arab
    boys and girls, in sizes, and of various qualities of chocolate;
    they were dressed in the most fantastically tattered remnants of
    dark brown shirts that I ever saw; there was one little monkey
    of a dull ebony colour turned up with pale blue, whose form was
    revealed rather than covered by a few incoherent brown shreds of
    garment, and who was inexpressibly droll from the way in which
    he cocked his little head demurely on one side with a
    half-consciousness of insufficient drapery.

    The ride to the tombs, which takes about an hour, and the latter
    half of which lies through an arid valley, is very striking from
    the form and colour of the mountains. Nothing announces that one
    is approaching the city of the dead, and it is not till you
    stand before them that you become aware of the plain square
    openings which lead down to these magnificent last
    resting-places of the kings. It was a right royal idea this, of
    the old rulers of Egypt, to plunge these shafts into the bowels
    of the rock, and give themselves a mountain for a tombstone over
    the palace which was their grave. The design of these houses of
    the dead is simple and apparently always much the same: a long
    corridor, sometimes with lateral galleries, sometimes with
    recesses or small chambers on each side, leads downwards by a
    not very rapid incline to a great hall, in the centre of which
    is the sarcophagus which contained the mummy of the king in its
    magnificent case; these cases have of course been all removed.
    All these lateral chambers were also originally filled with
    mummies--those, I believe, of the relations of the sovereign.
    The walls of these subterranean palaces and the ceilings are
    adorned throughout with coloured hieroglyphs and flat sculptured
    "graven images" representing mostly sacred and mystical scenes,
    but often, also, illustrating the different trades and crafts
    practised by the Egyptians. These paintings are of high interest
    from an ethnographic point of view--Poynter would have a fit
    over them. In the innermost places scores of bats dart about in
    intense alarm. The effect of the scanty light from the candles
    on these painted walls and on the dark bony forms of the Arabs
    is extremely fine--what your literary tourist would call "worthy
    of the pencil of Rembrandt."

    After lunching in a shady spot we took an anything but shady
    ride to the temple-palace of Koorneh, and from thence to the
    Memnonium. Both are very interesting, but the latter by far the
    finest; there is about it a breadth and a vastness, together
    with much elegance and variety, that are very impressive.
    Nothing that I have seen is comparable to the monuments of
    Egypt, for the expression of gigantic thoughts and limitless
    command of material and labour; withal there is about them
    something stolid and oppressive that is unsatisfactory; and as I
    looked at these vast ruins, vivid memories of Athens and its
    Acropolis invaded me, and the Parthenon in all its serene
    splendour rose before my mind; mighty, too, in its measured
    sobriety, stately in the noble rhythm of its forms; infinitely
    precious in the added glory of its sculptures; lovable as a
    living thing; and then more, perhaps, than ever before, I felt
    what a divine breath informed that marvellous Attic people, and
    what an ineffaceable debt of gratitude is due to them from us,
    blind fumblers in their footsteps.

    I was less struck than I had expected to be by the two colossal
    statues, of one of which it was poetically fabled by the
    ancients that a mysterious clang rose from it as the first rays
    of the rising sun smote its forehead. The myth is more striking
    than the statues, though their size and isolation give them
    something impressive. I had expected them, too, I don't know
    why, to be in a desert, and they are in a field. How infinitely
    grander is the great Sphinx, with its strange, far-gazing,
    haunting eyes, fixed, for ever, on the East, as if expecting the
    dawn of a day that never comes; immovable, unchanging, without
    shadow of sorrow, or light of gladness, whilst the gladness of
    men has turned to sorrow and their thoughts to ashes before
    them, through three times a thousand years! Century by century
    the desert has been gathering and growing round it--the feet are
    buried, the body, the breast are hidden. How soon will the
    sealing sands give rest at last to those steadfast, expectant
    eyes?

    In the evening Hosseyn had a great "fantasia" and fulfilled his
    vow--and spent all his money. He killed his sheep and roasted
    it, bought some rice and boiled it, some flour and had it made
    into bread; then mixing the whole, he distributed it in six very
    large trays; three were put before the crew, one he had placed
    on the wayside for all comers (and they all came); the other two
    were sent to the nearest mosque for the same purpose, and with
    similar results; then, being unable to read himself, he paid
    five men to recite from the Koran at night, in the mosque, and
    invited thereto the captain, Mustafa Aga, and his son and
    several others; he, the while, sitting outside and offering
    coffee to whoever passed by. When it was all over he came to me
    radiant: "El Hamdul illah," he said, throwing up his hands,
    "this is good! I am happy, everybody to be satisfied! this is
    rich day! El Hamdul illah! my money is all gone! why shall I
    mind? I spend it for God! brabs something good happen for me, el
    Hamdul illah!" His delight at the performance of his vow and his
    absolute faith were the prettiest thing one could see. Talking
    of faith, I am much struck by the dignified simplicity with
    which Mahometans practise the observances of their religion;
    praying at the appointed times without concealment, wherever
    they happen to be, and as a matter of course.

    _Friday, 23rd._--Started early and coaled, first at Erment and
    then again at Esne, after which, being stopped by the night and
    shallow water, we anchored off a bank nowhere in particular.
    Heavens, what a hot day! this is indeed "the fire that quickens
    Nilus' slime," but has a vastly different effect on me.
    Sketching will be quite out of the question unless it gets
    rapidly cooler.

    At Esne I was visited by the chief magistrate, and by the
    governor of the province; the former a jolly old _bonhomme_ who
    offered me snuff, the other a very refined old gentleman with
    most charming manners. Both were Turks; and as they spoke no
    Christian tongue our conversation was carried on entirely
    through a dragoman; I was, however, pleased to find that I
    recognised several words that I learnt last year at
    Constantinople; I was glad, too, to hear again that fine
    vigorous language, the sound of which is extremely agreeable to
    me. Eastern manners are certainly very pleasing, and the
    frequent salutations, which consist in laying the hand first on
    the breast and then on the forehead, making at the same time a
    slight inclination, are graceful without servility. When an
    Egyptian wishes to express great respect he first lowers his
    hands to the level of his knees, exactly as in the days of
    Herodotus.

    Talking of Herodotus, here is a first-rate subject for Gerome
    suggested by that author; it is ethnographical and ghastly. The
    scene is laid in the establishment of an ancient Egyptian
    embalmer and undertaker, fitted up with all the implements and
    appliances of the trade; in the background, but not so far as to
    exclude detail, groups of assistants should be shown busied over
    a number of corpses and illustrating all the different stages of
    preparation, embalsamation, swathing, &c. &c. In the centre a
    bereaved family have brought their lamented relative, and are
    selecting, from specimens submitted to them by the master
    undertaker, a style of treatment suited to their taste and
    means, and expressive of their particular shade of grief. A
    large assortment of mummy-cases would form appropriate
    accessories and give great scope for the display of knowledge
    and the use of a fine brush. It seems to me that so pleasing a
    mixture of corpses and archaeology, impartially treated by that
    polite and accomplished hand, could not fail to create
    considerable sensation.

    Took a stroll through Esne whilst the ship was coaling. The
    darker tints of skin are beginning to preponderate more and
    more; mummy colour is in the ascendant here, together with a
    fine Brunswick black. The _men_, I observe, spin in this
    country. The children are quite fascinating; they have nothing
    on but a little tuft of hair on the top of their shaven heads;
    those dazzling little teeth of theirs are wonderful to see, and
    funny--like a handful of rice in a coal-scuttle. Fine sunset
    again; the hills, ranged in an amphitheatre from east to west,
    showed a most wonderful gradation from extreme dark on one side
    to glowing light on the other. I make the profound reflection
    that no two sunsets are alike; this remark, however, does not
    extend to _descriptions_ of sunsets--_verb. sap._

    When I saw Holman Hunt's "Isabel," his pot of basil puzzled me
    sorely; I had seen a great deal of basil, and have an especial
    love for it; but I had never seen it except with a very small
    leaf. I was sure, however, knowing his great accuracy, that Hunt
    had sufficient foundation for the large leaf he gave the plant
    in his picture; the very fellow of it is now before me in a
    nosegay of flowers, very kindly sent me by the old governor of
    Esne. As I smell it I am assailed by pleasant memories of
    Lindos--"Lindos the beautiful"--and Rhodes, and that marvellous
    blue coast across the seas, that looks as if it could enclose
    nothing behind its crested rocks but the Gardens of the
    Hesperides; and I remember those gentle, courteous Greeks of the
    island (so unlike their swaggering kinsfolk--if they are their
    kinsfolk--of the mainland), and the little nosegay, a red
    carnation and a fragrant sprig of basil, with which they always
    dismiss a guest.

    As we lay anchored by the shore in the evening, the dahabiehs
    came sweeping past in the moonlight; and the faint glimmering of
    the shell-like sails, and the flutter of the water against the
    swift, cutting keels, and the silence of the huddled groups, and
    the dark watchful figure of the helmsman at the helm, were
    strangely fantastic and beautiful.

    _Saturday, 24th._--Started at half-past five--passed Edfou
    (which I leave for my return) at half-past seven. Shall we reach
    Assouan to-day? Hosseyn's pious orgies have, I fear, turned his
    head, for I observed yesterday that he has taken to fishing
    again. "Brabs!--Insha Allah!" His interpretation of dreams is
    worthy of the ancient oracle-mongers; on the night before his
    sacrifice he dreamt that he had bought a slave, and then
    released it: "Wull! the slave is my sheep--is it not my slave?
    Wull, have I not buy it? Wull, I give it to the beebles--go!--I
    release it!" Whether the sheep, personally, considered itself
    released is problematic.

    _Saturday Evening._--Reached Assouan this afternoon at four,
    and, after the usual visit from the governor, took a stroll. I
    don't yet know whether I am disappointed in the place or not. At
    all events it is quite unlike my expectations of it. I had
    imagined, I suppose from descriptions, a narrower gorge and
    higher rocks; in point of fact there is no gorge at all, but the
    river is narrowed, or, rather, split by several islands and some
    fine granite boulders cropping up here and there to fret the
    river, and announcing the rapids; otherwise the country is open
    enough, and original and striking in aspect; I shall know better
    to-morrow what I think of it all. I saw during my evening
    stroll, and for the first time in my life, a group of slaves,
    mostly girls. If I had seen them subjected to any ill-treatment
    I should have felt very indignant; but I am bound to own that,
    seeing them squatting round a fire like any other children,
    showing no mark of slavery, and occupied in cooking their food,
    scratching themselves (as well, no doubt, they might!) and
    looking otherwise very like monkeys, I found it difficult to
    realise to myself the hardship of their position, however much
    it may revolt one in the abstract. They were black, and uglier
    than young negroes generally are; their hair was arranged in an
    infinity of minute, highly-greased plaits all round their heads;
    the elder ones were draped; the youngest wore a fringe _pour
    tout potage_. This is a noisy night; there is a "moolid" going
    on on the high bank to which we have made fast, and which
    borders the public square. A double row of howling dervishes are
    squatting and rocking and howling after their kind, almost over
    my head. In the brief lulls during which they take breath for
    further efforts, I hear from the other side of the river the
    mournful, weary, incessant creak of the water-wheel (with its
    blindfold cow or camel plodding round and round and round,
    apparently for ever), which in this region almost entirely
    supersedes the hand-worked bucket. The contrast is very curious.

    I have just returned the governor's visit. I found him sitting
    on a sofa in the piazza opposite the Government House, with
    half-a-dozen hand lanterns brought by the guests in front of
    him, and on each side a long row of benches (forming an avenue
    up to his seat) on which squatted and smoked numbers of
    picturesque folk, who looked to great advantage by the
    flickering glimmer of the lamps and under the soft warm light of
    an African moon. I sat in the place of honour, smoked my
    conventional _tchibouque_, drank my inevitable cup of coffee,
    conveyed through my dragoman the usual traveller's remarks and
    questions (cardboard questions, so to speak, of which I knew the
    answers) to my host, who, like all the Turkish officials that I
    have seen, has the manners of a perfect gentleman and much
    natural dignity.

    _Sunday, 25th._--Started for Phylae at half-past seven; arrived
    there at nine o'clock. The road leads through a broad tract of
    yellow sand (where, I believe, an arm of the Nile is supposed to
    have flowed in remote antiquity) along which on either side crop
    up, in wild, irregular fashion, bumps and hillocks and hills of
    dark red granite, covered over with innumerable fragments of the
    same stone, scattered in the most incredible confusion, and
    having rather a ludicrous appearance of having been _left about_
    and forgotten. You could get an excellent notion of the thing in
    miniature, by hastily spilling a coal-scuttle on a gravel walk
    and running away.

    Above Assouan we are fairly in Nubia, and of course none but the
    darkest complexions are to be seen; but so large a number of
    negroes make their way here from the Soudan (the Nubians are not
    _black_, but of a beautiful dark cairngorm brown), that the
    whole place has an air of negro-land which is disagreeable to
    me. The young men, indeed, both black and brown, are sometimes
    extremely fine fellows (bar the legs, which are never good), but
    the girls, as far as one can see them, are tolerably
    ill-favoured, and the old women, of an ugliness which passes all
    belief. They are _far_ worse than apes. The ladies in this part
    of the country gladden the hearts of their admirers by anointing
    their bodies with castor oil, so that the atmosphere of their
    villages, however full of sweet suggestion to a native, is much
    the reverse to a traveller with a nose not attuned to these
    perfumes; the smell that greets you through an open door is a
    mixture of the bouquet just named, and a penetrating flavour of
    accumulated stuffed beasts, and naturally interferes much with
    my enjoyment.

    At Mahatter we left our donkeys and took a boat to Phylae, a
    quarter of a mile, which takes half an hour owing to the
    rapidity of the current just above the cataract. The scenery
    about Phylae has been spoken of as Paradise; I never saw anything
    less like my notion of Paradise, and so far, therefore, I am
    disappointed. Original and strange it is, in a high degree. It
    is in fact exactly like the valley of which I spoke a little
    further back, only that the hills are four times as high, and
    water takes the place of the sand; the same breaking up of the
    rocks into a myriad of fragments, putting all grandeur and
    massiveness of form out of the question--and, with the exception
    of a few palm trees and a sycamore or two, the same barrenness.
    Looking up in the direction of Wady Halfa, the mountains appear
    to grow finer in outline, and a tract of very yellow sand
    amongst their highest crests is striking and original--gold dust
    in a cup of lapis lazuli. With the island itself and its
    beautiful group of temples it is impossible not to be delighted.
    Nothing could be more fantastic or more stately than the manner
    in which it rises out of the bosom of the river like a vast
    ship, surrounded as it is on all sides by a high wall sheer from
    the water to the level on which the temples stand. One hall in
    the main temple, and one only, shows still a sufficient amount
    of colour to give a very good idea of what the effect must have
    been originally; the green and blue capitals must have been very
    lovely. It is needless to say that here, as elsewhere,
    travellers have left by hundreds lasting memorials of their
    brutality, in the shape of names and dates drawn, painted,
    scratched, and cut on every wall and column, so that the eye
    finds no rest from them. This strange and ineffably vulgar mania
    is as old as the world, and the tombs of the kings at Thebes are
    scrawled over with inscriptions left there by ancient Greek and
    Roman visitors. I shall return to Phylae shortly to make a sketch
    or two--_Insha Allah._

    Here, at last, I have found that absolutely clear crystalline
    atmosphere of which I had so often heard; I own it is not
    pleasing to me; a sky of burnished steel over a land of burning
    granite would no doubt be grand if the outlines of the granite
    were fine--but they are not. Meanwhile, perspective is
    abolished--everything is equally and obtrusively near, and I
    sadly miss the soft mysterious veils and pleasant doubts of
    distance that enchant one in other lands. I think it very likely
    that in winter one has great compensation from the exhilarating
    purity of the air; but just now the heat, which is simply
    infernal, is too trying for me to do justice to these
    advantages; no doubt the air is light and dry, but I feel
    unfortunately so very heavy and wet, that I am not in a position
    fully to appreciate it. Returning to Assouan in the evening, saw
    a dahabieh that had just got through the jaws of the cataracts,
    always rather a nervous matter; at least so they say; "to be
    very dyinger" (dangerous?), according to Hosseyn; the men were
    chanting a monotonous strain that had little of triumph in it,
    but rather conveyed a feeling of an always impending calamity
    escaped _this_ time; it was melancholy and very striking, I
    thought, in the silence of the gloaming; very likely pure fancy
    on my part, for I doubt whether more than a couple of boats are
    lost in a season, and the sailors of the Nile must be well
    accustomed to the dangers of these rapids; but the impression on
    me at the time was very strong.

    _Monday, 26th._--The dragoman of the ship having a swelling of
    some sort on his arm, an Arab doctor was sent for, and forthwith
    informed him that his arm was possessed of the devil!! Went to
    see the island of Elephantina opposite Assouan, but saw nothing
    to suggest its ancient magnificence. Gave a silver farthing to a
    funny little child, which (the farthing) being perforated, his
    mother immediately tied into one of his little oily locks--an
    ingenious substitute for a pocket. I observed several little
    boys simply attired in a piece of string tied round their
    loins--there, Diogenes!

    _Tuesday, 27th._--Began sketching, but am out of form from the
    heat. I am working chiefly because I am weary of idleness. I
    don't much care for the two sketches I have begun; they will
    therefore probably turn out badly. Going to try another
    presently.

    Tuesday Evening._--Have begun a sketch which interests me more
    than the others; it is taken amongst the tombs and shrines on
    the hills south of the town towards Phylae. As my evening's work
    was drawing to a close, I heard a shuffling of feet a little
    behind me, and, turning round, saw, in the full fire of sunset,
    what appeared to me at first to be a procession of golden apes
    with dark blue robes, light blue lips, and nose-rings; on closer
    inspection they turned out to be Nubian women going home to
    their village. Hosseyn, _qui a le mot pour rire_, apparently,
    engaged in conversation with them, and convulsed them with
    laughter; the flashes of teeth were very funny to see. At last
    he gave them a few halfpence, and desired them to sing; whereon
    they set up a series of the most uncouth howls I ever heard; one
    baboon in particular got up and, using a flat date basket as a
    tambourine, accompanied her vocal performance with hops and
    jumps that would have done honour to any inmate of the
    monkey-house in the Zoological Gardens.

    The twilight, walking home, was lovely. The earth was in colour
    like a lion's skin; the sky of a tremulous violet, fading in the
    zenith to a mysterious sapphire tint. "Dolce color d'oriental
    zaffiro."

    Slew another sheep--"Allah hou akbar!" (without which formula in
    the killing a good Muslim must not touch the meat): this sheep
    is no empty formality, for the unfortunate sailors would never
    see meat without it; they live on bread and occasional beans.
    This is the fourth night of the moolid, which is to last the
    whole week! At this very moment the tambourines of the dervishes
    are driving me nearly wild with their diabolic din.

    _Wednesday, 28th._--Got on indifferently with my sketches; only
    one of them interests me much. The morning was almost cool and
    really delightful, but the heat was as great as ever in the
    daytime. I have always been unable to see the extraordinary
    difference which is said to exist between the length of the
    twilight in the north, and in southern countries; I could have
    read large print to-night three-quarters of an hour after
    sunset. Habit is everything, no doubt, as we are reminded by
    Herodotus, _a propos_ of a certain people who ate their dead
    relatives instead of burning them; but I wonder whether I should
    ever get accustomed to the aching, straining, creaking complaint
    of the water-wheel far and near, morning, noon and night,
    morning, noon and night; I can _just_ fancy its becoming
    attaching as the clacking of a mill.

    I have often wondered why, contrary to all analogy, the
    Spaniards call oil _azedo_, which at first sight appears to be
    the same word as the Italian _aceto_. I find that the word is
    Arabic: _zeyd_. Mem.: Look up the etymology of the English word
    _cough_, to which no European word that I remember has any
    affinity, and which rather appears to be onomatopoeic. The Arabs
    say _kokh_ (guttural ending); is this a mere coincidence, and
    does the word date beyond the Crusades? I find a good many words
    that have a curious likeness to English. My endeavours to pick
    up a little Arabic are almost entirely frustrated by Hosseyn's
    utter inability to pull a sentence to pieces for me. In an
    Arabic sentence of two words (_e.g._ _azekan tareed_--if you
    please) he could not tell me which word was the verb! literally;
    I had to find out as best I could. I never saw anything to
    approach his obtuseness in the matter, except perhaps that of
    Georgi, my dragoman in Turkey. As I was sketching this evening a
    Nubian passed me, very grandly draped and erect, and followed by
    two green monkeys that were fastened by leading-strings to his
    belt. They toddled very snugly after their stately master and
    made a queer group.

    _Sunday, November 1._--I am in a state of appreciative enjoyment
    of the comforts and civilised cleanliness of my steamer, having
    just returned from three or four days' roughing in the ruins of
    Phylae. "Roughing" is a relative term, and my trials were of a
    very mild description, for though I slept _a la belle etoile_
    (or rather tried to sleep), at all events I had a bed to rest
    in, and the air at night was delightful; moreover, the
    commissariat was very satisfactorily managed, so that food and
    drink were abundant; nevertheless, I must maintain that living
    in an open ruin is not comfortable. I made two or three
    sketches, and should probably have enjoyed myself, but that on
    the second day I was entirely thrown off the rails by the heat
    whilst sketching; I thought I should get a _coup de soleil_; I
    was very indisposed in the evening, and utterly unable to work
    the next morning, so that I took the place _en grippe_, and
    could see nothing but the ugliness of the rocks and the wearing
    monotony of the hieroglyphs. Picked up in the evening, and
    liked the place better; made some original and striking
    reflections about the desirability of health.

    Having heard much of the beauty of the full moon at Phylae, timed
    my visit to see it, and was entirely delighted. The light was so
    brilliant that one could read with ease, but at the same time so
    soft, so rich, and so mellow that one seemed not to see the
    night, but to be dreaming of the day. The Arabs say of a fine
    night, "it is a night like milk," but there is more of amber
    than of milk in the nights of Phylae. The rising of the moon last
    night was the first thing of the sort I ever saw; the disc was
    perfectly golden, not as in a mist, but set sharp and clear in
    the sky, and exactly like the sun, except that you could look at
    it without pain to the eyes. The effect of this effulgent light
    on the shoulder of the hill was magical. The last hour of the
    afternoon I spent in strolling about the villages, which are
    picturesque. The cottages are four brown, roofless walls, built
    of the usual unburnt brick, and coated with mud; but the
    doorways are always highly decorated with painted geometrical
    devices which, in the mass of plain, sober brown, have a very
    cheerful and artistic effect. The people, too, amuse me; a
    pleasant, gentle, grinning folk these Nubians seem; I like their
    jargon--after the guttural Arabic it sounds so soft and round,
    and the women have funny, cooing inflections of voice (pretty
    voices, often) that are pleasing. Some of the girls are
    good-looking; chiefly through the brightness of their eyes and
    the milky whiteness of their teeth. The coiffure of the children
    is too funny; it consists in tufts of hair of various shapes and
    patterns left on an otherwise shaven head; often a crest all
    down the middle and a tuft on each side, exactly like the
    clown's wig in a pantomime; it is irresistibly droll.

    A grand sight is to see the villagers keeping the birds from
    their crops; they all serve in their turn, men, women, and
    children; they stand each on a rude sort of scaffold which rises
    about two feet clear of the corn; they are armed with slings
    from which they hurl lumps of clay at the birds, uttering loud
    cries at the same time. Their movements are full of grandeur and
    character. I wonder Gerome has never treated a subject so well
    suited to him. Why, too, has he never painted mine enemy the
    sakkea, which is even more emphatically in his way, for, besides
    the scope for fine and quaint forms both in the men and the
    animals that work it, the accessories are abundant and
    interesting, and there are ropes in great abundance.

    _Is_ the sakkea my friend or my enemy? Its chant is so incessant
    that I should have to make up my mind if I stayed longer in the
    country; it would either fascinate me or drive me mad. As I
    listen in the silence of the evening, the rise and fall, the
    shifting and swaying of the wind bring its complaint from across
    the gurgling river in such a fitful way that it has the
    strangest and most unexpected effects: sometimes I fancy I hear
    deep, drowsy tones of a distant organ, sometimes the shrill
    quavering of a bagpipe; sometimes it is like a snatch of a song,
    sometimes like a whole chorus of voices singing a solemn strain
    in the sad, empty night; sometimes, alas! too often, like a
    snarling, creaking door-post.

    Phylae being above the cataracts, my steamer stopped at Assouan,
    and I went there by donkey as before; returning, I chartered a
    dahabieh to see the said cataracts, of which for some days I had
    heard so much; amongst other things, that a ship was wrecked
    there three weeks ago (I saw it stuck on its rock to-day). The
    cowardice of the people here, at least in this particular
    matter, is very funny; too naif to inspire disgust: my captain,
    an old sailor, and the nicest old gentleman possible, told
    Hosseyn that nothing would induce him to go down them; I thought
    I observed a shade of respectful interest in his reception of me
    on my return from an exploit which most English _women_ would
    consider good fun. I make no doubt that when the water is much
    lower, and your dahabieh shoots a good six or eight feet drop,
    and goes half into the water besides, considerable excitement
    may be got out of it; but now that the drop is not or does not
    look more than about a yard, and that the whole affair consists
    in a few plunges and shipping a little water, the emotion is
    very mild, and I own to considerable disappointment, though as
    far as it went it was pleasant. Nevertheless I did not for a
    moment regret coming if only on account of the amusement I got
    out of the sailors and pilots; the latter were men of years; the
    former, fine, jolly-looking lads as one could wish to see; but
    their demeanour throughout was infinitely droll; they rested
    their feet (according to custom here) on inclined planks, up
    which they ran three steps with their arms well forward to fetch
    the stroke, getting back into the sitting position as they
    pulled through the water (and wonderfully fine the action looks
    in a large crew all pulling well together); but the contortions
    in which they indulged, the gnashing and grinding of teeth, the
    throwing back of agonised heads, the frowns, the setting of
    jaws, the straining of veins, the rolling of eyes, the groans,
    and, absurdest of all, the coming down on one another's laps and
    the cutting of crabs, were ineffably grotesque, and would have
    convulsed me with laughter if I had not controlled myself
    manfully. Meanwhile the pilots were howling at one another and
    them with all the vehemence of a violent altercation, and for no
    discernible reason. When they were not shrieking at one another,
    the crew took up the usual Arab boatmen's chant (I know no
    better word); one man gives out a short sentence, or name, or
    form of prayer (not exceeding four syllables) in a quavering
    treble, and the rest then repeat it in chorus in a graver
    key--the effect is very original. As we got within sight of the
    big cataract and the stranded ship, Hosseyn loudly exhorted the
    crew to pray to the Prophet, and all the saints who have their
    shrines on the heights of Assouan, to see them safely through
    the danger; the invitation was loudly responded to, and
    everybody who had not an oar to pull held up his hands and
    prayed with great fervour--which was very pretty, and done with
    the dignified simplicity which always accompanies an Arab's
    devotions; but it was certainly disproportionate to the
    emergency. When we had danced up and down (or rather down and
    up) three or four times, I had the curiosity to look about for
    the _sailor_ and waiter I had brought with me from the steamer;
    they were respectively green and yellow in their unfeigned
    terror. Then there was a nominal _small_ cataract (the first one
    is called the _great_ cataract), and indeed I believe there was
    a _third_ little commotion; then Hosseyn, throwing up his arms,
    exclaimed, "El Hamdul illah!! finish!!" and it was, as he said,
    "finish." I am utterly ignorant of the mysteries of navigation,
    but one figure we executed between the cataracts and Assouan
    struck me as novel: it consisted in turning entirely round in a
    wide circle to take (as it were) a fresh start; this manoeuvre
    we performed with much gravity and success two successive times.
    An elaborate salute from the guns of the dragoman and engineer,
    responded to with appropriate solemnity by Hosseyn, announced my
    return to my steamer--and, oh joy! my tub.

    In the evening governor of course.

    _Monday, 2nd._--Resumed work; painted for a couple of
    hours--badly--in a high wind at an ugly study of a view I don't
    like. I consider it a sort of discipline. The wind to-day is
    tremendously high; the dahabiehs will come flying up now. I saw
    my friend the captain just now sitting on the bank in the midst
    of an interested circle having his fortune told. There is a
    blessing for them that wait. Hosseyn has caught a fish! two
    fishes, to-day! his glee is unlimited, he is radiant; when that
    boy is at the near end of his fishing rope, he is so absorbed I
    can't get him to attend to me or to answer a question. His
    brilliant piscatorial success is an opportune set-off against a
    chagrin the poor boy had this morning; he was taking a dip
    somewhere under the paddle-box, and lost, in putting away his
    clothes (_he_ thinks by a black but improbable theft), a Koran
    with which he travels and to which he attributes much luck; he
    was greatly cut up, and after telling me how much he valued the
    book, proceeded to inform me that it contained a little piece of
    wood from Abyssinia with something written on it, "some, what
    you call, scription," which, when worn round the neck,
    infallibly cured the bite of the scorpion; seeing that this
    announcement did not impress me as much as he had expected, he
    asked me with some warmth how I supposed, pray, that the
    snake-charmers prevented the snakes from biting them if it was
    not by saying something out of the Bible.

    Another sheep to-day; there was some hitch about the manner of
    the killing which caused a little excitement; his throat was not
    turned to the sun (or the East?) whilst he was being
    slaughtered; an important matter. I observe that Turkish
    officials are not expected to be able to write; my captain can,
    but I remarked that when his secretary, a poor, wizened little
    thing, whose nose and trousers are far too short, but whose
    mouth and ears offer ample compensation through their length,
    brought him to-day the ship's accounts, he stamped his signature
    at the foot of the page instead of writing it, although he
    happened to have a pen in his hand; I was giving him his English
    lesson. Talking of accounts, the Arabs have a curious way of
    singing or rather intoning their sums, rocking all the while
    backwards and forwards like so many Dervishes. I have seen a
    large house of business (at Sohag) where _all_ the clerks were
    doing it at once; it was like a madhouse. Oh, Lombard Street,
    and oh, Mark Lane! what would you have felt at the sight?

    _Tuesday, 3rd._--My last day at Assouan. Finished my sketches,
    took leave of the governor, and had a final stroll about the
    streets of the town, which seemed to me unusually picturesque. I
    remark that I invariably like a place best the day I leave it;
    if I am sorry to go, my regret casts a halo over it; if I am
    glad, my gladness makes everything brighter. How picturesque the
    people are! their flowing, flying draperies are wonderfully
    grand. I hope I may carry away with me some general impressions,
    but the immense multitude and rapid succession of striking
    things drive individual memories fatally out of the field.
    Sketching figures is out of the question--the effects are all
    too fugitive. This was also the last day of the moolid, and high
    time too; I met in the morning, in a narrow street, a procession
    of sailors carrying a boat, which they were about to deposit in
    the tomb of the sheykh in whose honour the moolid is held, and
    whose name they were loudly invoking. In front, drums and flags,
    and cawasses firing guns; behind, in front, everywhere, a host
    of most paintable ragamuffins enjoying the fun; above, over the
    brown house-tops, dark blue figures of women huddled peering at
    the procession; over them a blue sky with a minaret standing
    against it, a palm tree; some doves--there was the picture, it
    was charming. The children as usual called out, "Baksheesh
    howaga;" the so-called begging of the people has been
    ludicrously exaggerated; in the first place, only the children
    ask for baksheesh (I mean, of course, without the pretext of a
    service rendered), and in the next, they treat the whole thing
    as an excellent joke, and evidently have seldom the slightest
    expectation that they are to get anything. When you approach a
    village, every child, from as far as it sees you, whether from a
    window, or a doorway, or half-way up a palm tree, or the middle
    of the road, holloas out lustily, "Baksheesh, baksheesh,"
    generally with much laughter, and frequently with a universal
    scamper in every direction except towards you. What I call
    begging is that importunate whining that clings to you, and
    harasses you wherever you turn in the south of Italy or Spain,
    and with which this clamorous performance has nothing in common.
    I have remarked, with regard to grown-up Arabs, that though they
    wrangle vehemently with the dragoman on the subject of payment,
    they invariably show the master a pleasant and satisfied face. I
    speak, of course, only of my own experience. As strange a thing
    as a satisfied man is a _barking_ fish; the fish that Hosseyn
    has caught of late--for Fortune is his handmaid now--all utter a
    sound which I can only describe as a faint bark; perhaps
    everybody knows that some fishes do this, but I did not, and my
    surprise was extreme. They are nasty-looking objects, all fins
    and teeth (a thick row of little bristle-like teeth). They are
    fat and shiny and most insipid eating.

    _Wednesday, 4th._--Started at six down stream; my face is turned
    towards bonny old England again, and I feel as if I had wings.
    At Kom Ombo (the first halt to-day) there are some ruins on a
    rock which crops up abruptly by the riverside in the midst of a
    flat country. The morning was divine, and the view from the
    temple, looking north, surpassingly lovely in colour. The form
    was nothing much; a vast sandy plain (tigered here and there
    with stripes of green), and in the distance a long low nest of
    mountain peaks; but the colour!--the gradation from the
    fawn-coloured glimmering sands in the foreground to the faint
    horizon with its hem of amethyst and sapphire was as enchanting
    a thing, in the sweet morning light, as I have ever seen. The
    temple is fine though heavy, and less delicate in detail than
    Phylae. On the under surface of the architrave, between the
    columns, are some most curious and interesting unfinished
    decorations, on squares marked out in red, and showing (slight
    sketch) such as for instance a figure tried two ways on the same
    spot. The outlines are drawn out, in red also, with
    extraordinary firmness and freedom. Speaking of the squares,
    Gardiner Wilkinson--in his, I am told, most erudite, and, I am
    certain, most dry and heavy, guide-book--says that they were
    used (in the manner in which "squaring off" is practised in the
    present day) for the purpose of transferring a design. In this,
    however, he is obviously mistaken, because the squares are
    adapted not to the pictures but to the space to be decorated;
    the hieroglyphs and the figures being adapted to the squares,
    not the squares to them: that these squares, once made the
    _basis_ of the decoration and fixing its proportions and
    distribution, may then have been used also for enlarging a small
    design, or even, instead of tracing, for transferring one of the
    same size, is probable enough; but that was not their original
    function. In corroboration of this view, compare the frets and
    ornaments painted on the _back_ of the architrave of the
    Parthenon, which I have examined closely; they are painted in
    squares marked out with a sharp instrument, and determining the
    space to be decorated exactly as at Kom Ombo. The case is so
    entirely parallel as to suggest the idea that the Greeks learnt
    the practice in Egypt. The great temple of Edfou, where we
    stopped next, far surpasses anything I have yet seen in Egypt;
    not so much, perhaps, for any especial beauty of
    detail--although the sculptures are extremely fine--as for its
    general aspect, which is superb, and its wonderful state of
    preservation; many parts of it look as if they had been finished
    yesterday. The gigantic Propylaea, and the no less gigantic wall
    which encloses the whole of this fortress-temple, are almost
    entirely intact, and make it unlike any other ruin I know. The
    great court, a giant cloister into which one first enters,
    discloses the temple itself, blocked out in vast masses of light
    and gulfs of shade, and tunnelled through by a corridor which
    reaches to its extremest end; the absence of some portions of
    the roof, by letting the light play fantastically into the inner
    spaces, only adds to the mysterious grandeur of the effect. A
    broad, open peribolus runs round the temple, dividing it from
    the towering _mur d'enceinte_ which encloses the whole building.
    The western part of the temple is as full of staircases, secret
    passages, and dark chambers as any Gothic castle. Every square
    inch of the whole immense fabric is covered with sculptures and
    hieroglyphs.

    I forgot to say that I stopped between Kom Ombo and Edfou at the
    ancient quarries of Gebel Silsily, from which the material of
    the sandstone temples was mostly quarried. They are extremely
    striking, and have a grandeur of their own. It was curious to
    compare them mentally with the marble quarries of Pentelicus
    from which Ictinus carved the Parthenon and Pheidias the Fates.

    In a tomb at El Kab are some most amusing and interesting
    sculptures (with the colour almost intact on them) representing
    the various occupations of Egyptian life, agricultural, &c. The
    reaping of the corn and durrah is pretty--a vintage and
    wine-treading pleased me vastly. Had they wine in this district?

    Coming upon a magnificent view, stopped the steamer for the
    night; want to see it by sunrise. The absurd spurious importance
    my steamer confers on me in the eyes of the natives is too
    funny. At Edfou I found the whole place _en emoi_; horses
    handsomely caparisoned, a most polite governor, sheykhs, and a
    general profusion of salaams. It appears that the viceroy had
    the authorities in the different places telegraphed to be civil
    to me; and God knows they are. I was struck with the
    magnificence of the population here, the men at least; they are
    most stately fellows. I should like immensely to paint some of
    them, but for that there is no time; I can only hope that
    something will stick to me from this dazzling multitude of fine
    things. We are now again in the region of doves, whose presence
    in large numbers affects the architecture of the villages in a
    most curious manner. Every house has, or rather, _is_, a
    dovecot, the chief _corps de batiment_ being a tower, or several
    towers, of which the whole upper part is exclusively affected to
    the doves. Their sides are inclined like the sides of the
    propylaea of the temples, with which they harmonise amazingly
    well; they are divided horizontally by bands of colour which
    have an excellent effect, recalling strongly the marked parallel
    strata of the mountains. (There is no more curious study than
    the concord which constantly manifests itself between national
    (and notably domestic) architecture, and the nature in the midst
    of which it grows up.) The construction of these towers is both
    peculiar and ingenious; they are built up entirely with earthen
    jars, sometimes placed topsy-turvy, but most often on their
    sides, and tier above tier like bottles in a cellar. The
    exterior is then filled in with mud, and the interior presents
    the appearance of a honeycomb, the cells being formed by the
    hollow jars; in these jars the doves have their abode. It is
    easy to see that by turning a few of the jars _outwards_ a very
    simple but pretty decoration may be obtained; a crest is added
    at the top by placing jars upside down at certain intervals; the
    bands of colour are generally divided by a string-course of
    bricks something after this fashion, but with much variety; and
    each of these string-courses is garnished with a perfect hedge
    of branches and twigs projecting horizontally a yard or more,
    and forming resting places for thousands of doves. Many houses
    have two towers, and the wealthier people have towers of great
    size subdivided again into small turrets; but in all cases the
    height of these edifices is the same, or nearly so, so that the
    villages received from them a very monumental look. The large
    towers are divided after the manner shown in the sketch. The
    natives also make to themselves curious pillar cupboards of mud
    (about man high), which from a distance have the oddest
    appearance; they look like raised pies on pedestals.

    _Thursday, 5th._--Made a little sketch from the paddle-box
    before starting. Then to Esne to return the visit of my amiable
    friend, the governor; him of the flowers. There is a temple
    here; a heavy-looking portico of the Roman period, coarsely
    executed, but with a grand, cavernous look, buried as it is in
    the ground which rises all round it to half the height of the
    columns, so that you have to descend a considerable flight of
    steps to get at it. At Arnout, or at least within three miles of
    it, are a few fragments of the Caesarium. The portraits of
    Cleopatra and Caesarion (he is always seated on her lap), which
    occur here several times, would be of the greatest interest if
    they were not utterly conventional, and exactly like everybody
    else in every temple of the date. Got to Lougsor at sunset, and
    found no letters, no Sterlings, no Lady Duff Gordon. I trust the
    letters may still turn up before I go, for, if not, I shall
    probably lose them entirely, through my desire to get them a
    little earlier. In the evening dined with Mustafa Aga, and met
    there the American Consul-General, Mr. Hale, who had run up from
    Alexandria to show the Nile to a friend of his; both are
    agreeable men (Mr. Hale earned my warmest blessings by lending
    me a pile of English newspapers); there was also the Consul from
    Syoot with a friend of his. After dinner the dancing girls were
    asked in, and, presently, a buffoon who stripped to his waist
    and performed various antics; he was clever and a good mimic,
    but became terribly tedious after a short time. His performance
    was of the most Aristophanic coarseness. With the girls, of
    whom I had heard so much, I was decidedly disappointed; in the
    first place they were mostly ugly, one or two only were
    tolerably good-looking--_et encore!_ Then they were clumsily
    built, and their dress was quite ludicrous: it consisted in a
    body fitting tight to the figure and four inches too long in the
    waist, tight sleeves, a petticoat, in shape exactly like a
    pen-wiper, and very full, loose trowsers (bags) down to the
    feet; the whole of printed calico. In front of their waists hung
    a sort of _breloque_, or chain, looped up at intervals in
    festoons, the object of which was to jingle as they moved, and
    to add to the effect of certain little brass _castagnette_
    cymbals which they held on the middle finger and thumb of either
    hand. A profusion of ornaments hung round their necks. Their
    dancing is very inferior to that of the Andalusian dancers of
    the same class, whose performance is full of a quaint grace and
    even dignity--inferior, too, to the Algerine dancing, to which
    that of the south of Spain more nearly approaches in character;
    it is monotonous in the extreme--very ugly for the most part,
    and remarkable only as a gymnastic feat; sleight of loins, so to
    speak. These are, however, no doubt, unfavourable specimens; I
    shall see the best of the kind in Keneh at the house of the
    Consul, who has come all the way here from that place to invite
    me thereto.

    _Friday, 6th._--Went to the palace and temples of Medinet Haboo,
    with which I was delighted beyond my expectation. What pleased
    me most, and was an entire surprise to me, was a bit of purely
    secular architecture--the remains of a royal residence, with its
    towers flanking the great entrance, its windows of various
    shapes, balconies, semicircular crenelations, outer wall; in
    fact, identically such a building as one sees occasionally in
    Egyptian sculptures, and, curiously enough, as if it were a
    portrait of it, on the walls of the very temple to which this
    palace leads. The temple, too (the large one), interested me
    extremely from the wonderful preservation of the coloured
    decoration in parts of it; one really gathers an excellent idea
    of the original effect, and a most brilliant and magnificent
    (though barbarous) effect it must have been. The columns in the
    great hall here are of what, for want of a better word, I shall
    call the "ninepin" pattern; and I think on the whole I prefer it
    to the bell-capped pattern; because, besides its character and
    massive strength, there is no suggestion in it (as in the other)
    of the Doric order, with which comparison is obviously
    dangerous. As far as I can observe, there is no trace of colour
    on any of the propylaea, but the pylon is always richly decorated
    and highly coloured. This decorative importance given to the
    door must have had a very striking effect, and reminds me of the
    same peculiarity in the dwellings of Upper Egypt.

    Visited a private tomb near Medinet Haboo, which is full of the
    most curious paintings, many of them in excellent preservation,
    and representing every sort of domestic and professional
    occupation. They are very superior in execution and character to
    those of El Kab. In the evening had a dinner on board: Mr. Hale
    and friend, Mustafa Aga and the Syoot Consuls (one of whom does
    not speak a word of anything but Arabic). I had also invited
    Mustafa's younger son, but find that he may not sit down with
    his father. (He accompanied me this morning, and insisted on
    lunching with the servants; on the other hand, my servant is
    addressed as Hosseyn _Effendi_, if you please! and conversed
    with as a gentleman. Service appears to be looked upon in an
    entirely patriarchal light.) The entertainment went off
    successfully, and Ottilio, the Italian waiter, covered himself
    with glory by his excellent waiting. After dinner Mr. Hale
    received a telegram to the effect that General Grant had been
    elected President of the United States, with Mr. Colfax as Vice.
    He was in great excitement and delight; we had a recrudescence
    of champagne, and gave the new President three cheers in British
    fashion. The news had come in _three days_ from Washington to
    Thebes! it is marvellous.

    _Saturday, 7th._--Went to Karnak. Wilkinson advises the
    traveller to see this group of temples last; and wisely, for it
    is indeed the crowning glory of all, and must satisfy, if it
    does not surpass, the most sanguine expectations. The vast
    unfinished propylaea of the large temple prepare one by their
    colossal dimensions for the gigantic grandeur of the great
    central hall, in which one is at a loss what most to admire--the
    originality of the general design, combining, as it does in a
    surprising degree, freedom and variety with the gravest
    simplicity--the massive and reposeful breadth of the forms or
    the exquisite subtlety of the colour. The latter has of course
    gained very much from the blending hand of time, and is now of a
    most delightful mellowness, but, judging from the better
    preserved portions, it must have been at all times of singular
    beauty. It seems strange at first that a decoration consisting
    entirely of small blots of vivid colour on a white ground, like
    butterflies on a wall, can have a _large_ architectural effect;
    but, in fact, the _repetition_ over large surfaces of wall and
    column restores, through its monotony, the balance of breadth.
    The design of this hall is very curious: the great central nave,
    flanked on each side by two aisles of the same height as itself,
    but of less breadth (diminishing, roughly, in a proportion of
    10, 7, 5), runs, as in a Gothic cathedral, perpendicular to the
    main entrance; beyond the second aisle, however, on either side,
    the lintels or architraves which connect the columns run at
    _right angles_ to the nave; the effect of this arrangement must
    have been peculiar and striking. (Too little remains now, except
    the columns, to enable one to form a distinct idea.) The central
    nave, with the aisles immediately adjoining, rises in a
    clerestory thirty or forty feet above the rest of the building,
    and was lighted by massive square windows filled with slabs of
    stone (sketch), perforated vertically, and of a severe and very
    fine (sketch) effect. These windows fill the space between the
    entablature of the lateral columns and of the roof of the
    clerestory, and must be some twenty to twenty-five feet high. I
    find it difficult to reconcile my eye to the far-fetched
    "asymetria" in the arrangement of the columns, the lesser ones
    standing in no definite relationship, on the plan, to the two
    central rows, neither immediately behind them nor half-way
    between them. How differently the Greeks managed these things!
    The inner row of columns at the east and west ends of the
    Parthenon differs also in size, height, and level from the outer
    row, and also stands back; but it is only _one row_ at each end;
    so that variety and play of form are obtained without a repeated
    jar on the eye; and an otherwise uniform rectangular plan is not
    gratuitously distorted. In a very ancient temple beyond and
    behind that of the great hall are some curious polygonal columns
    that have a very Doric look about them, though they are very
    rude and undeveloped.

    The walls of Karnak are of course defaced and disfigured by the
    usual amount of inscriptions; one commemorative tablet,
    however, like a similar one at Phylae, inspires a different
    feeling. Both are memorials of the French Campaign in Egypt; the
    one at Phylae, dated "an VIII. de la Republique Francaise,"
    alludes with simple dignity to the victorious march of the
    French army to the first cataract, giving the names of the
    generals who were fighting "sous les ordres de Bonaparte"; the
    other, under the same date, is a simple scientific memorandum
    giving the latitude and longitude of the chief towns on the
    Nile. It is impossible to read the first of these inscriptions
    without emotion: how remote from us, already, seems that stern,
    invincible French Republic, tracing its proud name with an
    undoubting finger here in the grave-dust of an empire that stood
    more centuries than this young giant completed years! How
    thickly, already, does the dust lie now on the grave of this
    thing of yesterday!

    In writing about Phylae, I forgot to notice the henna tree, which
    grows in great quantities round the skirts of the temple, and
    has a delicious scent. In this wilderness of granite and most
    unsavoury haunt of bats, its perfume wafted unexpectedly on the
    air is infinitely delightful.

    _Sunday, 8th._--Sketched.

    _Monday, 9th._--Ditto. In the evening went out to shoot, but
    could not get near the pelicans and crows--they see you half a
    mile off. Returning, against stream, Hosseyn, anxious to be
    useful, took a _punting pole_ and _rowed_ away with an air of
    conviction which was worthy of the fly on the coach-wheel in the
    fable.

    The heat, though still considerable (greater than with us at
    midsummer), has diminished within the last few days, and does
    not inconvenience me as much as it did in sketching. Towards
    evening, soft autumnal veils of mist rise from the smooth, swift
    river, and shroud everything in their mysterious folds; to-night
    the effect was especially striking; a pale golden sun hung in a
    pale golden mist, tempered so that one could look at it
    undazzled, and so shorn of its fires that the eastern bank,
    instead of burning orange, showed only a faint violet flush over
    its dark-brown ridges. On a dahabieh alongside me an Arab is
    singing endless strophes of some poem of love and war,
    accompanied by the thud and jingle of a tambourine; the melody,
    a wandering, nasal strain, full of turns and runs and triplets,
    appears to be entirely improvised, and is full of character and
    melancholy. At the end of each strophe I hear a prolonged, deep
    groan of approval uttered in a chorus by the audience, rising in
    pitch after a particularly happy effort of the rhapsodist, whose
    song begins again and again in mournful gusts like the song of
    the wind. It is dark; I only hear--don't see--the singer and his
    listeners.

    _Tuesday, 10th._--Sketched. A frequent companion in my work is
    my friend, little Fatma, a sweet, small child of about five,
    with a bright face and two rows of the whitest teeth ever seen.
    She squats down snugly by my side, sometimes looking at the
    picture, sometimes at the painter, most often at the paint-box,
    at which she twiddles silently; sometimes she pensively draws a
    pattern with a little brown finger on my dusty boots. I remember
    at Rhodes, last year, a knot of little girls used to watch me
    sketching in the Street of the Knights; but the little Turks
    were not so nice as Fatma, the little Arab; some used to giggle,
    and some used to frown at the Djiaour; but one very chatty young
    lady of about six with the manners and graces of sixteen would
    exclaim in a little fluty voice, "Mash Allah! Mash Allah!
    beautiful indeed! nobody here can write like you!" (Turk., if my
    memory helps me: _Guzel! guzel! Bir khimse burda senci zhibi
    yazamas!_) I had a visit on board the other day from Mustafa
    Aga's youngest son, bonny and rosy as an apple. He wore a
    flowing robe of linen, _a ramages_, buttoned summarily and once
    for all at the neck, but entirely open from the neck downwards;
    over this an enormous embroidered jacket with anticipatory
    sleeves turned up at the wrists, and on, or rather about, his
    feet, a pair of his papa's shoes; he was irresistibly funny and
    pretty; an _amorino_, dressed up as the Dog Toby. He was very
    chatty; not so his playfellow, "Genani," the son of Abdallah,
    the servant of Mustafa, a putto by Raphael modelled in
    chocolate; a wild, black-eyed, trembling, romping, dusty,
    stark-naked little imp (I used to call him Afreet), and the
    finest child I ever saw. The nearest approach to social
    intercourse I could get out of him was a sudden plunge at a
    proffered cake; after which he would dart off with affected
    dismay, and frown at me through an ill-suppressed grin from
    behind the nearest place of safety.

    _Wednesday, 11th._--Got on with my sketches. Have begun two or
    three rough small studies of heads. Hate sketching heads
    rapidly; it is unavoidably and odiously free and easy, and
    nearly all that is worth escapes. But I have no time for more,
    and, I suppose, the sketches will be useful. One man, with a
    face like a camel, whom I drew in profile, was annoyed (though
    in a general way complimentary) at seeing only one eye in the
    picture. This struck me as quaint; for he was _blind_ of the
    other; he had not been defrauded of much. My delight, in the
    evening, is to watch the processions of women and girls coming
    down to the Nile to fetch water. The brown figures, clad in
    brown, coming, in long rows, along the brown bank in all the
    glow and glory of sunset, look very grand; very grand, too,
    returning up the steep bank, along the violet sky, with their
    long, flowing folds and the full pitchers now erect on their
    heads (when empty they carry them horizontally). They are
    neither handsome individually nor particularly well made, but
    their movements are good, and the repetition of the same
    "motive" many times in succession makes the whole scene
    impressive and stately. There is no more fruitful source of
    effect in Nature or Art than iteration.

    The suppleness of the limbs of the children here is
    extraordinary. I have seen little girls squatting like
    grasshoppers in the Nile drinking, _a meme_, the water in which
    they were standing little more than ankle deep.

    An hour after nightfall the dahabieh, my neighbour, slipped her
    cables and began to drift down the river; but not till the
    rhapsodist had chanted his ditty to the approving murmurs of his
    little circle as on the preceding night. His singing has a great
    charm for me; I shall miss it. It reminds me much of Andalusian
    singing and moonlight nights in the Bay of Cadiz--there is about
    it a strangeness and a wayward melancholy that attach and charm
    me. It was a love song (I am told, for I could not hear the
    words, and should have understood very few if I had).

    "Ya leyl! ya leyl! ya leyl!"--the eternal refrain of Arab songs.
    "Oh night! oh night! oh night! you have left a fire in my heart,
    oh my beloved! Oh my beloved, do not forget me!" &c. &c. &c.

    A day or two ago I heard a youth calling the faithful to noonday
    prayer, from the gallery of a minaret, with one of the finest
    voices I have ever heard; he was tearing his notes from the
    inmost depths of his chest with that eagerness of yet
    unconscious passion that I have often noticed in southern
    children, and which to me is singularly pathetic; he retained
    his last notes as long as his breath allowed it, and they
    vibrated in distinct waves like a sonorous metal set in motion:
    from a little distance the effect was _saisissant_. I could not
    see him, and the air seemed to throb with sound as well as with
    heat in the sultry noon.

    The departure of the dahabieh was celebrated with the usual Arab
    waste of powder, and all the echoes of the valley of the tombs
    across the river were aroused by the popping of many guns. All
    the consuls fired officially, everybody else fired unofficially.
    Hosseyn fired officiously--chuckling and nearly tumbling over;
    and the dahabieh itself, having opened the ball, fired again at
    intervals from a long distance as if it had forgotten
    somebody--they are too funny.

    _Thursday, 12th._--More sketching. The weather, which is a
    little too canicular at noon, is deliciously fresh and cool for
    an hour after sunrise; the Arabs, however, look much aggrieved
    at the severity of the cold; they sit huddled in muffled groups
    with a pinched look that would become a British December day.

    I observe that half the men in middle life have no forefinger to
    their right hand. They all of them mutilated themselves to avoid
    conscription under Said Pasha, who, however, having found them
    out, enlisted them all the same. A curious equality prevails
    here: whilst sketching two of Mustafa Aga's servants this
    morning, I learnt from his son that they were both his
    relations. One of them appears to be a particularly nice fellow,
    and is a perfect gentleman in his manners.

    _Friday, 13th._--My last day in Thebes. When I arrived here and
    found neither friends nor letters, I thought, caring little for
    the place apart from the ruins, that I should stay four or five
    days; to-morrow when I leave I shall have been here _nine_, and
    shall go with regret. Work has exercised its usual attaching
    influence.

    I have drawn in pencil a few heads that will be of use and
    interest to me. The subject of one of my studies (Mustafa's
    gardener) on receiving from Hosseyn two shillings for one hour's
    sitting, accused him, to his infinite disgust and anger, of
    having suppressed the _remaining_ eighteen shillings out of a
    putative pound which he conceived to be destined for him.
    _Excusez!_

    _Saturday, 14th._--Got up early to finish a couple of sketches,
    and started at half-past eleven amidst salutes and salaams. To
    my great relief, the letters which I very rashly sent for from
    Cairo three weeks ago have just turned up at the last
    moment--fewer than I had expected, but a great delight: the
    first and only news I have received since leaving home--such are
    Egyptian posts!

    Weather divine: the Nile like an opal mirror, reflecting without
    a break the faint, sleeping, sultry hills on the horizon: a
    lovely, drowsy scene. Arrived shortly after three at the village
    at which one lands for Keneh; a very cheery town about a mile
    inland. It is generally separated from the landing place on the
    river during the floods by a vast sheet of water; this year,
    however, owing to the calamitous lowness of the Nile, a narrow,
    shallow strip of water, only, intercepts the road, and a large
    tract of country remains untilled and unfruitful from the want
    of the quickening flood. Keneh is a very pretty sample of an
    Egyptian town; it is animated and full of colour, has some
    pretty minarets, some charming gardens, and more than the usual
    allowance of ornamental doorways: the effect of the mosaic of
    black and white bricks is most satisfactory, and has the charm
    which always accompanies a considerable result produced by very
    sober and simple means. Great relief is frequently obtained by a
    band or frieze of carved wood, running across the decorated
    surface at the springing of the arch; this band is generally
    carved in circles enclosing patterns and picked out with green
    and red. In the jambs of the door of one of the mosques, a very
    beautiful effect was produced by alternate bands of brickwork
    and minutely carved wood, _not_ coloured (three courses of brick
    to one band of wood).

    Visited a pottery, and for the first time in my life saw a
    pattern-wheel and the artist at work--a most fascinating sight:
    the bottles and jugs flow into the most graceful forms as if by
    magic, and look incomparably prettier than when they are baked.
    I could hardly get away. A little boy scratches a pattern on
    them as they leave the wheel.

    The Consul's white donkey, on which I ride about here, is as
    fleet as the wind and as oily in his movements as a two-oared
    gondola.

    _A propos_ of consuls, Mustafa at Thebes showed me his
    travellers' book--in it I saw an entry of the names of Speke and
    Grant, with the numbers of their regiments, and the dates of
    their departure from Zanzibar and their arrival at Khartoum and
    Thebes. A simple conventional travellers' entry, as if they had
    returned from an ordinary journey--nothing to hint at the great
    achievement which brought them such honour and lasting fame.

    _Sunday, 15th._--Made a sketch, a little after sunrise, of the
    chain of hills on the west bank of the Nile, then crossed the
    river to see the ruins of Denderah. Horses were waiting on the
    other side, and would have been most enjoyable if the weather
    had been cool; but, under a fierce sun, absolutely incessant
    prancing and waltzing ("he make 'fantasia,'" quoth Hosseyn) was
    fatiguing after a bit. Was so much struck with the beauties of
    the mountains, as seen from the left bank, that I resolved to
    stay a couple of days to paint them. The temple is extremely
    fine, and in parts unusually well preserved--_the sculpture_,
    that is, for the colour is almost entirely lost. These
    sculptures, being of a late period (Roman), are clumsy enough;
    on the other hand the general scheme of decoration is more
    artistic, more varied in distribution and rhythm than in most of
    the temples. On the external wall I remarked here, as at Edfou
    and at Medinet Haboo, massive and very handsome gargoyles--half
    a lion, couchant, on a large bracket, the water flowing from a
    spout between the paws--a more important feature in the
    architectural aspect of the wall than in northern countries, and
    calculated for five months' rain rather than for five minutes',
    which is the average annual fall here, I believe. This temple
    boasts a portrait of Cleopatra on a large scale, but, like those
    of Armout and Karnak, it is absolutely conventional, and any
    pretence of detecting an individuality is mere humbug. One
    fancies at first one has discovered some peculiarity in the
    features, but on a candid examination one must own that the same
    peculiarities occur in other faces on the same wall, or that
    they are owing to the mutilation to which two-thirds of the
    figures in all Egyptian temples has been assiduously subjected.
    In a lateral chamber of the temple, on the ceiling, is a most
    striking mystical design, representing the firmament and the sun
    fecundating the land of Egypt. It is fantastic and poetic in the
    extreme; it would delight Rossetti. In the evening made another
    sketch, and then rode to Keneh to dine with the Consul--a most
    interesting glimpse into a real old-fashioned Muslim interior.
    Si Syed Achmet (forty-five years British Agent in this town and
    at Khossayr) is a very wealthy old gentleman with large property
    in this part of the world. He is of the blood of the Prophet, a
    good and pious Muslim, tolerant and full of kindliness. A son,
    three nephews and a daughter form his immediate family circle,
    living with him in the house to which I was bidden--a bald,
    uninteresting place enough. It is entered from a narrow,
    irregular triangular court, ornamented on one side with some
    good brick and wood work, but ugly and plain on the others, and
    disfigured by something between a ladder and a staircase which
    leads to the clean but singularly naked room in which we were to
    spend the evening. This room was whitewashed, but so roughly
    bedaubed that the plain deal cupboards, the doors of which
    formed the only embellishment (?) of the walls, were all
    besmeared with ragged edges of white. Three windows, innocent of
    glass, and protected by a close, plain trellis-work of ordinary
    white wood, lighted the room, which boasted in the way of
    furniture the usual ugly divans, three red muslin curtains, a
    small deal table, two lanterns and two candles in candlesticks.
    Shortly after my arrival and most kindly reception by the old
    gentleman, who had come up from the country expressly _ad hoc_,
    dinner was served. The son, as the eldest, sat at table; the
    nephews waited on us; we squatted, I on a cushion, they on the
    floor, round a very low table on which was a large, round, brass
    tray, containing four plates, some wooden spoons, and a great
    many small loaves of bread arranged round it in a circle; a soup
    tureen, into which, after washing of hands, everybody plunged
    his spoon, was the central feature. After the soup, came in
    rapid succession several dishes containing savoury messes which
    were really very good, though perhaps too rich, but which I was
    entirely unable to enjoy in the sight of a number of hands,
    shining with gravy, mopping in succession at the dishes with
    crusts of bread, or fetching out a coveted morsel with fingers
    too recently licked. It is a delicate and hospitable attention
    to put a bit with your own hand on to your guest's plate--an
    attention of which I was the frequent but unworthy recipient.
    After the made dishes had been done justice to, half a
    sheep--head and all--was put on the table and _clawed_ asunder
    by Hosseyn. The roast being disposed of, the sweets appeared,
    and were eaten out of the common dish with spoons, like the
    soup: I was not sorry when it was over, for I had gone through
    all the sensations of a sea voyage. I observe that Arabs make a
    point of eating with as much noise and smacking of lips as
    possible; it is as if they were endeavouring to convey a sort of
    oblique expression of thanks to Providence by manifesting their
    relish of the blessings vouchsafed. When dinner was over, and a
    by no means superfluous washing of hands had been gone through,
    we had pipes and coffee. Hosseyn having gone to dine, I was now
    thrown on my own extremely limited stock of Arabic for
    conversation; and as I had about exhausted that during my ride
    to Keneh with one of the nephews, I was hard put to it. However,
    I just managed to get through a few broken sentences, to the
    great satisfaction of Achmet, who informed me that he had been
    for forty years the servant of the English, of whom he thought
    very highly, chiefly because, as he expressed it, they have "one
    word"--a satisfactory character to leave behind. In the evening
    the governor (Mudir) came to see me with a tail of employes and,
    if you please, a pocket-handkerchief, of which he was not a
    little conscious, holding it in his hand rolled into a neat
    tube, which he occasionally drew with dignity across the basis
    of the official nose. The Consul for France and Prussia also
    came and made his salaam. My borrowed and temporary plumes have
    been of real use to somebody here, for the Mudir, hearing that
    an Englishman (whom he erroneously supposed to be somebody) was
    on board a viceroy's steamer, immediately gave the crew two
    months' pay--an alacrity not sufficiently often displayed in
    this country, if I am not much misinformed. The dancing-girls
    who came to entertain us in the evening were no doubt better
    than those of Lougsor, though, with one exception, at least as
    ugly; but some of them were gorgeously attired (from the
    dancing-dog point of view), and all were a mass of gold
    necklaces and coins and glittering headgear, which produced at a
    certain distance and in the doubtful light a prodigiously fine
    effect of colour. The dancing was a little more varied than that
    of the Lougsor women, chiefly, no doubt, because they got more
    to drink; but, _en somme_, I am confirmed in my first impression
    that it is an eminently ugly performance, though a very
    remarkable gymnastic feat. Of course a graceful and good-looking
    girl may do a good deal to redeem it by personal charm, and this
    was in some degree the case with Zehneb, who is a noted dancer
    and the _fine fleur_ of the profession. She is pretty though
    coarse in feature, and not without grace; but has a
    semi-European smack about her dress and ways that spoils her in
    my eyes--hers, by-the-bye, are splendid. Just as the "fantasia"
    was at its height, a ragged, dust-soiled, old beggar came,
    chattering and grinning, into the room, and at once installed
    himself, uninvited but unhindered, on the divan, from which
    comfortable post he proceeded to witness the performance and
    apparently thoroughly to enjoy his evening. The contrast between
    his beggar's garb and the scrupulously cleanly attire of his
    neighbours was very curious. He is a fakeer, as I am told;
    everybody feeds him, no doors are closed to him; he is not, I
    believe, exactly an idiot, but is certainly in his second
    childhood--"rimbambito," as the Italians say. On one side of him
    squatted a sweet little brown girl, Achmet's daughter, of about
    five or six, in a pink cotton shift and with anklets hanging
    about her little naked feet. On the other side, a little further
    off, was an umber-coloured dancing-girl, with bright bold eyes
    painted round with black, covered with a mass of gold coins on
    her head, in her hair, on her ears, and round her neck, and
    wearing a blue silk dress all bespangled with gold. He looked
    like a dust-heap between them. It was a queer picture, taken out
    of the "Thousand and One Nights"; from which work also, I
    presume, the numerous one-eyed people that I see everywhere in
    Egypt, are copied. (I prefer this view to that of unimaginative
    pedants who, attaching undue importance to facts, inform me that
    this blindness is self-inflicted, to avoid conscription.) My
    ride home was a fitting close to such an evening; a fantastic
    procession we made, headed by a handful of torch and lantern
    bearers, brandishing enormous staves; after which "Meine
    Wenigkeit" on a sumptuously caparisoned steed, the consul's
    nephew, the captain, Hosseyn, a cawass, all of them on horses,
    others on donkeys, and odd men bustling about amongst us and
    dispersing the few stragglers that were to be found at that late
    hour in the streets. The fitful flare of the torches, dressing
    in fugitive, fantastic lights the gateways and dim walls of the
    slumbering town, had a very fine effect. More curious still was
    our ride _through_ a quarter of a mile of _dourah_ that stood at
    least ten or twelve feet high all round us; the train of light
    and shower of sparks in the tall graceful corn was of a
    surprising aspect. Except that nothing took fire, it was as if
    Samson's foxes had been let loose in front of us.

    _Monday, 16th._--Sketched. In the evening, yielding, I own, with
    some reluctance, to a pressing invitation, returned to Keneh to
    dine with Si Achmet. Had, except the roast, exactly the same
    dinner as on the previous day, which leads me to conjecture that
    the _repertoire_ of Arab cookery is limited. After dinner we
    rode out to see the moolid, which is just beginning here. It is
    _the_ great moolid of Central Egypt, and to it, but only towards
    the end, flock people from all parts of the country till the
    concourse is enormous. It must be an interesting sight when in
    full swing, but as yet there is little or nothing worth seeing
    except the tomb of the sheykh in whose honour the moolid is held
    (Sheykh Abd-er-Rahim, the "Genani") to which I was taken by my
    host. The building was like most others of the same class in
    Egypt: a square chamber with a dome, and windows through which
    the coffin, placed conspicuously in the centre, can be seen by
    the pious crowds outside. On entering, I was conducted, after
    taking off my boots, to a post of honour, on the ground of
    course, in the midst of a grave circle of worthies who were
    squatting in the _ruelle_ between one side of the coffin and the
    wall. On my right was one of the civic functionaries, on my left
    the priest attached to the tomb. The spectacle before me was
    wonderful both in colour and form, though composed in great part
    of the simplest elements. It was like the finest Delacroix in
    aspect and tone, but with a gravity and stateliness of form very
    foreign to that brilliant but epileptic genius. To the left of
    me, covered with a showy embroidered cloth, stood behind a
    railing the sarcophagus of the saint, illuminated from above by
    various lanterns hung from the ceiling (the central one, and the
    handsomest, the gift of Lady Duff Gordon) and from the corners
    by gigantic candles, standing in candlesticks of proportionate
    dimensions; at the same corners stood great banners of sober but
    rich tone, which added much to the general colour. On each side
    of the carpet at the head of which I squatted, squatted, in far
    more picturesque attire, some of the notables of Keneh, half
    hidden in the shadow, their large turbans cast on the rich
    carpet they sat on. At the further end stood and stared, with
    the solemnity of a chorus in an opera, a motley, dazzling group
    of lesser folk; magnificent, too, in the flow of their
    draperies, the grace of the half untwisted turbans wreathed
    round their necks or hanging from their shoulders, the
    stateliness of their forms, and the fiery glow of colour in
    which they burnt under the clustered lanterns. Unfortunately, I
    could not gaze with attention as undivided as I could have
    wished, because the gentleman on my right insisted on making
    conversation, the very meagrest form of which exercise absorbed
    for the time my powers of attention. Hosseyn, who is very pious,
    bled me of an enormous baksheesh for the shrine of the saint.

    _Tuesday, 17th._--Completed my sketches in the morning. In the
    evening, Si Achmet, his son, and three nephews, one of whom I
    neither knew nor had invited (this is entirely Arabic--I might,
    also, have taken any one with me to dine with them) came to dine
    on board. It was a very droll ceremony--the Arabs had, with one
    exception, probably never sat at a table on a chair before, but
    they were so entirely simple as not to be (also, by-the-bye,
    with one exception) at all ridiculous. Ottilio had, perhaps with
    a little malice, arranged the napkins in a most artistic and
    intricate fashion; these edifices so impressed my friends that
    they did not sit down opposite to their plates but on one side
    of them. I set them at once comparatively at their ease by
    requesting them, through Hosseyn, to consider themselves at home
    and eat with their fingers, forgiving me if I followed the
    custom of my country; the proposal was received with great
    satisfaction by the old gentleman and his son, who fell to in
    their own way, the father muttering his appreciation of the
    dishes in low, sonorous ejaculations: "Allah!"--"Mash
    Allah!"--"Ou Allah!"--"Ameer! Ameer!" &c. &c. &c. The son, a man
    of about forty, with a broken nose and a very strong squint, and
    whose movements carried a general impression of contemplative
    dreaminess, always verging on surprise, ate with his usual
    deliberation and spent his odd moments in contemplating a
    shining bunch of fingers, which he periodically and slowly
    licked with the utmost impartiality; he did not mix in the
    conversation. Of the three cousins on my left, two made a very
    fair attempt at using the knife and fork, though it must have
    been a virgin effort; the third, who had been a great deal with
    English people when he was consul at Khossayr, ate his dinner
    and put down his wine like the best European; I suspect, in
    fact, that he was brought as a show man. Achmet, in a climax of
    gratification, exclaimed towards the end of dinner, "By Allah!
    if the Ameer comes to my house another year, he shall be served
    after the Frankish custom." Arabs appear to be much devoted to
    _limonade gazeuse_--without being the forbidden fruit of wine
    itself, it dwells in bottles, and has a sort of air of crime
    about it which no doubt pleases them; my left-hand neighbour
    took off at least two bottles during dinner.

    Hosseyn, whose father was a great friend of Si Achmet, proved
    invaluable; he hopped about like a delighted child, filling the
    glasses, cutting the meat of the two digitarians, and generally
    making conversation--a great relief to me. In the evening one of
    the nephews asked for some tea to take home, which I gave him;
    another pocketed all the tobacco that was brought them to make
    cigarettes. Arabs are hospitable and generous, and I like them
    much, but they are indiscreet in the extreme. "Arabs," says
    Hosseyn, "have no face; they never take shame." I have seen
    instances of this which I won't put down; one only, for it is
    very droll: my squinting friend with the pensive look asked Lady
    Ely last year if she would just procure for him from the Queen a
    title, or an order, as a mark of her regard. I am the bearer of
    a letter to her from him now, which I have no doubt is a
    reminder. Slew a sheep again.

    _Wednesday, 18th._--Left Keneh early, and with regret; the
    place, the people and the scenery have left many pleasing
    pictures in my memory. I little expected at starting the
    annoyance that awaited me! As we approached the spot where
    Sheykh Selim receives his devout visitors, I sent word to the
    captain that I did not wish to lose any time in landing, but
    that the bag of money which had been collected for the saint was
    to be delivered, and we were to go on. I had scarcely uttered
    this almost sacrilegious order, when the steamer, which had been
    judiciously steered within ten yards of a flat, shelving bank,
    ran hard and fast into the mud, with the apparent intention of
    sticking there permanently, the engine being utterly powerless
    to get her out. Nobody on board doubted for an instant but that
    Sheykh Selim had stopped us in his resentment; the captain
    instantly dispatched sailors with money to propitiate him, and
    after a few futile attempts on the part of five or six of the
    crew (to loud cries of "Help us, O Prophet! help us, O Sheykh
    Selim!") to heave out a vessel that was four or five feet in the
    mud, jumped himself into a boat, and hurried, of course
    accompanied by Hosseyn, and leaving his vessel to take care of
    herself, to beseech the sheykh to get us off. Their conversation
    was afterwards reported to me by one who was present. "What is
    this, O Sheykh, that thou hast done to us? in what have we been
    wanting towards thee? did I not give thee a shirt when we last
    came by? and the tobacco, was it not good? was the roast meat
    not sufficient? why are we thus punished?"--to whom the sheykh:
    "Don't be a fool! why do you come to me about your boat? am I a
    sailor? how do you expect me to get her off--or on? Allah got
    her on the sand, not I, who am a man like yourselves." The
    captain: "Allah is indeed great, but if he ran us aground it was
    on thy instigation--thou knowest it, O Sheykh!" &c. &c. In this
    strain the conversation lasted at least twenty minutes, during
    which time and for the rest of the day I was literally sick with
    disgust and anger at the lot of them. Everything that ought not
    to be done under the circumstances, including losing the anchor
    (which is still at the bottom of the river), was done before
    evening; everything that should have been done was left undone.

    Next morning (Thursday, 19th) we obtained (by force, after the
    fashion of this country) through the governor of the
    neighbouring town a gang of two hundred Arabs, magnificent
    fellows some of them, who, at last, by heaving and tugging,
    contrived to get her off--not without the most unearthly
    _charivari_ I ever heard. In the morning I made a sketch;
    reached Bellianeh in the evening, appeased, at last, and rather
    amused at the abject condition of the captain, to whom I had
    conveyed my mind (he had never seen me angry before), and who
    swore that in future one hundred sheykhs should not take him out
    of his course. My misadventure will benefit my successors in the
    good ship _Sheberkheyt_--_a quelque chose malheur est bon._

    _Friday, 20th._--Started at seven on horseback to see Abydos,
    and had a delightful morning. The weather was fresh and clear,
    and the canter of six or seven miles across a fine open plain to
    the foot of the mountains where the ruins lie was most
    enjoyable. The temples, very strikingly situated on a slope
    which sweeps down from a grand amphitheatre of bastion-like
    rocks, have a great advantage over all those that I have yet
    seen, viz. that their sculptures have almost entirely escaped
    mutilation, and are in admirable preservation. This is the more
    fortunate, that they are of a very fine period, and most
    delicate in workmanship; the type of the faces has considerable
    beauty and refinement. The colours, notably in the more recently
    excavated temple of Osiris, are often extremely well preserved,
    and I am confirmed in my conjecture, that they must have been
    much less beautiful in their freshness than now that time has
    toned and tuned them. In the larger temple are some very
    beautiful wagon-head vaults _cut in the thickness of two layers
    of stone_, the upper ones laid on end to get more thickness of
    material. They are charmingly decorated with cartouches and
    stars on a blue ground, and divided by a band of hieroglyphs
    running like a ridge-rib along the head of the vault. The stars
    on Egyptian ceilings are always pentagonal, and placed very near
    together. At the temple I was joined by the obligato governor, a
    puffy Turk with a tight, shiny face that had a look of having
    been stung all over by a wasp; he was heavy and stupid, and I
    left him in the hands of Hosseyn, galloping ahead myself with
    the mounted cawass, a very picturesque Arnout on a very good
    horse. _N.B._--Never come to the East again without an English
    saddle; the back-board of a Turkish saddle is in the long run an
    intolerable nuisance, as are also, though in a less degree, the
    shovel-stirrups in which one's feet are imprisoned. In the
    afternoon reached Sohag, a sail, or rather a steam, of three or
    four hours, in time for a most pleasant evening's walk.

    _Saturday, 21st._--Got to Syoot in the afternoon, and was very
    glad to catch Lady Duff Gordon on her way up the river. Was
    received with great hospitality by the American and Spanish
    consuls, wealthy Copts of this town who kindly put their
    carriages at my disposal and, better still, their
    donkeys--splendid Arabian donkeys, looking, in their trappings,
    like cardinals' mules. Nothing is more pleasant than the swift
    amble of a good donkey from the Hejaz. Dined in the evening with
    Mr. Wonista, the consul for Spain, quite "a la Franca" with
    knives and forks and the whole thing. A curious house, and the
    rooms small but of enormous height, so that they looked as if
    they had been set _on end_ by mistake. The walls were bare
    whitewash, but the furniture was of the most gorgeous brocade,
    as were also the curtains; there was a European carpet all over
    the floor and as many candles on the walls (in glass bells) as
    in a _cafe chantant_. I met there a Scotch clergyman belonging
    to the American Mission (Episcopalian) which is very active in
    Egypt. After dinner the singer from Lady Duff Gordon's boat was
    sent for, and in a short time arrived with some of the crew who
    acted as chorus; it is this chorus, I find, that gives the
    approving murmur after each strophe. He sang well, but his
    performance of course lost three-fourths of its charm by not
    being heard in its proper place and surroundings. I remember
    once in the Sabine hills hearing unexpectedly at a distance, in
    the silent dimness of night, the droning song of a _piffera_;
    nothing could be more strangely pathetic than this voice rising
    in the utter silence from out of the heart of the valley
    below--yet those same sounds heard close in the broad daylight
    would have seemed uncouth and strident. Arab singing has a
    similar quality, and is equally dependent on time and place for
    its full effect. Whilst the performance was at its height, and
    the minstrel was tuning his note to the most ambitious
    _fioriture_, I heard in the room overhead some European
    part-singing of a melancholy order, and was informed that the
    Scotch minister had been invited by a few proselytes to retire
    upstairs "to worship and explain an obscure passage in the
    Gospel." On the invitation of the master of the house, I went up
    and joined the congregation, who thought it right to favour me
    with another psalm. The clergyman then read in Arabic, and
    expounded in the same language a chapter from the Bible, and I
    must say did it (I speak of his manner only, for Koran and Bible
    Arabic is so different from the current idiom, here at all
    events, that I did not understand four words in the whole
    sermon) in a very simple and impressive way. He had, too, an
    admirable accent. He tells me that in spite of vehement
    opposition from the Coptic prelates he finds a good deal of
    sympathy amongst the people.

    _Sunday, 22nd._--Lovely day. Strolled about with a gun. This
    place is full of "sparrows of paradise," a little bird of an
    exquisite golden green. Since I was here last, the aspect of the
    country has changed very much and for the better. Where I saw, a
    few weeks back, nothing but pools and mud, is now a vast expanse
    of clover and grass of an intense green, sunny and brilliant to
    a wonderful degree. The plain looks like one immense jewel, and
    contrasts deliciously with the tawny sand-rock which walls it in
    on the west, behind the gleaming white domes of the cemetery.
    Dined with the other consul in the evening. Same sort of house,
    but much larger. No Scotch clergyman this time, but an
    Anglo-Arab who teaches in the Coptic school, and, embracing
    Coptic views, inveighs bitterly against the converts to
    Protestantism. At sunset, to my agreeable surprise, the
    Sterlings turned up, _musique en tete_, the singer in the bows
    quavering a jubilant strain, and the vessel magnificent with
    fresh paint.

    _Monday, 23rd._--Killed a sheep. Sketched. Had the consuls and
    the Scotch missionary to dine with me. The latter brought me
    some newspapers, which I read greedily.

    _Tuesday, 24th._--Sketched. At last an evening to myself!--these
    festive gatherings are an ineffable bore, if the truth were
    told.

    _Wednesday, 25th._--Completed my sketches with one exception--a
    study of my beautiful grey (_hechtgrau_) donkey. Unless I make a
    study at Sakkara, which is just possible, this will be the end
    of my work on the Nile. In twenty-two skies which I have painted
    there is not a vestige of a cloud, such has been the divinely
    serene weather I have had all along. This evening, indeed,
    faint, shining flakes of vapour were drawn across the sky,
    breaking and tempering the last rays of the sun; but by a
    curious piece of luck they did not appear till I was just giving
    the last touches to my day's work. Saw a beautiful and original
    effect at sunset. Just as the sun was about to sink behind the
    hills, a dahabieh drifted past with its sails spread, and
    reaching up into the region where the light was still golden,
    whilst the face of the water was darkened, and the long, low
    banks were already shadowy and grey, the burning sail was
    reflected in the night of the river, and looked astonishingly
    beautiful. It was like the mellow splendour of the rising moon.

    I delight in seeing the sailors climbing the tall, oblique yards
    of the Nile boats. Sometimes five or six of them perch on one
    yard at the same time, looking at a distance like great birds.

    _Thursday, 26th._--Finished my donkey and started; as I get
    further north, the weather is much cooler--the mornings and
    evenings are quite fresh, though not so cold but that I can
    sketch in the shade an hour after sunrise in summer clothes. The
    natives, however, seem to take a severe view of the temperature,
    and leave nothing unmuffled but their mouths, with which they
    occasionally blow their fingers in the most approved winter
    fashion. Was more struck than before with Gebel Aboofada--the
    infinite and strongly marked strata of which it is made up
    writhe and heave in a very grand and fantastic manner. Some of
    the Egyptian mountains are ruled like a copy book from head to
    foot, and are very monotonous.

    At the foot of Aboofada, I saw, for an instant, my first and
    last crocodile; a small one. They are very seldom seen from a
    steamer below the cataracts, as the noise frightens away the few
    there are. I had looked forward to getting a shot at one, and
    was a good deal disappointed at finding none up the river. It is
    curious how rapidly time lends its perspective to the past.
    Every now and then a boat from the cataracts laden with dates
    comes floating down the river, and the melancholy chant of the
    Nubian sailors, as they strain at the oars, already falls on my
    ear as a sudden memory of an almost distant past--not a month
    old.

    Arrived at Roda this evening. I have been reading, amongst other
    things, a book everybody else read thirty years ago, "Les
    Natchez," and am greatly disappointed with it. I am especially
    struck with the extraordinary contrast between the masterful
    sobriety and simplicity of the style, and the far-fetched
    affectation of the ideas which are, more often than not,
    distorted, tawdry and inflated, sometimes disgusting and not
    seldom maudlin in the extreme. This singular discrepancy between
    form and matter is especially French, and may frequently be
    traced in the works of their painters and sculptors. No living
    people has so sensitive a perception of form or so artistic an
    epiderm, but an ineradicable self-consciousness develops in them
    a theatrical attitude of mind which too often betrays itself in
    their artistic and literary conceptions. It is the absolute
    consent between conception and execution which constitutes one
    of the chief sources of delight in the art of the Greeks, to
    whom they are fond, too rashly, of comparing themselves.[41]

    I notice in the Natchez a peculiar use of comparisons. That mode
    of adding light and colour to an idea which consists in
    suggesting analogies, has always been the delight of poets; but
    Chateaubriand (whose analogies, by the way, are often singularly
    far fetched and unfortunate) occasionally, in a morbid endeavour
    to be original, seeks his effects in a suggestion of
    dissimilarities; I remember an instance: he has been describing
    with minute and gratuitously sickening detail a mangled heap of
    dead and dying warriors after a ferocious encounter. "How
    different," he exclaims, but in more flowery terms, "is a
    haycock in a field with girls rolling down it!" Few will be
    disposed to contradict him. His exorbitant personal vanity which
    continues to peep through everywhere, and makes even his
    unbounded praise of his country seem an oblique tribute to
    himself, is droll and nauseating at the same time.

    Took a stroll in the evening, and met an English baby! pink and
    delicate like a flower; with cape and cockade complete--a pretty
    sight.

    Thick folds of rose and violet-coloured cloud hung along the
    horizon at sunset, and looked autumnal. I have left eternal
    summer behind me.

    _Friday, 27th._--Such a morning as the evening of yesterday
    foreboded; rather chilly and misty, and as near an approach to
    winter as Upper Egypt may be expected to afford. The sky was
    veiled on all sides with soft grey clouds, wrinkled and fretted
    like the grey sands when the sea has left them. It was a fitting
    background to the desolate tombs of Beni Hassan, which I visited
    an hour or two after sunrise. The range of hills on the face of
    which these tombs are excavated is not unlike Gebel Aboofada in
    its configuration, except that the strata with which it is
    scored are more level and regular. This monotony is, however,
    relieved by the sky-line, which is extremely fine. Along the
    foot of these hills runs a level strip of barren land, broken
    abruptly in its whole length by a steep bank which rises like a
    ruined wall from the plain below, and which is, when the Nile is
    exceptionally high, the bank of the river itself. Standing, as
    it now does, nearly a mile inland, and crested with two deserted
    villages, it has a grand but uncanny aspect. I had long been
    eager to see the tombs, which show what is considered by many to
    be the first rudiment of the Doric order. The similarity, more
    striking even than I expected, is so great that, taken with our
    knowledge of the early and frequent intercourse of the Greeks
    with Egypt and of the assimilating power of their genius, it
    certainly offers a strong _prima facie_ presumption in favour of
    this view. It may be objected that the echinus, the conical form
    of the shaft and its entasis, all three inseparable features and
    especial beauties of the Greek order, are wanting here, though
    they are present in the earliest specimen of the style preserved
    in Greece, the temple of Corinth. This argument would deserve
    more consideration if it could be conceived that the order as
    seen at Corinth was a spontaneous conception, and not a
    development of some more elementary form which, whether native
    or imported at a remote period, has not been handed down to us.
    In point of fact, the chamfering of a simple stone pier into an
    octagon and then further to a polygon of sixteen, or more,
    sides (specimens of the two forms are seen side by side in two
    of the tombs of Beni Hassan) is so elementary an effort of
    architecture and one so obvious, that its independent and
    spontaneous adoption by two different nations would be matter
    for no surprise. On the other hand, it is to be remarked that
    these tombs and the early temple at Karnak already mentioned are
    the only instances of this style known in Africa--that not only
    are they isolated in themselves, but they form a step to no
    further developments--a link in no chain; that in character and
    conception they have nothing in common with any of the great
    monuments of Egypt, to which indeed they are antagonistic in
    feeling; that they stand side by side with other monuments of
    the _same_ date (about 2000 B.C.?) of a developed and absolutely
    different type--a type certainly indigenous and based on the
    imitation of natural forms which is especially characteristic of
    Egyptian architecture; and lastly, that the tombs of Beni Hassan
    show certain dissonances, such as one might expect to find in
    the case of an unintelligent and unperceptive manipulation of a
    foreign style. In the face of these considerations, I find it
    difficult to resist a suspicion that the view generally received
    exactly reverses the truth of the case, and that these tombs are
    not indeed the prototypes of the Doric temple, but rather the
    results, themselves, of contact at some remote period between
    the Egyptians and that branch of the great Aryan family which,
    at long intervals, and in successive waves, covered the shores
    of the Egean Sea, and one of the latest offshoots of which
    poured down into Greece from the heights of Thessaly under the
    name of Dorians. I believe the earliest Egyptian _record_ of the
    pressure of Greeks in this country goes no further back than
    1500 B.C.; but a peaceful intercourse between the two races may
    have existed over a long period, without necessarily finding a
    place in public records.

    The (quasi) Doric tombs are divided into a nave and aisles by
    two rows of piers, carrying an architrave and disposed at right
    angles to the portico, agreeably carrying out the likeness of a
    Greek temple. The circles which intersect the extremity of the
    other group of tombs are _parallel_ to the portico, and have a
    deplorable effect, much heightened by the shape of the ceiling,
    which is that of a very flat pediment. The architrave follows
    the line of the roof, but at a still more open angle. It would
    be difficult to conceive anything more hideous. Nearly all the
    tombs are decorated with frescoes of a rude kind, but displaying
    frequently an amount of freedom unusual in Egyptian art.

    Our guide was a splendid fellow, looking, in his flowing robes,
    like a figure from the "School of Athens" on the "Disputa." The
    longer I live, the more I am struck by the identity of Raphael's
    frescoes with the noblest aspects of Nature.

    To Benisoef in the evening. Passed some travellers; nothing
    looks so gay and pretty as a dahabieh with its colours flying
    and its sails spread.

    _Saturday, 28th._--Lovely morning once again. Reached Sakkara
    early, but found that the road to the Pyramids was obstructed by
    water, so moved on at once to Ghizeh, opposite to Old Cairo,
    where I shall remain till to-morrow morning; meanwhile I have
    sent on Hosseyn to secure a room at the inn, and to fetch the
    means of leaving a pleasant memory of me on board the
    _Sheberkheyt_.

    I have stripped the walls of my cabin of the paintings I had
    hung round them, and they look desolate and like the coffin of
    my now past journey. A most enjoyable journey it has been, full
    of pleasant things to remember; full, too, I hope, of artistic
    profit and teaching. I have been indeed fortunate, for, as I now
    see more clearly than ever, in a dahabieh I could not have
    achieved a third of the journey, and in a passenger steamer I
    could not have done a stroke of work. Every study I take home I
    owe entirely to the viceroy's munificent kindness.

    _Sunday, 29th._--Left for Boulay, my destination--gave a parting
    sheep to the crew, distributed _largesse_, shook hands all
    round, and drove off to the hotel.


FOOTNOTES:

[41] See Chap. IV. p. 239.




CHAPTER IV

ROYAL ACADEMICIAN--MUSIC--ARAB HALL

1869-1878


In 1869, the year after his journeyings in Egypt, Leighton was elected
a Royal Academician. The picture which he chose as his Diploma work to
be deposited in the Academy on his election was the "S. Jerome," one
of those few works which reflected the side of his nature about which
he was profoundly reserved. Another work of which the same might be
said is "Elijah in the Wilderness," painted in 1879. Leighton told a
friend he had put more of himself into that picture than into any
other he had ever invented. Three paintings which are among Leighton's
very best appeared on the walls of the Academy in 1869--"Daedalus and
Icarus," "Electra at the Tomb of Agamemnon," and "Helios and Rhodos."
In no work did Leighton indulge his passion for colour so successfully
as in the last-named picture. He wrote to his master, Steinle, in
1860: "You will perhaps be surprised, but, in spite of my fanatic
preference for colour, I promised myself to be a draughtsman before I
became a colourist." Again, in a letter to a friend in 1879 he wrote:
"Colour was supposed to be my _forte_ (_par parenthese_, though I am
not a colourist, albeit passionately fond of colour, I have always
been, and am, a great _cuisinier_; I have tried quite innumerable
methods and vehicles)." Some of Leighton's appreciators cannot help
feeling jealous of this obstinate determination to struggle with those
gifts for which nature had not given him the preference, many
considering his artistic error to have been that of putting the screw
too tightly on his preconceived determinations. Had he _sometimes_, at
all events, allowed his "fanatic preference" to have free play, more
of his works might have glowed with the revelry in rich colour we find
on the canvas of "Helios and Rhodos."

    [Illustration: ST. JEROME. 1869. DIPLOMA WORK
    Deposited in the Academy on Lord Leighton's election as an
    Academician]

    [Illustration: "ELECTRA AT THE TOMB OF AGAMEMNON"]

No complete work evinces more conclusively the force of Leighton's
dramatic gift than "Electra"; and--further--masterly and beautiful as
are all Leighton's arrangements of drapery, those in this design
strike me as specially expressive. They are truly superb. The balance
of the masses, and the sweeping lines from the feet up to the shoulder
and over the chest, are grandly conceived--the arrangement of the
folds notably adding to the suggestion of tragic feeling in the
attitude of the figure.

"Icarus," in the picture of the inventive father and the aspiring son,
is a beautiful figure of a youth. The conception, design, and
colouring of the picture are worthy of Leighton at his best.

Though Egypt had made a deep impression on Leighton's aesthetic
emotions, as is obvious from his Diary, his visit there apparently did
not actually suggest any pictures except "A Nile Woman"--the only work
exhibited at the Academy in 1870--and "Egyptian Slinger Scaring Birds
in Harvest-time: Moonrise," exhibited in 1875. A subject suggested by
an event, which had occurred some years previously, appears to have
been engrossing his mind, before he found expression for it, in the
painting "Heracles Wrestling with Death for the Body of Alcestis,"
exhibited 1871. Many persons admired this work more than any that had
previously appeared.[42] It evoked the lines from Browning:--

    "I know, too, a great Kaunian painter, strong
    As Hercules, though rosy with a robe
    Of Grace that softens down the sinewy strength:
    And he has made a picture of it all.
    There lies Alcestis dead, beneath the sun
    She longed to look her last upon, beside
    The sea, which somehow tempts the life in us
    To come trip over its white waste of waves,
    And try escape from earth, and fleet as free.
    Behind the body I suppose there bends
    Old Pheres in his hoary impotence;
    And women-wailers, in a corner crouch
    --Four, beautiful as you four,--yes, indeed!
    Close, each to other, agonising all,
    As fastened, in fear's rhythmic sympathy,
    To two contending opposite. There strains
    The might o' the hero 'gainst his more than match,
    --Death, dreadful not in thew and bone, but like
    The envenomed substance that exudes some dew,
    Whereby the merely honest flesh and blood
    Will fester up and run to ruin straight,
    Ere they can close with, clasp and overcome,
    The poisonous impalpability
    That simulates a form beneath the flow
    Of those grey garments; I pronounce that piece
    Worthy to set up in our Poikile!"

Leighton had taken the lines from Euripides as his text:--

    "There slept a silent palace in the sun,
    With plains adjacent and Thessalian peace."

    "....Yea, I will go and lie in wait for Death, the king of souls
    departed, with the dusky robes, and methinks I shall find him
    hard by the grave drinking the sacrificial wine. And if I can
    seize him by this ambush, springing from my lair, and throw my
    arms in circle round him, none shall snatch his panting body
    from my grasp till he give back the woman to me."

    [Illustration: "HERACLES STRUGGLING WITH DEATH FOR THE BODY OF
    ALCESTIS." 1871
    By permission of the Fine Art Society, the owners of the
    Copyright]

This work made a landmark in Leighton's career. "Dante at Verona" had
combined a complicated design of many figures with a dramatic feeling;
"Cimabue's Madonna" and the "Syracusan Bride" had proved Leighton's
"great power of rich arrangement," to quote D.G. Rossetti's words
respecting "Cimabue's Madonna"; but in the "Heracles Wrestling with
Death" there was felt to be a more profound tragedy; indeed, the
objective treatment had in this instance ceded to one more subjective,
in so far that the subject had appealed to him through a personal
experience, though the feeling was, as in nearly all Leighton's
greatest works, veiled in a classic garb. In a letter to his mother,
dated November 13, 1864, he wrote:--

                                             _November 13, 1864._

    I returned so suddenly on account of a grave and terrible
    anxiety, _now quite removed_, about my dear friend Mrs.
    Sartoris.

    I must tell you that for some time past she has been looking
    dreadfully ill, getting daily worse, haggard and thin. I, in
    common with all her friends, had been growing very anxious, and
    conjectured that some day or other a crisis must come in which
    only the surgeon could avail her. I little thought how near at
    hand the moment was! She on her part had borne up with an amount
    of moral and physical courage which everybody says was quite
    incredible. Her nearest relations have not known from her that
    she was in so dangerous a state. A week ago I arrived at
    Francport, the chateau of the Marquis de l'Aigle, where I
    expected to find Mr. and Mrs. Sartoris and their children. I
    found instead Mme. de l'Aigle in the deepest anxiety and
    commotion, having received a letter saying that on that very day
    poor Mrs. S. was undergoing an operation of which the event was
    very doubtful! I need hardly say that I instantly hurried off to
    England in the greatest alarm, and in fear and trembling lest
    she should have succumbed. You may judge of my relief, next
    morning, on hearing from the servant in Park Place that she was
    doing well. I hurried off to the doctor, a friend of mine, and
    heard that for six hours her life had been in jeopardy, but
    that, thank God, she was doing amazingly well, that for a week
    there could be no _certainty_ of her recovery, but that the
    possible chances doubled every day. Since then, thank God, she
    has progressed so _astoundingly_ owing to her immense roots of
    vitality and health, that one may be almost _certain_
    (_unberufen_) of her complete recovery, in which event she will
    enjoy life more than she has done for several years. Her family
    and friends have escaped an entirely irreparable loss.

The very beautiful picture, "Greek Girls Picking up Pebbles by the
Shore of the Sea," was also exhibited in the Academy in 1871, likewise
a smaller work, "Cleoboulos Instructing his Daughter Cleobouline."
This is one of several which proves Leighton's gift for catching the
grace and singular refinement of childhood. "Lord Leighton's drawings
and paintings of children show the protecting, caressing tenderness he
felt towards them. He loved little things, little children,
kittens--'caressing littleness, that littleness in which there is much
of the whole woeful heart of things'--everything lovely that had in it
the unconscious grace of helplessness seemed especially to touch him."

In 1872 "Summer Moon" was exhibited--the picture Watts told me he
thought he preferred to all of Leighton's paintings. I believe the
cause of this preference arose from the fact that the quality and
texture in "Summer Moon" is looser and more vibrating, and gives a
greater sense of atmosphere than is suggested by Leighton's works as a
rule. Moonlight mystifies the tints of purple and blue, and creeps
over and into every fold of the beautiful drapery--glistening on the
white garment of the recumbent figure. In every line and touch in the
exquisite design of the figures and drapery lurks the poetry of
moonlight; the song of a nightingale perched on the branch of a
pomegranate tree enhancing the sense of deep restfulness in the
scene.[43]

    [Illustration: "SUMMER MOON." 1872
    By permission of Messrs. P. & D. Colnaghi, the owners of the
    Copyright]

    [Illustration: "A CONDOTTIERE." 1872]

    [Illustration: STUDY FOR FIGURE IN FRIEZE. "MUSIC." 1886
    Leighton House Collection]

    [Illustration: STUDY FOR FIGURE IN "THE ARTS OF WAR,"
    Victoria and Albert Museum. 1872
    Leighton House Collection]

    [Illustration: STUDY FOR FIGURE IN "THE ARTS OF WAR,"
    Victoria and Albert Museum. 1872
    Leighton House Collection]

    [Illustration: STUDY FOR FIGURE IN "THE ARTS OF WAR,"
    Victoria and Albert Museum. 1872
    Leighton House Collection]

It is thought by some that the design would have carried out the
feeling of absolute repose better had the lower curves of the round
aperture behind the figures been absent--these lines rather suggesting
horns springing up on either side of the group. The end of the foot of
the sitting figure being cut off by the bottom line of the picture has
also a somewhat uncomfortable effect. The same thing occurs in the
picture "Greek Girl Dancing," producing the feeling that the canvas
has run short. These criticisms, however, only refer to minor matters.
"Summer Moon" is an exquisitely beautiful picture, one which will ever
sustain the great reputation of its creator. "A Condottiere" and the
monochrome version of "The Industrial Arts of War" (76 x 177 in.),
exhibited at the South Kensington International Exhibition the same
year, strikingly contrast in character with "Summer Moon." If the one
is notable for gentle, womanly grace and a sense of relaxation induced
by slumber, "A Condottiere" is full of verve and virile power,[44] and
in the design for "The Industrial Arts of War" all is action and
movement. Leighton made many studies for all his principal pictures,
but the finest group of sketches are certainly those made for mural
decorations. Being executed under more difficult conditions than the
easel pictures, doubtless he felt more preparation for frescoes was
required. The studies in Leighton House for the "Arts of War," "Arts
of Peace," two friezes, "Music," "The Dance," "And the Sea gave up the
Dead that were in it," the painted decoration for the ceiling of a
music room, "Phoenicians Bartering with Britons," are the most
completely worked out and powerful studies in the collection. In the
following year, 1873, the companion lunette in monochrome, "The
Industrial Arts of Peace," was exhibited at the Royal Academy. This
design is more comfortably fitted into its space than that of the
"Arts of War," as the whole is lifted up from the bottom line of the
lunette, and no part of the figures is cut off (as in the case of the
men's feet and the drapery of the otherwise most beautiful group of
women on the left hand in the "Arts of War"). "Weaving the Wreath," a
small picture of lovely colour and subtle technique, appeared in 1873,
and in 1874 three of the most remarkable of Leighton's pictures of
single figures. "In a Moorish Garden: a Dream of Granada" the charming
child "Cleobouline" reappears in an Eastern turban and drapery,
holding a copper vessel and followed by two peacocks, walking across a
square canvas filled in by a background of the delightful garden at
Generalife at Granada. "The Antique Juggling Girl" is one of the best
examples in Leighton's work of his "ardent passion for colour," and
his perfect mastery in painting the beauty of an undraped figure. The
form of the torso recalls the exquisite fragment from the Naples
Museum.[45] The actual painting, however, exemplifies the truth of
Leighton's very notable words written to Steinle, "What 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."
The principal scheme of colour is effectively carried throughout the
picture--in the golden flesh tint against the ivory-white of the
parchment banner hung as a screen background, the crown of dark ivy
leaves and the golden balls telling out as notes of a deeper tone; the
crinkled folds of white drapery resting on the darker mass, the full
tawny browns and yellows of the leopard skins on which the figure
stands making a dark, luminous basis, the metal jar and the
dense foliage of deep verdant green enriched by the orange of the
fruit springing up and continuing the dark framework of the central
design. This picture is a very original work, and should, I think, be
placed very high in the rank of Leighton's achievements. "Clytemnestra
from the battlements of Argos watches for the beacon fires which are
to announce the return of Agamemnon" is, in every sense, a contrast to
the "Antique Juggling Girl." The figure is powerful and heavily
draped, the drapery being superb, and the limbs those which might
truly overpower even Agamemnon.[46]

    [Illustration: "ANTIQUE JUGGLING GIRL." 1874
    By permission of Mr. George Hodges]

    [Illustration: "CLYTEMNESTRA WATCHES FROM THE BATTLEMENTS OF
    ARGOS FOR THE BEACON FIRES WHICH ARE TO ANNOUNCE THE RETURN OF
    AGAMEMNON." 1874
    Leighton House Collection]

    [Illustration: STUDY FOR "CLYTEMNESTRA." 1874
    Leighton House Collection]

    [Illustration: STUDY FOR "SUMMER MOON"
    From Oil Sketch painted by Moonlight in Rome
    Given by the late A. Waterhouse, R.A., to the Leighton House
    Collection]

The bar of red, which strikes a warm note among the cool lights and
shadows of moonlight, adding immensely to the value of these tones,
was suggested by the coral necklace, worn by the model from whom
Leighton painted the study by moonlight for "Summer Moon" in Rome.
"Egyptian Slinger" was Leighton's principal work exhibited in 1875,
"The Daphnephoria" already engrossing most of his time and thought.
This picture (89 x 204 inches), "a triumphal procession held every
ninth year at Thebes in honour of Apollo and to commemorate a victory
of the Thebans over the Aeolians of Arne" (see Proclus, "Chrestomath,"
p. 11), and the very fine portrait of Sir Richard Burton were
exhibited in 1876. From some points of view "The Daphnephoria" is
Leighton's greatest achievement. The difficulties he surmounted
successfully in the work were of a character with which few English
artists could cope at all. The size of the canvas alone would
certainly have insisted on ten years' devotion to it from most modern
artist-workmen. The extreme breadth of the arrangement of the masses,
united with great beauty of line and form in the detail; the sense of
the moving of a procession swinging along to the rhythmic phrases of
chanted music; the brilliant light of Greece, striking on the fine
surface of the marble platform along which the procession is moving
and on the town below, which it has left behind, contrasting with the
deep shadowed cypress grove rising as background to the figures;--all
this is more than masterly: it is convincing. It is probably quite
unlike what took place at Thebes every ninth year;--but Art is not
Archaeology. The written account of what took place fired Leighton's
imagination to create a scene in which he treated the Greek function
as the text; the wonderful light and the fineness of Greek atmosphere
as the tone; the processional majesty and grace of movement as the
action. The element of beauty which the record suggested to him was
the truth of the scene to Leighton, and he has recorded the essence of
it in an extraordinarily original work.

It was after Leighton's death that the picture first "struck home" to
me. The last day of the exhibition of a wonderful man's life-work had
come to an end one Saturday afternoon in the spring of 1897. It had
been a record day at Burlington House; crowds had filled the galleries
from morning till the light had begun to wane. Only a very few
stragglers remained, but the keeper, Mr. Calderon, R.A., was there.
One of the porters in his red gown came up to him, and petitioned for
a half-hour more before the final closing of the doors on the
message which Leighton had left to the world. Both men, the keeper and
the porter, looked grave and sad. The great President had been beloved
by all. The porter's request was granted, and it was during that short
half-hour that I seemed for the first time fully to realise the great
qualities of "The Daphnephoria"; the room being empty, it could be
seen from the right distance, and the conception of the work and its
completion spoke out very plainly and convincingly.

    [Illustration: "THE DAPHNEPHORIA"--A TRIUMPHAL PROCESSION HELD
    AT THEBES IN HONOUR OF APOLLO. 1876
    By permission of the Fine Art Society, the owners of the
    Copyright]

    [Illustration: "AT A READING-DESK." 1877
    By permission of Messrs. L.H. Lefevre & Son, the owners of the
    Copyright]

Different as a picture could be was the exquisite "Music Lesson" of
1877. Again we have the lovely little Cleobouline, her delicate
fingers learning to make music on a mandoline. The grouping and grace
in the attitude of the teacher and the pupil, the ease and pleasant
arrangement of the draperies, the texture and fine distinction in the
feeling and technique of the work, can only be suggested by a
reproduction; whereas to appreciate in any way the delicate brightness
and charm of the colour is impossible without seeing the original.
This is the one of all Leighton's paintings which--perhaps more than
any other--conclusively contradicts the statement made, that "the
inspiration stage was practically passed when he took the crayon in
his hand." Another Cleobouline also appeared in the same Academy
Exhibition--as fascinating as the little lady learning music; "Study"
it was called--a child in a delightfully painted glistening pink silk
dressing-gown, sitting cross-kneed on an Eastern carpet before an
inlaid prayer-desk. Very characteristic of Leighton's bewitching
painting of children's feet are the little toes of the child peeping
out between the folds of pink drapery. The finest woman's portrait
Leighton ever painted appeared the same year as a "Music Lesson." This
was Miss Mabel Mills.[47] The breadth and delicacy in the modelling of
the cheek and throat rivals the work of Greek sculpture. The most
serious work exhibited in 1877 was the bronze version of Leighton's
"Athlete Strangling a Python,"[48] the small sketch of which was made
in 1874. This statue showed to the world his power as a sculptor.
Every work he modelled evinced in an equal degree his consummate
ability as such, though the more flexible treatment--in the modelled
sketches for the "Python," the sleeping group in "Cymon and
Iphigenia,"[49] and the "Perseus and Andromeda"--may carry with it a
greater charm than is found in the completed statues. The following
letters from the French sculptor Dalou, the painter George Boughton,
and Sir Edgar Boehm are testimonies to the effect which the "Python"
in bronze, and the sketch, produced on artists at the time they were
executed:--

                                 217A GLEBE PLACE, CHELSEA, S.W.,
                                                    _2 Mai 1877_.

    MON CHER LEIGHTON,--Si mes humbles felicitations peuvent vous
    toucher j'en serais tres heureux.

    J'esperais vous voir lundi dernier a l'Academy et vous
    complimenter comme vous le meritez pour votre belle statue. A
    quoi sert de gratter toute sa vie un morceau de terre, quand
    pres de soi on voit tout a coup surgir un chef d'oeuvre d'une
    main a qui la sculpture etait jusque la restee etrangere?

    Si j'etais envieux ce serait une belle occasion pour moi, mais
    loin de la j'ai ete tres heureux d'admirer votre oeuvre, et tres
    flatte de l'honneur qu'on a fait a ma pauvre terre cuite, en la
    placant en pendant avec votre bronze; c'est encore un bon
    souvenir de plus qui me viens de l'Academy et de vous, mon
    cher Leighton, car je sais toute la part que vous avez prise au
    deplacement dont ma figure a ete l'objet.

    Aussi croyez que je suis heureux de pouvoir me dire votre
    sincere admirateur et tres reconnaissant ami,

                                                        J. DALOU.

    [Illustration: "AN ATHLETE STRANGLING A PYTHON"
    From small sketch, 1876]


                                                GROVE LODGE,
                          PALACE GARDENS TERRACE, KENSINGTON, W.,
                                             _December 11, 1874_.

    DEAR MR. LEIGHTON,--I fear that the note which I sent with the
    bronze did not explain itself sufficiently. I _meant_ to ask you
    to _accept_ it--"to have and to hold for yourself your heirs and
    assigns for ever," to speak legally.

    I can in no way express the pleasure I felt when I saw your
    small study for the man battling with the serpent. I hope the
    report in the _Academy_ that it is to be done life-size in
    bronze is true. It will be worthy to go with the best of the
    antiques. The other study for the singing maidens was
    delightful[50] as the other was grand. To put it in the
    picturesque parlance of the Far West, "I was knocked over and
    sat on." It will be a slight relief to give my words a little
    form and weight; as I am unfortunately not a Roman Emperor and
    have not a golden crown of laurel about me, pray do me the
    favour to accept the only thing I have worth sending.--Believe
    me, yours very sincerely,

                                                GEO. H. BOUGHTON.


                                                GROVE LODGE,
                              PALACE GARDENS TERRACE, KENSINGTON,
                                             _December 14, 1874_.

    DEAR MR. LEIGHTON,--I don't know which to admire most--the
    "sketch," as _you_ call it (it seems "heroic" in size even now),
    or your great kindness in sending it to me. Now that I may enjoy
    it at my leisure--and I take my leisure very often--it seems
    finer even than I thought it was. Not merely the _spirit_ of the
    antique, but the antique _itself_, and the "antique" I mean is
    the everlasting, the best mortal may ever hope to make.

    This is, as far as my capacity for judging is worth, _sincere_.
    I know how perilous it is to say warmly what one feels, how it
    is put down as "gush" and "bad form"; but when in this very
    London fog of Art one sees a spark of pure light, there is some
    excuse for shouting with joy.

    I should reproach myself with taking up overmuch of your time in
    this matter, but I know that you are very good-natured; besides
    you might have taken my poor little bronze tribute in as few
    words as I sent it, and there it might have ended--though for
    myself I am glad you did not, and shall be ever selfishly
    thankful that you acted as kindly as you did.

    Pray don't bother to reply to this, I am too much your debtor
    already.--Yours very sincerely,

                                                GEO. H. BOUGHTON.


                                        78 CORNWALL GARDENS,
                                    QUEEN'S GATE, _May 11, 1877_.

    DEAR LEIGHTON,--I follow my instinct and sincere desire in
    congratulating you on your magnificent statue in the Academy,
    which I have just seen. It is superb. I think it the best statue
    of modern days. I was riveted with admiration and astonishment;
    and whatever you may think of my judgment, pray take this as my
    humble and heartfelt tribute to a work of genius, which to my
    mind ranks nearer "zur Antiken" than anything I have seen,
    during my career, produced in any school or country.

    Believe me, with sincere admiration, yours,

                                                      J.E. BOEHM.

In 1890 Leighton made a replica of the statue in marble for the
Glyptothek in Copenhagen. It was exhibited in the Royal Academy
Exhibition in 1891.

Many were the voices heard exclaiming that Leighton ought to give
himself entirely to sculpture. His masterly power in understanding
form, and giving expression to it in Art, was readily understood and
appreciated when he worked in the round, whereas it had been but
scantily appreciated in his painting; the fact being, that the public
is unaccustomed to find that power developed in modern pictures,
whereas in sculpture it is the principal and obvious aim in any
statue. However, whatever the public thought or expressed, Leighton
went on painting. In 1878 "Nausicaa" and "Winding the Skein" were
exhibited, both among Leighton's happiest works. A reticent grace in
the attitude of the figure, and a tender yearning sadness in the face,
makes this rendering of "Nausicaa" very attractive. "Winding the
Skein" is the best example of those fair pictures which Leighton
painted, and evidently delighted in painting, as records of
Southern--and more particularly--Greek light and atmosphere. For the
special charm in the tone and colouring to be understood, the picture
itself must be seen; but the design and delightful feeling in the
movement of the figures can be rendered in the reproduction. Again in
this work the fascinating little figure of Cleobouline appears and
also the teacher in the "Music Lesson." In all, Leighton painted
thirty-six important pictures, twenty-six slighter works,[51] and
executed his first statue, "Athlete Strangling a Python," in the ten
years between 1869 and 1879.

    [Illustration: "NAUSICAA." 1878]

During these years the Royal Academy Exhibition took place in
Burlington House, it having previously been held in a suite of rooms
at the National Gallery in Trafalgar Square.

Leighton sent photographs of the cartoons for the "Industrial Arts of
War" and of "Peace"[52] to Steinle, who wrote his criticisms on the
designs. The following is Leighton's answer:--

    _Translation._]
                                              _February 3, 1874._

    MY VERY DEAR FRIEND,--Your very welcome lines arrived
    auspiciously a few days ago. I need not say how delighted I am
    that you are not displeased with the two compositions of your
    old pupil, and that you recognise in them a not unworthy effort.
    I am especially grateful to you that while giving your
    approbation you have enclosed a criticism, and only regret that
    you have blamed but one thing, where there are unfortunately so
    many faults. I shall endeavour, if these cartoons ever come to
    be carried out, as far as possible to repress the faults which
    you remark in "Peace"; for, as I am by all means passionate for
    the true _Hellenic_ art, and am touched beyond everything by its
    noble simplicity and its unaffected directness, so the _Roman_
    or Napoleonic at its highest is antipathetic to me--I had almost
    said disgusting. The two compositions are intended for a large
    court (where there are objects from all parts of the world and
    of all epochs); they will not, however, stand _near_, but
    opposite to one another. The figures will be life-size, the
    foremost ones almost colossal. The "Arts of Peace" I transported
    to Greece, partly out of sympathy, and partly on account of the
    special beauty of the Greek ceramic and jewel work; the conduct
    of arms seemed to me to find its highest expression in mediaeval
    Italy, and I gladly seized this opportunity to tread the old
    path again in which my feet now so seldom wander.

    If you really believe that my old friends in Frankfurt will be
    interested in these works, I shall be extremely pleased if you
    will put them in the Gallery; I wish only one thing, namely,
    that it may be made quite clear to the spectator that they are
    merely _cartoons_; their entire lack of effect would otherwise
    be surprising.

    But the Pinta, of which you write, haunts my mind! If I had only
    time to run over myself!--but it is impossible.

    Once more heartiest greetings, from your devoted pupil,

                                                   FRED LEIGHTON.

The Prince Consort, I believe, first conceived the idea of decorating
spaces on the walls of the Victoria and Albert Museum with frescoes,
as a memorial of the nation's gratitude on the close of the Crimean
War, and mentioned the subject to Leighton. It was not, however, till
1868 that Sir Henry Cole approached him officially on the subject in
the following letter:--

                                                 _July 14, 1868._

    SIR,--The Lords of the Committee of Council on Education having
    had under their consideration the subject of the permanent
    decoration of the lunettes at the ends of the South Court of the
    South Kensington Museum, have directed me to inquire if it would
    be agreeable to you to undertake to execute a picture for one of
    these lunettes, for which lunette their Lordships would be
    prepared to authorise a payment of L1000, it being understood
    that all rights of copying the work belong to the Department.

    When the court is completed, there will be four lunettes of a
    similar size. At the present time, however, there are only two
    spaces actually ready; and should you be willing to accept the
    commission now offered to you, your picture would be placed in
    one of these two finished lunettes. Mr. Watts, R.A., has been
    asked to execute a similar commission for the second lunette;
    and, in order that the works may have a certain symmetry in
    respect of the scale of the figures, &c., it would be desirable
    that you should place yourself into communication with him.--I
    am, Sir, your obedient servant,

                                                      HENRY COLE.

    [Illustration: STUDY FOR GROUP IN "THE ARTS OF PEACE,"
    Victoria and Albert Museum. 1873
    Leighton House Collection]

    [Illustration: FIRST SKETCH FOR FIGURE OF CIMABUE
    Carried out in Mosaic in the Victoria and Albert Museum, 1868]

    [Illustration: ORIGINAL SKETCH FOR THE FIGURE OF NICCOLA PISANO
    Carried out in Mosaic in the Victoria and Albert Museum, 1868]

Watts was not prepared to accept the commission to execute one of the
frescoes, being already immersed in work which absorbed his whole time
and attention. He did, however, accept the commission to make a
cartoon for the figure of Titian to be worked in mosaic in one of the
spaces which form a kind of frieze along the side of the Southern
Court. Leighton, besides agreeing finally to paint frescoes on the
lunettes at each end of the court, made cartoons in 1868 for two of
these side spaces, one of the figure of Cimabue, the other of Niccolo
Pisano. Sketches for these are in the Leighton House Collection. (See
List of Illustrations.)

A controversy took place between Leighton and Sir Henry Cole
respecting the question whether these figures were to be treated
pictorially or decoratively, whether the background was to be of plain
gold mosaic or whether there were to be objects depicted in
perspective behind the figures. The following part of a letter from
Leighton concluded the agreement.

    I submit that I have given reasons _why_ the figures under
    discussion should not be pictures, and that you, on the other
    hand, have not put forward a single reason why, a single
    principle on which they _should_ be pictures. You have contented
    yourself with adducing some precedents; as the question,
    however, is entirely one of principles, precedent alone means
    nothing, one way or another; if it were not so, I should have
    opposed to you cases in which the, to my mind, sounder principle
    is observed.

    Raphael's ceiling in the Vatican, for instance--an example you
    will scarcely cavil at. There is not in the whole range of art a
    single aberration that cannot be endorsed with some good name.
    To glance once more at the principle: whether the gold behind
    the figures be in effect the background of flat, or whether it
    be, as you hold, "essentially something round"; whether or not
    it be this, as I certainly assert, the wall throughout the
    decoration, it is unanswerably a conventional _abstraction_, it
    represents no concrete object, and as an _abstraction_ is
    incompatible with any perspective representations of solid
    objects, which presuppose space and distance--everything that is
    on the _same_ plane as the figure is submitted to the same
    conditions, hence any accessory on the pedestal is admissible;
    everything _beyond_ the pedestal is part of the background,
    which may be abstract or concrete, as you please, but _cannot_
    logically be _both_.

    I am the first to admit and admire the intimate connection which
    existed formerly between architecture and painting: to say
    "architecture and pictures," is to beg the whole question. In
    condemning the loose practice of modern times, you cannot
    propose upholding for admiration the mere fact that in old times
    picture and wall were sometimes one, but no doubt allude with
    just admiration to the harmony existing between them, in the
    best examples, and to the wise adaptation of the one to the
    other. You, I submit, are attacking and attempting to subvert
    the very principles on which this harmony rests; my sole desire
    is to assert and defend them, and I earnestly desire that,
    actuated, as I am entirely convinced you are, more by the desire
    to forward the truth than to triumph in argument, the views I
    have put before you may eventually commend themselves to you,
    and deter you from further encouraging a practice which may be
    supported by precedent, but cannot be made tenable in theory.

In the autumn of 1873 Leighton visited Damascus, where he made studies
for the picture exhibited in the 1874 Academy, "Old Damascus--Jews'
Quarter,"[53] and a fine sketch of the interior of the Grand Mosque
which he enlarged into a picture 62 x 49 inches, and exhibited in
1875. He also made a remarkable moonlight study preserved in the
Leighton House Collection.

    "One afternoon, late in the autumn of 1872," wrote Dr. William
    Wright, "I was on the roof of my house trying to cool after a
    long ride in the sun, when there came a loud knock at my door;
    the latch was lifted, and presently a resplendent kavass mounted
    to my platform. He explained to me that a noble Englishman was
    coming up to see me, and with that Frederic Leighton skipped
    gaily up the steps. After a courteous greeting and apology, he
    sat down and became silent, absolutely wrapped up in the
    pageantry of the sky. When I excused myself for the lapse of the
    time, he looked at me, and said quietly, 'No artist ever wasted
    time in accurately observing natural phenomena,' and added,
    'That sunset will mix with my paint, and will tint your ink as
    long as either of us lives. It will never be over, it has dyed
    our spirits in colours which can never be washed out.'"

To his father he wrote:--

                                    DAMASCUS, _October 18, 1873_.

    DEAR PAPA,--I find that I am not as completely cut off from the
    western world here as I have been led to believe I was, and that
    boats leave Damascus for Alexandria weekly, and not fortnightly,
    as I told you in my hasty line of the other day; although,
    therefore, you are no longer uneasy about my health, I will not
    defer till the later boat thanking you for your welcome letter
    which reached me two or three days ago. I am much shocked and
    concerned to hear of the death of my poor friend Benson, for
    which I was in no way prepared, the last accounts I had received
    before leaving England being of a decidedly hopeful nature. A
    kinder heart never beat than his, and I felt really attached to
    him; he is a great loss to me. And now to tell you about myself.
    Three tedious days on board a Russian boat which tossed and
    rolled like a cork over a sea on which a P. and O. would have
    been motionless, brought me to Beyrout, a cheery, picturesque,
    sunny port at the foot of Lebanon; gay and glad I was to land,
    and Andrea's cool, clean inn overlooking the sea was a
    delightful haven of rest, and my first meal at a steady table
    (or a real chair) was ambrosial. Being in a hurry to get to the
    end of my journey, I did not stay more than half a day, but
    started by diligence for Damascus, a journey of some thirteen
    hours, first over Lebanon itself (which is fine, but by no means
    grand as I had hoped), then across the Valley of Coelesyria, and
    lastly over Antilebanon, at the foot of which the town lies. At
    the last relay I found waiting for me a horse and dragoman, for
    which and whom I had telegraphed in order that I might get the
    famous view of Damascus about which travellers have told wonders
    from time immemorial, and which is only to be seen from a bridle
    path over the hill above the suburb of Sala'aijeh; unfortunately
    the days are getting short, and I did not reach the proper spot
    till just after sunset; not too late, however, to enjoy the
    marvellous prospect before me, and to feel that it is worthy of
    all that has been said in its praise. It is impossible to
    conceive anything more startling than the suddenness with which,
    emerging from a narrow and absolutely barren cleft in the rock,
    you see spread before your eyes and at your feet a dense mass of
    exuberant trees spreading for miles on to the plain which looks
    towards Palmyra, and, rising white in the midst of it, the
    Damascus of the thousand and one nights. It is a great and a
    rare thing for an old traveller not to be disappointed, and I am
    grateful that it has been so with me this time. About the town
    _itself_--as seen, I mean, _from within_--I have a mixed
    feeling. In some respects it equals all my hopes, or at least in
    one respect; in others it falls short of them. I have remarked
    that to be prepared for disappointment never in the slightest
    degree deadens the blow, and, accordingly, although I have both
    read and been told to my heart's content that I should find the
    streets unpicturesque and without character, relatively of
    course (relatively say, to Cairo, not to Baker Street), I was,
    nevertheless, depressed and in a way surprised to find them so.
    Of course, there are, as in every Eastern town, numberless
    delightful bits, and those ennobled as regularly as the day
    comes by a right royal sun and canopy of blue, yet in the main,
    Cairo and, in a very different way, Algiers, are far more
    brilliant, and by-the-bye although you see here an extraordinary
    variety of costumes from the remotest corners of the East (I
    have met Indians in the streets), a group of Algerine Bedouins
    in their stately white robes is worth a whole bazaar full of the
    peasants and pilgrims that throng Damascus. Then in
    architecture, Damascus falls far behind Cairo, both for
    abundance and beauty of its specimens. Its background, too,
    Antilebanon, is unsatisfactory, humpy and without power of
    character or beauty of line, such as makes the Red Mountains on
    the skirt of the Cairene desert so delightful. Here then are the
    shortcomings; but I have my compensation in the houses, the old
    houses of which some few are standing, though grey and
    perishing, and which are still lovely to enchantment. I can't
    hope to convey to you in writing any idea of this loveliness,
    and it is not within the scope of sketching (though I am doing
    one or two little corners), but I am having three or four
    photographs made (for there are none!) from which you will be
    able to gather something of their charm. They cannot, however,
    give you the splendour of the light, and the fanciful delicacy
    of the colour in the open courts, or the intense and fantastic
    gorgeousness of the interior. Indeed I shall probably not
    attempt the latter, and though you will see lemon and myrtle
    trees rising tall and slim out of the marble floors and bending
    over tanks of running water, you will miss the vivid sparkling
    of the leaves, and you will not hear the unceasing song of the
    bubbling fountains. I wish I could report that I am doing much
    work. I am doing some, and think I see my way to one or two
    pot-boilers (the fatal, inevitable pot-boilers!); but distances
    here are great, and so is the heat, and there is not much that
    is within the compass of _sketching_, though there is endless
    paintable material. I am doing a bit in the great mosque, which
    is very delightful to me, in colour, and, if I can render it,
    may strike others in the same way. I am having the spot
    photographed in case I try to make a picture of it. The second
    p.-b. would probably be some unambitious corner of a court with
    a figure or two, _et voila_. It is late and I am sleepy, so
    good-night and good-bye. I wish you gave me a brighter account
    of Lina; give her too my best love. It was hardly worth while,
    by-the-bye, to have my letters forwarded. I shall only get them,
    if at all, just before leaving Damascus next week! I fear I
    can't get back to England till end of third week in
    November.--Your affectionate son,

                                                            FRED.

In the autumn of 1877 Leighton revisited Spain. A letter dated
September 21, 1877, Madrid, in which Leighton answers certain
questions asked by Mrs. Mark Pattison concerning art galleries and
dealers, ends with the following sentence:--

    Thank you for what you tell me about Puvis de Chavannes' work. I
    admire the designs for Ste. Genevieve hugely, and am altogether
    an _aficionado_ of that odd, incomplete, but refined and poetic
    painter; but for emptiness of modelling he seeks his peer in
    vain. I am seeing Velasquez again for the third time; this is
    the place in which to see him in all his splendour, and in all
    his nakedness--but that would be a chapter, and not a hasty
    note.--Very truly yours,

                                                   FRED LEIGHTON.

From Spain Leighton crossed to Tangiers, whence he wrote:--

                                     TANGIERS, _October 4, 1877_.

    MY DEAR PAPA,--You are probably not a little surprised at the
    superscription of this letter; so am I. It was a sudden and a
    happy thought that brought me here. I reflected that, whilst I
    had long wished to see Tangiers, I should not very probably come
    to Spain again, and should therefore not have another chance of
    visiting Morocco without a journey made on purpose. The run from
    Gibraltar is only four hours, and I wonder the trip did not form
    part of my original scheme. It will have one drawback for me,
    that I shall get to Granada a few days later, and be by so much
    the longer in getting news from England; but my journey will not
    be prolonged on the whole, as I shall endeavour to cut off at
    the end what I put on now. I the more owe myself what enjoyment
    I can get here, that as I told you--did I not?--in my last, my
    journey has been hitherto rather a dismal failure. I told you
    how vile the weather was in Madrid, so that all technical study
    of the pictures was out of the question. Well this is, since
    then, the first perfectly fine afternoon we have had. Observe, I
    only say afternoon, for it poured in the morning, and the
    phenomenon of a wholly bright day has still to come. I am also
    still further in arrears of enjoyment from the fact that I got
    rather out of order, God knows why, the day I went to Toledo, to
    the utter spoiling of what should have been one of my most
    delightful trips, and am only now pulling round again, having
    called in AEsculapius (at 2 dollars a consultation), whilst at
    Gibraltar. An attack of this nature is simply fatal to any real
    pleasure on one's journey, and, coming on the top of dark
    weather and the contretemps just as the closing of the Alcazar
    in Seville (one of the things I especially wanted to see) made
    rather an absurd failure of the whole thing. At Seville I was
    fool enough to go again to a bull-fight, and was so disgusted
    that I got up and went away when the performance was only half
    over. Meanwhile the aspect of the arena itself, with the
    Cathedral and its marvellous tower rising just above into the
    sky, is a very striking sight, and one I should regret to have
    missed. The processional entry, too, of the whole of the
    performers--picadors, capeodors, espadas, &c. &c.--is very
    picturesque and stately. It is when the goring and torturing
    begins that the sight is revolting; and the enormous popularity
    of this form of sport with a nation, not, that I am aware of,
    exceptionally cruel, only shows how easily our worst instincts
    stifle our better nature, such as it is.

    This is a prodigiously picturesque place, and I enjoy more than
    I can say watching the Arabs swarming up the streets and
    markets, stately and grand in their picturesqueness beyond any
    population that I know, and particularly instructive and
    valuable to an artist from the sculpturesque _definiteness_ of
    their forms. The Jewish women here are said (by Ford) to be
    prodigiously handsome. I have seen no Rebeccas amongst them yet.
    I have not yet opened my box, and shall at best do little or
    nothing; I have no time. Next week I shall be in Granada, from
    where I hope to have to acknowledge a letter dated in Kensington
    Park Gardens. Meanwhile I am, with best love to Lina and
    yourself,--Yours affectionately,

                                                            FRED.


                                     GRANADA, _October 19, 1877_.

    MY DEAR PAPA,--To-morrow is my last day in Granada. On Sunday I
    turn my face Londonward, and my holiday will be pretty nearly at
    an end, as I have, from want of time, given up my original
    intention of seeing Valencia, Alicante, Tarragona, &c. &c.
    Travelling in Spain is so infinitely slower than I had
    remembered it, and so ideally inconvenient in regard to hours of
    starting and arriving, that my programme has altogether
    undergone considerable modifications. I reached this place a
    good week later than I expected, and I did not get your letter
    till some days later yet, owing, I suppose, to the difficulty
    experienced by the postal authorities in the art of reading.
    This will account to you for the time that will have elapsed
    between your receipt of my two epistles. I am truly sorry to
    hear that poor Lina is below par; tell her so, with my love. As
    you do not speak of yourself, I presume that you are in good
    form, and am glad to hear it. There is one passage in your
    letter which suggests to me a strong protest. I think it
    preposterous that the ambulant spinsters, or otherwise, with
    whom you foregather on your journeys, should expect _you_ to
    furnish them with photos of your "celebrated son." I like
    enthusiasm; but _genuine_ enthusiasm does not halt at a
    shilling, which is the sum for which my effigy is obtainable in
    the public market; _verb. sap._ I will not describe to you
    Toledo, Cordova, Seville, Granada, &c. (under which heads see
    Murray's guide-book). I have done so before (probably), and they
    have altered less than I, with the exception, perhaps, of
    Granada, or rather the Alhambra, which, alas! is changed indeed,
    thanks to the restoring mania, and is now all but brand new. I
    ought, perhaps, to remark that the changes in _me_ are not
    precisely in that direction. Taking a bird's-eye view of my
    holiday, I don't think I should call it altogether a success,
    though I have had many very delightful moments, and have seen
    many very beautiful things; but, in the first place, I have
    failed to fulfil one of the special objects of my trip, that,
    namely, of making a few sketches of sky effects, particularly
    seaside skies, which I sorely want for my picture of the girls
    and the skein of worsted. I have not done so, because I have not
    _once_ seen anything even resembling the skies I mean, and which
    are generally forthcoming at this season. The weather has indeed
    of late been fine, often if not always, and here even, at
    times, superb; but it is the before the rains, and not, as it
    should be, the clear, keen, autumn weather, after the air has
    been well swept and purged by the equinoctial broom and pail,
    which I had a right to demand of a Mediterranean October. This
    is a great disappointment. I did not want to _work_, and God
    knows I have not (five little sketches in all!); but just this
    document I did peremptorily require. In the second place, I have
    been rather seedy (am all right now), not very, but enough to
    poison my pleasure; and just so much that, after two or three
    little amateur attempts (local apothecary, fellow-travellers,
    &c. &c.), I thought it right (at Gibraltar) to see a doctor, not
    _because_ I was ill, but _lest_ I should get worse and develop
    more serious symptoms, as internal disturbance occasionally does
    in hot countries. In a few days (and two large bottles of
    physic) I was much better, and am now, I repeat, quite "myself"
    again.

    But I perceive that this uninteresting twaddle has filled my
    paper, and barely left me space to tell that I have been to
    Africa, and shall be home on the 28th (evening). Yes, to Africa;
    Tangiers in four hours' steam from Gibraltar, and a most
    picturesque spot, of which more when we meet. On my way home I
    shall spend part of a day in Madrid, in the hopes of seeing the
    pictures this time. On my road through France I shall make a
    short break at Poitiers. _A bientot._--Affectionate son,

                                                            FRED.

During the nine years that Leighton was a Royal Academician he worked
most energetically in many directions towards establishing the
principles which he considered sound and essential to the growth of
the best Art instincts in England. He was one of the Professional
Examiners in Art from 1866 to 1875 at the Victoria and Albert Museum.
In 1884 he became one of the Art Referees for the Museum, and was
consulted by Sir Henry Cole to a considerable extent. He aided, as far
as lay in his power, all Art Societies to expand and to grow on the
lines of Catholicity. He was a member of the Committee of the Society
of Dilettanti, for the purpose of obtaining information as to the
probable success of renewed search for monuments of Greek Art. The
following extract from a report proves what an active part he took in
the business of the society:--

    "In the autumn of the same year two hundred cases of
    inscriptions and sculptures from Priene were transported from
    Priene to Smyrna, and thence conveyed to England in H.M.S.
    _Antelope_. In March 1870 the society presented these marbles to
    the trustees of the British Museum. In May 1870 the committee,
    then consisting of Earl Somers, Lord Houghton, Mr. Watkiss
    Lloyd, Mr. Penrose, Mr. Cartwright, Mr. Leighton, and Mr.
    Newton, held several meetings. The committee at their meetings
    went carefully over all the drawings and details obtained by the
    society of the Temple of Bacchus at Teos, Apollo Smintheus, and
    Minerva Polias at Priene; they were of opinion that they would
    form an interesting and valuable publication, and should be
    proceeded with as soon as possible, and executed in a style
    worthy of the former productions of the society. Mr. Leighton
    offered to redraw the sculpture on some of the friezes, and Lord
    Somers to prepare the landscape illustrations."

In 1871 the President of the Artist Benevolent Fund, Mr. J.K. Kempton
Hope, wrote to Leighton: "I am peculiarly proud that the first act
which I have to perform in my new character is to say how honoured and
grateful we all should be if you would kindly consent to accept the
position of Vice-President."

The following letter to his father announces that Leighton had been
elected President of the International Jury of Painting, Paris
Exhibition, 1878:--

                                         HOTEL WESTMINSTER, 1878,
                                                        _Friday_.

    DEAR PAPA,--I have been waiting to write till I should have
    something to say beyond the fact that the weather is odious, and
    shows no signs of relenting. On Saturday afternoon we had our
    meeting of the Royal Commissioners, which had for its object the
    hearing of an address from the Prince of Wales. On Monday
    morning the _whole_ International Jury (some six hundred or
    seven hundred members) met at the Ministere de Commerce, and was
    little more than formal. _To-day_ the group of sections which
    are concerned with Art held its first meeting under the
    presidency of Signor Tullio Massarani, an Italian, with
    Meissonier as Vice-President, the chief object of the meeting
    being to inform the various sections of the groups whom the
    Minister had appointed as their respective presidents. My
    section, composed of forty members, is _Paintings and Drawings_;
    there are twenty Frenchmen--nearly all the first artists of the
    country, in fact--and you will be surprised and very much
    gratified to learn that I was named president of this section--a
    very high honour, of course, and one of which I am extremely
    sensible, but which we must not misinterpret; it is, of course,
    only by an act of international courtesy that the French placed
    a foreigner at the head of their section, and amongst the other
    foreign artists there were few names of much weight or standing;
    still, it is a courtesy which will, I am sure, give you
    pleasure. Our section being thus constituted, we then appointed
    our own _vice_-president, reporter, and secretary; they were
    unanimously elected; the first was my old friend, Robert Fleury;
    the second was Emile de Savelege, the Belgian writer whom you
    know of; and the third an old and kind friend of mine, Maurice
    Cottier, a man much mixed up in the official artistic world and
    possessing a magnificent picture gallery. To-morrow we begin our
    labours at the Exhibition, and in the afternoon I shall go to
    the _seance_ of the _Institut_, which always takes place on
    Saturdays. This is my budget.

Perhaps the most important work inside the Academy which Leighton
effected during this time was that of establishing the winter
exhibitions of Old Masters at Burlington House. No one exemplified
practically better than did Leighton the value of the motto, "What is
worth having is worth sharing." He had been fed from early youth from
the fountain-heads of Art, and one of his first objects after being
elected a member of the Royal Academy was to endeavour to secure the
same inspiring stimulus for students which he had himself imbibed from
the work of the greatest men. He told me also that his chief object in
making conscientious studies in colour when he travelled, was to
endeavour to convey to students who were not able to go abroad some
idea of the varieties in the aspects of nature found in different
countries. Leighton was much appreciated in London society, but the
_intimes_ of the old Roman days remained still the nucleus of his
friendships; also every year he tried to find himself in his beloved
Italy, and he generally succeeded. From his old friend Lady William
Russell, mother of Odo Russell (afterwards Lord Ampthill and
Leighton's ally in Rome), and Arthur Russell--the notable lady whose
charm attracted to her _salon_ all that was most interesting among the
magnates of Europe--two notes record her affection for Leighton and
the death of Henry Greville in 1872, the severest blow which Leighton
had sustained since the death of his mother.

    I was in hopes of seeing you, to thank you _viva voce_ for the
    _ambrosia_ you sent me from Italy. I did _not_ write during your
    pictorial tour, not exactly knowing _where_ you might be. It
    was, _and is_, for I have some still, _excellent_; Paolo
    Veronese did not eat any better, nor Titian, nor any of your
    _Brethren in Apollo_.

    _Guido_ you _are_--the English Guido--but _not_ "da Polenta"; I
    will _not_ accept that "terre a terre" denomination. I now thank
    you most gratefully--it was one of the seven works of mercy, for
    I really could not eat and was _starving_. The Indian cornflour
    was a _renovation_. If ever you can make up your mind to pay a
    visit to una povera vealisa--zoppa--sorda--brutta and seccante,
    and forget "_Aurora_," I shall be charmed. But I know that your
    time is better employed; so a million of thanks, and as many
    regrets not to be able to see your _marvels_ of which I
    hear.--Believe me, most sincerely your obliged Serva and Amica,

                                                           E.A.R.
    2 AUDLEY SQUARE MAYFAIR, W.
      _Sunday, 26th November 1871_.


    DEAR GUIDO (but _not_ of Polenta),--I have been quite
    _mortified_ at your neglect of me, and invoked the muses in
    vain! and call'd on the ghosts of Titian and Raffael, but they
    did not heed my sighs! I am always glad to see you, and wish I
    could _see your works_! All my cotemporaries and comrades are
    dying off, and I _cannot_ last long--so come to my "Evenings at
    Home" when you dine in my "Quartier" and are going to your club.

    Alas! for dear Henry Greville! I knew him from his most early
    youth. _Both_ his parents were my _early_ friends from _my_
    youth, and his elder brother my cotemporary.

    Come! Benvenuto Cellini--venite!

    _Monday, February 1873._

Leighton's passion for music led him to encourage all that was best in
instrumental as well as in vocal performance. The Monday Popular
Concerts were started by Messrs. Chappell in 1859, the first being
given on the 3rd January. From their commencement Leighton was a
subscriber, and very rarely missed being present.

It was in the 'seventies that Leighton instituted those yearly feasts
of music, which were among the real treats of the year.[54] His dear
friend Joachim was to the end the _piece de resistance_ of these
gatherings. Never did the Great Master seem so inspired as when he
played in that studio. Leighton wrote to his sister, Mrs. Matthews,
April 1871:--

    DEAREST GUSSY,--You heard, no doubt, that I gave a party the
    other day, and that it went off well. To me perhaps the most
    striking thing of the evening was Joachim's playing of Bach's
    "Chacone" up in my gallery. I was at the other end of the room,
    and the effect from the distance of the dark figure in the
    uncertain light up there, and barely relieved from the gold
    background and dark recess, struck me as one of the most poetic
    and fascinating things that I remember. At the opposite end of
    the room in the apse was a blazing crimson rhododendron tree,
    which looked glorious where it reached up into the golden
    semi-dome. Madame Viardot sang the "Divinites du Styx," from the
    "Alcestis," quite magnificently, and then, later in the evening,
    a composition of her own in which I delight--a Spanish-Arab
    ditty, with a sort of intermittent mandoline scraping
    accompaniment. It is the complaint of some forsaken woman, and
    wanders and quavers in a doleful sort of way that calls up to me
    in a startling manner visions and memories of Cadiz and Cordova,
    and sunny distant lands that smell of jasmine. A little Miss
    Brandes, a pupil of Madame Schumann, played too. She is full of
    talent and promise, and has had an immense success. Mme. Joachim
    sang "Mignon" (Beethoven) excellently.

    [Illustration: Sketch executed on the spot by Mr. Theodore Blake
    Wirgman of their Majesties the King and Queen attending a
    Popular Concert in St. James's Hall, Lord Leighton being one of
    the Royal party. About 1893.]

Mrs. Watts Hughes writes the following notes relating to those years
of the 'seventies:--

    I remember the incident you refer to at Eton College. The
    _Orfeo_ performance was given by the Eton boys, who had formed a
    society among themselves with the view of making acquaintance
    with the music of the great masters. I took the part of _Orfeo_,
    and a niece of Darwin's, Miss Wedgwood, who is now Lady Farrer,
    sang Euridice's part. I believe Lord Leighton sang in some of
    the quartettes and choruses. I often met Lord Leighton at Mrs.
    Sartoris' musical gatherings at her house in Park Place, St.
    James', when he would sing very heartily the tenor parts of the
    old madrigals, in which also Mrs. Douglas Freshfield, Miss
    Ritchie, and others took part with Mrs. Sartoris, who on some
    occasions would sing one of her great operatic _Arias_ which
    brought her so much fame in her former years.

In 1877 Leighton began to build the famous Arab Hall.[55]

The following letters from Sir Richard Burton refer to the collecting
and sending of one instalment of the precious tiles:--

                                      DAMASCUS, _March 22, 1871_.

    DEAR MR. LEIGHTON,--I have just returned from a pilgrimage to
    Jerusalem, or yours of April 14th, 1871, would not have remained
    so long unanswered. And now to business. I am quite as willing
    to have a house pulled down for you now as when at Vichy,[56]
    but the difficulty is to find a house with tiles. The
    _bric-a-brac_ sellers have quite learned their value, and demand
    extravagant sums for poor articles. Of course you want good old
    specimens, and these are waxing very rare. My friends, Drake and
    Palmer, were lucky enough, when at Jerusalem, to nobble a score
    or so from the so-called Mosque of Omar. Large stores are
    there found, but unhappily under charge of the Wakf, and I fancy
    that long payments would be required. However, I shall send your
    letter to my colleague, Moore, who will do what he can for you.
    The fact is, it is a work of patience. My wife and I will keep a
    sharp look-out for you, and buy up as many as we can find which
    seem to answer your description. If native inscriptions--white
    or blue, for instance--are to be had, I shall secure them, but
    not if imperfect. Some clearing away of rubbish is expected at
    Damascus; the Englishman who superintends is a friend of mine,
    and I shall not neglect to get from him as much as possible.

    We met Holman Hunt at Jerusalem; he was looking a little worn,
    like a veritable denizen of the Holy City. I hope that you have
    quite recovered health. Swinburne, the papers say, has been
    sick; his "Songs before Sunrise" show even more genius than
    "Poems and Ballads." What has become of Mrs. Sartoris? I saw her
    son's appointment in the papers. Poor Vichy must be quite
    ruined--veritably it was a Cockney hole. Syria is a poor Chili;
    the Libanus is a mole-hill compared with the Andes--do you
    remember? I am planning a realistic book which has no Holy Land
    on the brain, and the public will curse her like our army in
    Flanders. Pilgrims see everything through a peculiar medium, and
    tourists shake hands (like madmen) when they sight the Plain of
    Esdraelon or Sharon, as the case may be.

    _N.B._--Both plains are like the poorer parts of our midland
    counties. My wife joins in kind remembrances.--Ever yours
    sincerely,

                                               RICHARD F. BURTON.

    [Illustration: PORTRAIT OF SIR RICHARD BURTON, K.C.M.G. 1876]


                                        TRIESTE, _July 13, 1876_.

    MY DEAR LEIGHTON,--One word to say that the tiles are packed,
    and will be sent by the first London steamer--opportunities are
    rare here. Some are perfect, many are broken; but they will make
    a bit of mosaic after a little trimming, and illustrate the
    difference between Syriac and Sindi. They are taken from the
    tomb (Moslem) of Sakhar, on the Indus. I can give you analysis
    of glaze if you want it; but I fancy you don't care for
    analyses. The yellow colour is by far the rarest and least
    durable apparently. The blues are the favourites and the best.

    Here we are living in a typhoon of lies. I am losing patience,
    and shall probably bolt to Belgrade in search of truth. Austria
    is behaving in her usual currish manner, allowing her policy to
    be managed by a minority of light-headed, Paddy-whack Magyars
    and pudding-headed, beer-brained Austro-Germans. How all Europe
    funks the Slavs, and how well the latter are beginning to know
    it.

    Very grand of _la grande Bretagne_ to propose occupying Egypt
    without any army to speak of. Sorry that you don't understand
    the force of the expression, the "world generally," but will try
    some time or other to make it clear. United best regards and
    wishes. Why don't you take a holiday to Turkey?--Ever yours,

                                                     R.F. BURTON.

    _P.S._--I hear that W. Wright has subsided into an Irish
    conventicle, and that Green doesn't like prospect of returning
    to Dan!

The construction of this thing of beauty, the Arab Hall, is a visible
and permanent proof of the side in Leighton's artistic endowments
which are so rarely found in northern, or indeed any modern nations,
and the want of which are gradually leading our world into being very
ugly--namely, the sense of the appropriate, of balance, of proportion,
and of harmony in the construction and decoration of buildings. As an
adherent of the pre-Raphaelites, William Morris had been battling with
this tasteless condition of things for some years--strenuously working
to counteract the unmeaning adaptations of foreign designs of all
times and of all countries into English work, and the general
muddledom into which the decoration in the surroundings of domestic
life had fallen, by starting afresh on the lines of simple good
designs of English pre-Puritan days. Leighton's taste had been
inspired, in the first instance, by the crafts as well as by the art
of Italy. Subsequently, the East had fascinated him. He admired
greatly the frank, courageous beauty in the colouring of the
decorations of her buildings; but, having an acute sense of the
appropriate, he felt that they would not harmonise successfully with
the necessary surroundings of English domestic life. He was
therefore inspired to erect a special shrine for his collection of
enamels. It has been truly said that the Arab Hall is as notable a
creation in Art as any of Leighton's pictures or statues. The beauty
of its effect is greatly enhanced by the arrangement of light and
shade which leads on to the wonderfully beautiful casket of treasures.
Monsieur Choisy, the distinguished French architect, wrote as follows
in the _Times_ of April 27, 1896, when advocating the preservation of
this house for the public: "Nowhere have I found in an architectural
monument a happier gradation of effects, nor a more complete knowledge
of the play of light. The entrance to the house is by a plain hall
that leads to a '_patio_' lit from the sky, where enamels shine
brilliantly in the full light; from this 'patio' one passes into a
twilight corridor, where enamel and gold detach themselves from an
architectural ground of richness somewhat severe; it is a transition
which prepares the eye for a jewel of Oriental Art, where the most
brilliant productions of the Persian potter are set in architectural
frame inspired by Arab Art, but treated freely; the harmony is so
perfect that one asks oneself if the architecture has been conceived
for the enamels, or the enamels for the hall. This gradation, perhaps
unique in contemporary architecture, was Leighton's idea; and the
illustrious painter found in his old friend Mr. G. Aitchison, who
built his house, a worthy interpreter of his fine conception. This
hall, where colour is triumphant, was dear to Leighton, and even forms
the background to some of his pictures. Towards the end of his life he
still meant to embellish it by substituting marble for that small part
that was only painted. The generous employment of his fortune alone
prevented him from realising his intention.

"England has at all times given the example of honouring great men;
she will, I am sure, find the means of preserving for Art a monument
of which she has such reason to be proud."[57]

    [Illustration: VIEW OF ARAB HALL. 1906]


FOOTNOTES:

[42] In the Leighton House Collection is a splendid study for the
wrestling figure of Heracles, also for the recumbent Alcestis, and the
drapery for the phantom figure of Death. The figure of Heracles, fine
as it is in the picture, lacks somewhat of the ardent quality in the
action of the sketch. Owing to the public-spirited generosity of its
owner, the late Right Hon. Sir Bernhard Samuelson, this picture has
travelled all over the world for exhibition. It was also lent to
Leighton House for more than a year in 1901.

[43] In the Leighton House Collection is a head in oils (presented by
the late Alfred Waterhouse, R.A.) which Leighton painted actually by
moonlight in Rome, as a study for one of the figures in "Summer Moon."
See List of Illustrations.

[44] See study for picture in Leighton House Collection.

[45] Leighton had a cast made of this, and his copy is still in the
collection in his house. Another copy he gave to Watts, who admired it
beyond measure. Watts recounted to me that so preciously did he value
it, that, not daring to expose it to the danger of housemaids' dusting,
he carefully wrapped it up in handkerchiefs and put it in a drawer. One
day, alas! forgetting it was there, in a hurry, he pulled the bundle of
handkerchiefs out; it fell to the floor and was smashed.

[46] _The Athenaeum_ described the work when it appeared. "There is the
grandeur of Greek tragedy in Mr. Leighton's 'Clytemnestra watching for
the signal of her husband's return from Troy.' The time is deep in the
fateful night, while the city sleeps; moonlight floods the walls, the
roofs, the gates, and the towers with a ghastly glare, which seems
presageful, and casts shadows as dark as they are mysterious and
terrible. The dense blue of the sky is dim, sad, and ominous. But the
most ominous and impressive element of the picture is a grim
figure--the tall woman on the palace roof before us, who looks Titanic
in her stateliness, and huge beyond humanity in the voluminous white
drapery that wraps her limbs and bosom. Her hands are clenched and her
arms thrust down straight and rigidly, each finger locked as in a
struggle to strangle its fellow; the muscles swell on the bulky limbs.
Drawn erect and with set features, which are so pale that the moonlight
could not make them paler, the queen stares fixedly and yet eagerly
into the distance, as if she had the will to look over the very edge of
the world for the light to come."

[47] The Hon. Mrs. Grenfell.

[48] Purchased by the trustees of the Chantrey Bequest and placed in
the Tate Gallery.

[49] Leighton gave this group to Watts, who expressed to me an
unbounded admiration for it. "Nothing more beautiful has ever been
done! Pheidias never did anything better. I believe it was better even
than Pheidias!" were the words Watts used when deploring the fact that
he had lent it to a sculptor to be cast--something had gone wrong in
the process of casting, and it had been destroyed. When giving me the
modelled sketch for the "Python," Watts said, "I am giving you the most
beautiful thing I have in my place."

[50] The group of singing girls modelled as a study for "The
Daphnephoria."

[51] See complete list in Appendix.

[52] The "Arts of War" lunette was commenced in 1870 and finished in
1880. The "Arts of Peace," begun in 1881, was completed in 1886. An
account of these two frescoes appeared in the _Magazine of Art_ written
by Mr. J. Ward, the master of the Macclesfield School of Art, who
assisted Leighton in the work.

[53] In a letter from Mr. J.G. Hodgson, A.R.A., praises are bestowed on
this picture and the "Moorish Garden" at the expense of "Clytemnestra"
and the "Antique Juggling Girl." The letter is a good example of the
criticisms which Leighton's serious work often received--that work in
which, nevertheless, he was most true to himself. The ordinary English
eye neither longed for nor appreciated Leighton's native Hellenic
strain.

                                                     5 HILL ROAD,
                                         _Friday, April 4, 1874_.

    MY DEAR LEIGHTON,--I was immensely delighted with your two
    pictures of the Jew's house and the Alhambra ("Moorish Garden: A
    Dream of Granada"). I was at the opera last night, but thought
    much less of Crispin and his Comara than of them; they are quite
    charming, and excite me with the desire of emulation, at that
    safe distance which is inherent in the nature of things. For
    your "Clytemnestra" and the other ("Antique Juggling Girl"), I,
    being a Philister, care nothing at all. From those to turn to
    these, seems like leaving a garden fragrant with roses and
    citron blossoms, where I hear the murmur of cooling streams,
    Abanah and Pharpar, rivers of Damascus, to enter a museum filled
    with dusty plaster casts.

    After all, the woes of the house of Atreus are now of very
    little importance to mankind, or interest either. The most of
    the latter they possess, is that they serve as themes for some
    good Greek play, which had better have been burnt, as they have
    hampered the genius of modern Europe and taught us nothing. Had
    only Homer and the lyrics survived, we should have done better.
    At all events, if a man must illustrate, why does he not
    illustrate Shakespeare, a bigger man head and shoulders than any
    of the Greek tragedists? But it appears to me you are made for a
    much better and more intellectual purpose than illustrating
    anybody. You have the eye to see and power to represent what you
    see. You have special gifts and faculties highly trained. The
    aspect of nature, as it appears to such a mind, would be of the
    highest intellectual value to us, and would lead to progress. I
    don't think modern art differs from that of any other day. It
    has always been the effort to represent what is seen every day,
    bringing to bear upon the representation the greatest possible
    amount of culture, _i.e._ of reflection and selection. The women
    and that dear little girl in the courtyard of your Jew's house
    will outlive all the "Clytemnestras," &c.; they live with blood
    in their veins, the others are but galvanised corpses. There I
    have had it out; you must not complain, because you have had to
    apologise for slashing into me, and now it is my turn. In the
    prologue to Goethe's "Faust," if you remember, the poet, a
    stubborn fellow, has his notions of the high aim of his art. He
    will do nothing but what is extremely sublime, &c. The clown
    quite agrees that such things may possibly do for the future,
    but who, says he, is to amuse the present? I am that sort of
    clown, I suppose. Don't be riled, and believe me,--Very much
    your admiring friend,

                                                    J.G. HODGSON.

[54] Mr. William Spottiswoode wrote of one of these:--

    "DEAR LEIGHTON,--Best of thanks from Mrs. Spottiswoode and
    myself for another of the happiest day-dreams of the year, viz.
    your afternoons at home."

[55] Mr. Aitchison, R.A., wrote: "During his visits to Rhodes, to
Cairo, and Damascus, he made a large collection of lovely Saracenic
tiles, and had besides bought two inscriptions, one of the most
delicate colour and beautiful design, and the other sixteen feet long
and strikingly magnificent, besides getting some panels, stained glass,
and lattice-work from Damascus afterwards; these were fitted into an
Arab Hall, something like La Zira at Palermo, in 1877."

The Arab Hall was begun November 1877, virtually completed by the end
of 1879, but some small matters not till 1881. Materials--Bastard
statuary, _i.e._ the marble columns in the angle recesses. These caps
are of alabaster, designed by George Aitchison, R.A., and modelled by
Sir E. Boehm. The large columns are of Caserta marble, caps of stone,
birds modelled by Caldecott; column niches lined with Devonshire spar;
dado, Irish black; string, Irish green, and bases of small columns.
Those of the large columns are of Genoa green and Belgian blue; the
marble lining behind big columns is of Pyrennean green, and the panel
overhead; the lintel of Irish red. The marble work was done by White &
Son, Vauxhall Bridge Road. Mosaic floor, designed by George Aitchison,
R.A.; executed by Messrs. Burke & Co., who replaced fountain of white
marble with the single slab of Belgian black. Chandelier, designed by
G.A. Aitchison, R.A., executed by Forrest & Son, now extinct. The
lattices to the lower part of the gallery designed by George Aitchison,
R.A.

Sir Caspar P. Clarke wrote: "I was commissioned in 1876, by the
authorities at South Kensington, to proceed to the East to buy artistic
objects for the Museum. Before I started Leighton asked me, if I went
to Damascus, to go to certain houses and try to effect the purchase of
certain tiles. I had no difficulty in finding my market, for Leighton,
with his customary precision, had accurately indicated every point
about the dwellings concerned, and their treasures. I returned with a
precious load, and in it some large family tiles, the two finest of
which are built into the sides of the alcove of the Arab Hall. Leighton
made no difficulty about the price, and insisted upon paying double
what I had given. He never spoke of picking things up cheap, and
scouted the idea of 'bargains in Art objects.'"

[56] Leighton, Sir Richard Burton, Algernon Swinburne, and Adelaide
Sartoris passed some weeks together at Vichy in September 1869.
Swinburne wrote in 1875: "We all owe so much to Leighton for the
selection and intention of his subjects--always noble, always
beautiful--and these are always worthy of a great and grave
art."--"Essays and Studies," A.C. Swinburne.

[57] Letters from Lord and Lady Strangford to Leighton exist on matters
concerning the East, on which both were great authorities.

"Will you accept," Lady Strangford wrote, "as a token of my admiration
of your house, a piece of ancient Persian needlework? It is really old,
and it is said that they no longer do anything of the kind in Persia,
and that these pieces are valuable. I do not know if this is true or
not, but _if_ you _like_ the thing, please use it among the many
treasures you have already accumulated. It is to my eyes a nice bit of
harmonious colouring. Let it say to you how much, how very much, I
enjoyed your sketches.--Yours very truly,

                                                 E.A. STRANGFORD.

"_P.S._--I bought the work from a Persian at Antioch."

To Professor Church Mr. Aitchison wrote after Leighton's death: "I
cannot urge the preservation of his home and surroundings, as I built
the house, for there are always too many to attribute low motives to
everybody, and it would be called personal advertisement; though when
one's work is done it becomes almost impersonal, and if it did not, the
fact remains the same, that here he (Leighton) lived and drew part of
his culture and inspiration from his surroundings. As a mere matter of
reverence, how many would come from all parts of the civilised world to
see his abode!"

    [Illustration: PROFESSOR GIOVANNI COSTA
    Painted at Lerici, October 1878]




CHAPTER V

LEIGHTON AS PRESIDENT OF THE ROYAL ACADEMY

1878-1896


Leighton was at Lerici in the autumn of 1878, visiting his dear old
friend Giovanni Costa ("an artist in a hundred--a man in ten
thousand," were Leighton's words describing him), when he received a
telegram stating that Sir Francis Grant was dead. "The President is
dead! Long live the President!" exclaimed Costa. Leighton remained in
Italy, sketching landscapes and painting heads--one, the portrait of
Costa--till his holiday was over, the end of October. On the 18th of
November he was elected President of the Royal Academy. Thirty-five
Academicians voted for Leighton, five for Mr. Horsley.

Leighton wrote to his younger sister:--

                                                            1878.

    DEAREST GUSSY,--You perhaps have heard from Lina that I had an
    overwhelming majority, and that the outer world beyond artistic
    has warmly received my election, which is of course infinitely
    gratifying, but fills me with a dread of disappointing
    everybody. Monday I go to Windsor to be knighted. Yes, I got a
    first-class gold medal for my statue[58]--at least, it was
    awarded, and I shall get it some time. I also don't mind telling
    you in _strict confidence_--because it is not yet a _fait
    accompli_--that I am, I believe, to have the "ruban" of an
    Officier de la Legion d'Honneur. I am so glad, dear, your wrists
    are better--may they keep so. Love to old Joseph (Joseph
    Joachim) when you see him.

Most treasured of all congratulations were doubtless these lines from
his beloved master, Steinle:--

    _Translation._]
                                               FRANKFURT AM MAIN,
                                            _December 1, 1878_.

    DEAR AND HONOURED FRIEND,--To-day I have read in the paper that
    the choice of President of the Royal Academy has fallen upon
    you, and since I am convinced that this distinguished position
    is both appropriate to your services to art, and also certainly
    well merited, you must permit an old friend, who remains bound
    to you in love only, to offer you his dearest and warmest good
    wishes upon this honour. I pray God, that your position may
    provide you with great power in your country for good so as to
    enable you to encourage the noblest things in art. I am
    convinced that you, dear friend, will make a right and fruitful
    use of it. I often set my pupils to make enlarged drawings of
    single groups from your medieval Equipment for the Defence of
    the Town,[59] and rejoice in the admirable studies which you
    made for that cartoon. I, dear friend, am in my old age still
    active and industrious, and would gladly go on learning. Should
    God grant life, I shall next year complete my work on the
    Strassburg master, which will demand all my love and strength.
    Here we have now built a new gallery, on the other side of the
    river Main, and a new studio. The collections are good, and more
    suitably accommodated than heretofore, and there is no want of
    space for future additions. Perhaps one of your journeys will
    bring you again to the old Main town, and so to the arms of your
    old friend. My dear President, I repeat my good wishes, and
    remain with all my heart, your truly devoted,

                                                    EDW. STEINLE.

From his birthplace Leighton received the following announcement:--

    BOROUGH OF SCARBOROUGH.

    At a meeting of the Council of the Borough of Scarborough, in
    the County of York, held in the Town Hall in the said Borough,
    on Monday the ninth day of December, 1878,--

                         Present,--
               THE MAYOR (W.C. LAND, Esq.) in the chair,--

    It was moved by the Mayor, seconded by Alderman Woodall, and
    resolved unanimously: "That this Council learns with peculiar
    satisfaction and pleasure of the election of a native of
    Scarborough, in the person of SIR FREDERIC LEIGHTON, to the
    Presidency of the Royal Academy, and respectfully offers to Sir
    Frederic its warm congratulations, and records its conviction
    that his great talents as an artist, his attainments as a
    scholar, and his many striking qualifications, eminently fit him
    to adorn the high position to which he has been called."

                                                W.C. LAND, Mayor.

Robert Browning wrote:--

                                         19 WARWICK CRESCENT, W.,
                                             _November 14, 1878_.

    DEAR LEIGHTON,--I wish you joy with all my heart, and
    congratulate us all on your election. There ought to have been
    no sort of doubt as to the result, but the best of us are
    misconceived sometimes, though in your case never was a right
    more incontestable. All I hope is that your new duties will in
    no way interfere with the practice of your Art. I only venture
    to write, now, as one who, so many a year ago, saw your
    beginning with "Cimabue," and from that time to this remained
    confident what your career would be. But you know all this, and
    it requires no answer, being rather a spurt of satisfaction at
    my own original discernment than any assurance which I can fancy
    you need from,--Yours very truly,

                                                 ROBERT BROWNING.

    Pen's letter to me, two days since, contained his earnest wishes
    for what has just happened, and he will be delighted
    accordingly.

From Matthew Arnold:--

                                  ATHENAEUM CLUB, PALL MALL, S.W.,
                                                   _November 15_.

    MY DEAR LEIGHTON,--One line (which you need not answer) to say
    how delighted I am to see what an excellent choice the Royal
    Academy has made.

    I only hope poor O'Conor may not take advantage of the occasion
    to plant an ode and a letter.--Ever sincerely yours,

                                                  MATTHEW ARNOLD.

From Hubert Herkomer:--

                                             _November 27, 1878._

    MY DEAR SIR FREDERIC LEIGHTON,--I am just recovering from an
    attack of brain fever, and although I am not allowed yet to
    write, I can no longer wait without dictating a letter to
    express my own individual pleasure at your being the new
    President.

    Three years ago you wrote me a letter after seeing my "Chelsea
    Pensioners." Perhaps you little dreamt of the tears of joy that
    that letter caused in a young painter, who will always feel that
    he owes you a debt of gratitude; and now he glories in your
    being the chief of that body which attracts to it all the
    principal art of the country. All England feels that you, from
    your new position, will give new life to it. Perhaps you will
    allow me, when I am sufficiently recovered, to come and see you.

    In the meantime believe me to be, with most heartfelt
    congratulations,--Sincerely yours,

                                     A.H., _pro_ HUBERT HERKOMER.
    SIR FREDERIC LEIGHTON, P.R.A.

A friend writes:--

                                                   _November 15._

    DEAR MR. LEIGHTON,--I have tried to keep silence, telling myself
    that it cannot matter what I think or feel on the subject (and
    that it may seem to you a very unnecessary proceeding!); but I
    _cannot_ resist the temptation to tell you how warmly I rejoice,
    and how earnestly I congratulate _myself_ and all other
    hungerers after wholesome beauty of colour and form, and high
    ideals of greatness and purity, on your acceptance of a position
    that one may hope will, nay must, influence the Art of this time
    for good in every sense. One takes a great breath of relief as
    one thinks of it!

    Were I to describe to you the effect your works produce on me,
    and the feeling of real reverence I have for them, I should
    appear to exaggerate, and should certainly bore you, so I will
    say no more! and I am not given to that sort of thing.

    My beloved Lady Waterford was much disappointed that you could
    not come and meet her; I need not say, so were we: it was a
    great enjoyment to have her, she is like no one else; and I yet
    hope you may come and meet here some day. Pray do not answer
    this; of course you are overwhelmed with business, and it would
    hurt me to have it considered and acknowledged as a
    complimentary civility! whereas it is nothing but an involuntary
    overflowing to relieve my mind.

From Lord Coleridge:--

                                             1 SUSSEX SQUARE, W.,
                                             _November 24, 1878_.

    MY DEAR LEIGHTON,--Let me add one voice more, small but true, to
    the great chorus of applause with which your election has been
    greeted. It might seem left-handed praise to say that your
    election was the only possible one; but it is very true praise
    to say it was the only possible one if the highest interests of
    English Art, and of the Academy itself, were the sole object of
    the electors.

    It would have pleased and touched you to hear old Boxall speak
    of it. I dined with him alone on Friday, and he was just and
    generous, as he always is, in his appreciation of you, and
    looked forward to your reign as likely to be one of high aims
    and noble motives. It is a small thing to say, but I venture to
    agree with him.--Ever sincerely yours,

                                                       COLERIDGE.

These are a few among many hundred congratulatory letters Leighton
received on his election. One from Mrs. Fanny Kemble he answered in
the following March, when already he was beset by requests to use his
influence to get friends' friends' work hung on the walls of the
Academy:--

                                                _March 20, 1879._

    DEAR MRS. KEMBLE,--Many thanks for your very amiable words of
    congratulations on the honour done me by the Royal Academy. The
    kind sympathy shown towards me by my friends had added very
    greatly indeed to the pleasure my election gave me. The belief
    entertained by Miss ---- that the admission of works to an
    exhibition is a simple matter of personal favour, is shared by
    all foreigners--and I fear by many English people--and places me
    at this time of year in much and often painful embarrassment. So
    robust is this belief, that those who, having applied to me,
    fail to find their works on our walls ascribe their absence to
    personal unfriendliness or discourtesy on my part, or, to say
    the least, to lukewarmness. As a matter of fact each work of art
    is admitted or rejected by a separate vote of the Council, and
    that in complete ignorance (except where authorship _saute aux
    yeux_) of the artist's name. This applies equally to English
    painters and foreign artists who reside here. In regard,
    however, to foreigners sending _from abroad_, whilst the vote is
    taken in the same way, admission is much more difficult. We have
    so many Anglo-foreign painters who live amongst us that, our
    Exhibition not being international, we can only admit a very
    limited number of really prize works. These works are therefore
    brought before us separately, and a small number of them
    selected, according to the space we have to deal with; I myself
    as a rule dissuade my foreign friends from sending except in
    cases where their merit is really very great; this may be Miss
    ---- case; you will best know. I am quite sure, my dear Mrs.
    Kemble, that you do not doubt the pleasure it would give me to
    serve you in the person of your friend, and will not
    misinterpret these lengthy explanations.

    And now I have a favour to ask of you. On Wednesday the 26th, at
    3 o'clock in the afternoon, Joe will, I hope, play at my studio,
    and with him Miss Janotha and Piatti; Henschel will, I hope,
    sing. Will you give me the great pleasure of seeing you amongst
    my friends on that occasion?--Believe me always, yours very
    truly,

                                                   FRED LEIGHTON.

On December 10, 1879, Leighton delivered his first address to the
students of the Royal Academy--one of the finest of the many fine
achievements of Leighton's life. "Purely practical and technical
matters" he put aside to look into a wider and deeper question, that
of the position of Art in its relation to the world at large in the
present and in the past time, in order to gather something of its
prospects in the future. If the question why Leighton held
indisputably the great position he did were asked me by one who for a
first time had heard his name, I should be inclined to answer,
"Because he contained within him the combined powers to execute
completely the art which he created, and to think out and feel such
profound, sympathetic, and wise truths as those to be found in this
address."[60]

Among the large number of appreciative letters Leighton received were
the following.

Millais wrote:--

                                       2 PALACE GATE, KENSINGTON,
                                             _December 11, 1879_.

    DEAR LEIGHTON,--I was suffering all yesterday with tooth-ache,
    otherwise I would have attended the distribution last night. The
    ceremony is always most interesting to me, awakening as it does
    many anxious and happy recollections. My object in writing to
    you is to say I have read your address, which I think so
    beautiful, true, and _useful_ that I cannot but obey an impulse
    of congratulating you upon it. For some time past I have been
    putting down notes on Art which some day may be put into form,
    and I find we are thinking precisely in the same way. I have
    used identical words in what I have written to those you
    delivered yesterday.

    The exponents of Art surround it in such a cloud of mystery
    that it is a real gain when a practical authority is able to say
    something definite and clear the way.--Yours sincerely,

                                                    J.E. MILLAIS.

His poet-friend wrote:--

                                     WOODBERRIE, LOUGHTON, ESSEX,
                                             _December 11, 1883_.

    MY DEAR SIR FREDERIC,--Have any of the multitude of men who love
    you ever called you Chrysostom? It seems so natural after
    reading yesterday's address. Will it be published by itself and
    obtainable in some handier form than the broadsheet of the
    _Times_? I want it as part of the education of my daughter, who
    now, at sixteen, is beginning to take a new interest in
    whatsoever things are lovely and of good report, and I want it
    for myself, for in its lovely suggestiveness and exquisite
    English I could often find refreshment when I wanted (and
    needed) to "travel in the realms of gold," and forget my own
    invalided personality under the magic of such guidance.

    My wife desires me to say a word of gracious remembrance to you,
    and I am ever, faithfully yours,

                                                     ROBIN ALLEN.

Mr. Briton Riviere:

                                 FLAXLEY, 82 FINCHLEY ROAD, N.W.,
                                             _December 11, 1879_.

    DEAR SIR FREDERIC,--After hearing your admirable address last
    night, I came home in despair, for what little basis of thought
    is contained in my lectures (more especially in the second one)
    is built chiefly upon two or three of the lines of argument that
    you have already expressed so beautifully: Sincerity in the
    student--The effect of his own time upon him--That time in its
    relation to the time of the Old Masters, and the temper of mind
    in which the Old Masters should be studied; on these points my
    lectures are but a feeble echo of what I heard last night.

    My first thought was to change my whole line of battle, and
    re-write them, but the extreme limitation of my powers of work
    would make this too great a sacrifice. To throw them up
    altogether, which I should much like, is impossible, for I am
    pledged to the Academy to do my best.

    Clearly, I must go on, but I shall do so more easily now that I
    have explained my position, so that if any one who hears me
    should tell you that my lectures were only a parody of what you
    had already said so well, you will believe that it has been the
    misfortune and not the fault of yours very truly,

                                                  BRITON RIVIERE.

    Don't trouble to answer this.

Matthew Arnold:--

                                        ATHENAEUM CLUB, PALL MALL,
                                                _April 19, 1880_.

    MY DEAR LEIGHTON,--You have been _better_ than your word, for I
    see you have made me the actual possessor of your "address."
    From the glance I have already taken at it, I see that I shall
    both like it and you with it; but of this I might have been sure
    beforehand. A thousand thanks, and believe me, always sincerely
    yours,

                                                  MATTHEW ARNOLD.

The scheme Leighton formed, when first considering the duty among all
others he undertook,[61] of addressing the students at the biennial
meetings, was begun and continued in the nine addresses he gave, but
unfortunately it could not be completed, a fact he sorely regretted
when discussing the question with me three months before his death. On
December 10, 1879, "The position of Art in the World" was the subject.
In 1881, "Relation of Art to Time, Place, and Racial Conditions;
Underlying Mystery of its Growth and Decay." In 1885, "Summary of
Foregoing Lecture." In 1887, "Art in Mediaeval and Modern Italy." In
1889, "Relation of Artistic Production to Surrounding Conditions
considered in reference to Spain." In 1891, "The Art of France: its
uninterrupted development; its wide field; eminent achievement in
Architecture; the Gothic style." In 1893, "The Art of Germany: its
high qualities; deficient AEsthetic Inspiration." The tenth was to have
consisted, Leighton told me, in a summing up of the nine former
addresses, in order to prove how they had affected the past and
present condition of Art in England. To any thoughtful artist these
utterances, delivered by so great and accomplished an authority,
cannot fail to prove profoundly interesting and invaluable as
references, on account of the sound knowledge and the absolutely
reliable quality of the facts given; but it may be doubted whether the
more informative matter, contained in the six later lectures, suited
Leighton's style of oratory so happily as did the more abstract
quality of the three first. There appeared to be too many names
crowded into the comparatively short time which Leighton allotted to
himself for the delivery of these discourses, for the normal taking-in
power of an audience; the very finished rhetoric, moreover, in which
the enormous amount of information contained in each was disclosed,
did not seem quite appropriate to their condensed form. In
conversation I have heard Leighton far more convincing, on the same
subjects as those he treated in the last six discourses. The same
intense sense of the duty he felt to do the thing as completely as it
was possible, which he evinced in painting, cropped up again in his
oratory, no less than the intense modesty--which would not recognise
how great he could be if he relaxed all effort, and was simply
himself.

Mr. Briton Riviere, in the notes he furnishes for this book, writes:--

    "Those perhaps sometimes too perfectly built-up sentences, of
    which his admirable addresses and speeches were formed, were the
    outcome of this same quality of mind. One of his most intimate
    friends, when we were talking about the mental strain occasioned
    by these, once said to me: 'Leighton would never get over a
    slight lapse of grammar,' and I can believe it. The accidental
    was hateful to him when considered in reference to his own work
    of any kind, though probably no one knew better than he did its
    value in a work of art; but, as Watts deplored, he never would
    use it or admit it into his own pictures. This quality and its
    strain upon him was illustrated by an accident which occurred at
    his last R.A. Banquet speech, the last he ever made, and which
    gained immensely from the fact that in one place he forgot for a
    moment the next sentence, and came to a pause (as he told me
    afterwards), in fear that he had broken down altogether; but his
    suspense, painful as it must have been to him, looked perfectly
    natural and spontaneous, and gave to his speech that touch of
    something which his better remembered periods did not express so
    well. This system of speaking entirely from memory added much to
    the constant strain of his Academy work. He had what he called a
    'topical memory,' viz. he remembered the place of each word in
    his written speech and used to read it off in the air with
    never-failing accuracy, but did so always with the belief that a
    forgotten sentence would shipwreck the whole. If he would have
    been content now and then to lapse from this high pitch of the
    accuracy he aimed at in all his work, few could have reached a
    safer or higher standard spontaneously, as he proved in the
    Royal Academy, General Assembly, and Council meetings, when he
    never failed to speak admirably on the spur of the moment; and
    his summing up of a debate there on any subject was invariably
    marked by the same elegance and cleverness as his prepared
    speeches, but with more vitality and flexibility, which,
    however, never led him into anything that was not almost
    fastidiously exact and precise. I have always felt that no one
    who had heard only his elaborately prepared speeches knew his
    real power as a speaker."

There rang out perhaps, at times, just a note reminding one of the
German pedant in these discourses--a note singularly discordant when
sounding together with an ornate diction; but this was only heard when
Leighton was not deeply moved by his subject; when, on the other hand,
the not over-tutored, bigger instinctive self had full sway, as, in
the subjects he chose for the first three discourses, the glowing
style harmonised most rightly as the appropriate language for the
earnest and lofty feeling in the thought. If, as suggested above, it
is only facts and information of an historical character which words
have to convey, much eloquence and an ornate style seems
inappropriate. Each mood is obviously best expressed when the style is
adjusted to it by an intuitive instinct. Leighton, though possessing
abnormally flexible and subtle aesthetic instincts when he allowed
himself to be his natural self, seemed at times to force himself into
a theoretic rigidity when he was at his lessons. And all his official
duties he viewed as lessons, which, after he left his easel, it was
his first duty in life to learn to perform as correctly as he could.
But whatever criticisms may be made on the style of the later
discourses, students desiring to possess something more than a merely
provincial knowledge of the special power of the magnates in whose
work culminates the great Art of the world, should surely not neglect
to possess themselves of the wisdom to be acquired from these
discourses.

Throughout their pages are to be found most suggestive passages,
inspiring new thoughts and, to any but experts, new facts on vitally
interesting art matters. For instance, take the description of
Velasquez:--

    "For a long period Italian painting did not cease to enjoy the
    favour of the Court; it ceased, however, towards the beginning
    of the seventeenth century to exercise that paralysing influence
    which had marked its first advent, and the ground was cleared
    for a new impulse from within. At this conjuncture a man of
    commanding genius and fearless initiative was given to Spain in
    the person of Diego Velasquez. It may perhaps have surprised you
    that with such a name before my mind I should have spoken of
    Zurbaran, a man so vastly his inferior in the painter's gift, as
    perhaps the most representative of Spanish artists. I have done
    so because beyond any other artist he sums up in himself, as I
    have pointed out to you, all the complex elements of the Spanish
    genius. In Velasquez, Spanish as he is to the finger-tips, this
    comprehensiveness is not found. Of Velasquez all was Spanish,
    but Zurbaran was all Spain.

    "Viewed simply as a painter, the great Sevillian was, as I have
    just said, vastly the superior of the Estremeno. He was in more
    intimate touch with Nature, and none, perhaps, have equalled the
    swift magic of his brush. On the other hand, depth of feeling,
    poetry, imagination were refused to him. The painter of the
    'Lanzas,' the 'Hilanderas,' the 'Meninas'--works in their kind
    unapproached in Art by any other man--painted also, be it
    remembered, the 'Coronation of the Virgin' and the 'Mars' of the
    Madrid Gallery--types of prosaic treatment. In one work, indeed,
    Religion seems for a moment to have winged his pencil; but
    striking and pathetic as is his famous 'Crucifixion,' it does
    not equal in poignancy and imaginative grasp the presentment of
    the same subject by Zurbaran in Seville. But if we miss in
    Velasquez the higher gifts of the imagination, we find him also
    free from all those blemishes of extravagance which we have so
    often noted in this land of powerful impulses unrestrained by
    tact. Whatever gifts may have been refused to Velasquez, in his
    grave simplicity he is unsurpassed. If fancy seldom lifts him
    above the level of intimate daily things, neither does she
    obstruct for him with purple wings the white light of sober
    truth. In days in which the young Herrera could find favour; in
    a country in which Churriguera was possible, and euphuism was
    applauded, he never overstepped the modesty of Nature, nor
    forgot in Art the value of reticent control. I have not here to
    follow his career, nor the evolution of his unique and dazzling
    genius. Still less need I, before young artists of the present
    day, dwell on the wizardry and the luscious fascination of the
    brush of this most modern of the old masters. I will only, in
    conclusion, touch briefly on one or two points that are of
    interest, and one that is, perhaps, of warning.

    "First, I would notice the purity and decorum of his art; a
    decorum not, I think, due to the characteristically Spanish laws
    under which the Inquisition visited with heavy penalties every
    semblance even of impurity in a work of art, but to a spirit
    dwelling in the people itself, of which those laws were but the
    somewhat exaggerated expression. It may be worth while also to
    note that yet another virtue of the Spaniards is, in one of his
    works, reflected in an unexpected manner, namely, their
    sobriety. It is a curious thing that in a certain class of
    Spanish literature a peculiar relish is shown for the portraying
    of moral squalor and the grovelling criminality of social
    outcasts. In Spanish Art, on the other hand, the picturesqueness
    alone of low life seems to have sought expression. You know what
    gentle Murillo made of his melon-eating beggar boys. Again, you
    saw not long ago upon these walls, in the 'Water-Carrier of
    Seville,' how at the outset of his career Velasquez turned his
    thoughts to subjects drawn from humble life, and you know how to
    the end he dwelt with peculiar gusto on the fantastic
    physiognomy of the privileged buffoons, dwarfs, and _hombres de
    placer_ who haunted the Palace in his day. You know further that
    one of the most powerful works painted by him before reality of
    atmospheric effect had become his chief preoccupation, and when
    he sought exclusively after truth of character, a picture known
    as 'Los Borrachos,' represents a group of drunkards doing homage
    to Bacchus. It is a work of the most naked realism. Bacchus
    (Dionysos!), showing his repulsive vulgarity (what a blank to
    Velasquez was the poetic side of classic myths), is surrounded
    by a circle of kneeling rascals, rude and ragged enough, and
    supposed, no doubt, to be carousing; but here is the strange
    peculiarity of this work--in spite of all the accessories of a
    revel, and the flash of grinning teeth, we are unable to
    persuade ourselves that any one of the disreputable crew could
    ever be _drunk_. Imagine the subject treated by a Fleming.

    "And now, though I am loth to touch one leaf of the laurels of
    so dazzling and so great an artist, I cannot pass in silence a
    circumstance which must be weighed in estimating Velasquez as a
    man, and which is not without bearing on his art. The virtues of
    his race, as we have seen, purified his work and gave it
    dignity; a Spanish foible, though it could not dim his genius,
    cramped, no doubt, and curtailed its production--namely, a
    tendency to subordinate everything to the pursuit of royal
    favour. I said a Spanish foible; for a superstitious rendering
    up of will and conscience to the sovereign, such as is, I
    believe, without example, had long been a growing characteristic
    of the Spaniard. On a memorable occasion Gonzalo de Cordoba
    himself, one of the noblest figures recorded in Spanish
    history--a man of a mind so fearless that he was bold to rebuke
    Pope Borgia himself face to face in the Vatican for the scandals
    of his life--did not scruple to break, in deference to what he
    considered this higher duty of obedience to his king, his solemn
    pledge and oath to the unfortunate young Duke of Calabria. So
    all but divine did majesty appear to the Spaniards, that
    divinity and majesty became almost as one in their eyes, and
    they spoke, in all solemnity, as 'Su Majestad,' not only of the
    Divine persons of the Trinity, but also of the sacrificial
    wafer. The prevalence of this feeling must plead to some extent
    in mitigation of the tenacity with which Velasquez
    canvassed--with success, alas!--to obtain at Court a post of an
    onerous and wholly prosaic character--the office of 'Aposentador
    Mayor,' a sort of purveyor and quartermaster, who, when his
    Majesty moved from one place to another, had to convey, to
    house, to feed, not the sovereign only, but all his suite. A
    post demanding all his attention, says Polomino, who goes on to
    deplore that this exalted office (which he has just told us any
    one could fill) should have deprived the world of so many
    samples of the painter's genius. We shall agree with our
    sententious friend, not, perhaps, in the satisfaction he derived
    from the honour conferred, as he imagines, on his calling, but
    in his sorrow over the loss we have sustained! And in the sight
    of canvases in which the execution of a sketch is carried out on
    the full scale of life we shall at once bow before the product
    of a splendid genius, and regret the signs of haste, the
    evidence of too scanty leisure, by which its expression has been
    marred. Truly it has been said, 'Art requires the whole
    man.'"[62]

Again, the seventh discourse is replete with inspiring suggestions
about French architecture,[63] and in the last discourse the
description of Albert Duerer is one which, in a few lines, gives a
complete and vividly interesting setting to the great name.

    "Albert Duerer may be regarded as _par excellence_ the typical
    German artist--far more so than his great contemporary Holbein.
    He was a man of a strong and upright nature, bent on pure and
    high ideals; a man ever seeking, if I may use his own
    characteristic expression, to make known through his work the
    mysterious treasure that was laid up in his heart; he was a
    thinker, a theorist, and, as you know, a writer; like many of
    the great artists of the Renaissance, he was steeped also in the
    love of science. His work was in his own image; it was, like
    nearly all German art, primarily ethic in its complexion; like
    all German art it bore traces of foreign influence--drawn, in
    his case, first from Flanders and later from Italy. In his work,
    as in all German art, the national character asserted itself
    above every trammel of external influence. Superbly
    inexhaustible as a designer, as a draughtsman he was powerful,
    thorough, and minute to a marvel, but never without a certain
    almost caligraphic mannerism of hand, wanting in spontaneous
    simplicity--never broadly serene. In his colour he was rich and
    vivid, not always unerring as to his harmonies, not alluring in
    his execution--withal a giant."

When the last addresses were given Leighton was getting very tired.
The wheels were running down--vitality was waning. The great mental
machine had begun to work more mechanically. We trace this in the
manner in which he tackled his last discourse. While writing it at
Perugia he wrote to his elder sister:--

                           PERUGIA, _Thursday, October 12, 1893_.

    You have misconstrued my knee; I have no _pain_ in it, at most
    occasionally a dull ache in the muscles and a slight soreness in
    the joint; but it is an incapacitating and depressing nuisance,
    and it won't move on. (I am writing near a window opening on to
    a clear, star-bright sky; far below, in the _paese_, I hear the
    tinkle of a wandering, nocturnal mandoline--how I like it!) You
    do me the honour to appreciate my having, during my recent
    precipitate odyssey, visited thirty towns in thirty days, noting
    things of which I had already accurate knowledge _d'avance_; but
    I can "go one better" than that: _ten_ of the towns were
    _absolutely new_ to me, and of the whole subject on which I am
    preaching, I knew as good as nothing when you last saw me. I
    suspect that, in spite of a lack of memory which _baffles
    belief_, I have a certain "uptaking" knack. My preachment will
    bore you, but you will (if you read it) detect an _ensemble_;
    but, for goodness' sake, _zitti!_ They'll think, when they hear
    the P.R.A., that, Lor' bless him! he'd known it all his life.
    Nevertheless, enough for the day, &c. Best love to
    Gussy.--Affect. bro.,

                                                            FRED.

I remember--when my husband and I were sitting with him one afternoon
after his return home that autumn--his saying, "I feel distinctly I
have dropped one step down off of the ladder," and it was truly about
that time that his doctor, Doctor Roberts, discerned the beginning of
the disease which proved fatal. Already in 1888 he wrote:--

    "The reasons which have now for a good many years impelled me to
    decline any 'public utterances' outside Burlington House have
    increased in weight and force as life and strength wanes, and as
    demands on me grow in every direction. I am sometimes asked to
    speak in public, not only in London, but all over the country,
    and in all cases the demand is grounded on strong claims in so
    far as I am an 'official' artist. Assent once is assent
    always--assent in half the cases would mean the _gravest_ injury
    to my _work_, and I am a workman first and an official
    afterwards. Things have their humorous side, for those who press
    me most are sometimes those who on other occasions most
    earnestly assure me that I '_do too much_.' How tired I am of
    hearing it."

The speeches at the yearly banquets of the Royal Academy were
extraordinary _tours de force_. Wherever Leighton took the lead--and
he was seldom anywhere when he did not take the lead,[64]--he raised
the tone of the proceedings, and convinced the outside world, no less
than those taking a part in them, that the matter in hand was
important and essentially worth doing. Personally I have always felt
that the finished form of Leighton's diction tended rather to hide
than to explain the real nature of the power which had this
vitalising, elevating influence. This influence emanated, I believe,
from the greatness of his "magnificent intellect" (to use Watts'
words) being united with extraordinary will-force invariably employed
in the service of the principles in which he had a profound faith. It
was his persistent loyalty to these principles--backed by this
abnormal will-force, giving it extra weight--which lifted Leighton's
work in all directions on to so distinguished a level--and not--in the
case of his speeches--his rounded periods, or his power over words, or
his gift of facility in grasping a subject, though the Banquet
speeches are also remarkable on account of the versatility he
displayed in grasping many subjects from the point of view of the
expert. Whether it was the Army, the Navy, Politics, Music--whatever,
in fact, was the affair of the moment, he proposed the toast from what
might be called the inside of the question, not merely treating his
text as a matter of form.[65]

On asking Gladstone to the Banquet of 1880, Leighton received the
following characteristic answer:--

    MY DEAR PRESIDENT,--I have received your letter with mixed
    feelings. You do me great honour, and I must obey you. But I
    long for the return of the good old times, lying within the long
    range of my memory, when the dinners of the Academy did not
    suffer the contamination of political toasts, and kept us all
    for three precious hours in purer air. Can you tell me when the
    practice was changed? I am not, I think, under the dominion of a
    pleasant delusion.--Yours most faithfully,

                                                  W.E. GLADSTONE.

In 1883 Leighton found it impossible to continue his duties as
Lieutenant-Colonel of the 20th Middlesex (Artists) Volunteers, which
post he had held since 1876, and he therefore resigned. He was then
made Hon. Colonel and holder of the Volunteer Decoration.[66]

A few years later he made the following speech at a dinner given by
his Corps, in response to a toast proposed to himself:--

    We live in times so hustling and breathless, times in which so
    much happens in so short a space, that a few years seem to
    divide men and habits like a deep gulf, and I feel that in the
    eyes of many of you the toast that your C.O. has invited you in
    such friendly terms to drink is one possessing an almost
    antiquarian flavour interest; the more grateful therefore am I
    for the cordial response with which, not, I hope, solely in a
    spirit of discipline, but from a more human point of view, you
    have given to the call of Colonel Edis.

    The sight of the old uniform recalls to me, in a vivid manner, a
    period when not only my years, but my circumferencial inches,
    were fewer, during which it was my pride, first in one grade,
    then successively in others, from the ranks to the command, to
    take my share in the doings of and the life of what I hope I may
    call, without egotism, one of the finest corps in the Volunteer
    service. I have now for some years laid by the coat, to be
    furbished up only for these annual gatherings, not without
    misgivings as to my power of getting into it; but I have not
    laid by, nor shall I lay by while I have life, my deep interest
    and my high respect for that great defensive force of which it
    is the sign, and which, having sprung into existence in a
    moment of emergency and national excitement, has shown through
    over more than a quarter of a century that it requires no
    excitement to sustain it, and is fed by no transitory fires.

    But whilst I watch this great sign of national vitality with
    unchanging interest, there is of course an inmost corner of my
    heart in which that national movement appears to me clad in grey
    and silver, and the old corps still sits in the warmest place;
    praise of its performance is always to me the most grateful
    praise; strictures on its shortcomings, if like other human
    things it has any, will always find me sensitive, and the
    account which your excellent Colonel furnishes on these
    occasions of your year's growth, comes home to me more than
    other like utterances. Gentlemen, I have named your energetic
    and efficient commanding officer; there is this year a special
    reason why his name should be on my lips; he is about shortly to
    acquire by length of service the full colonelcy of which his
    long devotion to the cause makes him so worthy a recipient; and
    I should wish before sitting down to offer him an old comrade's
    hearty congratulation, and the expression of my confident hope
    that his advanced rank will only confirm him in his loyal and
    faithful efforts to promote the honour of the corps to which he,
    more fortunate than I, is still privileged to belong as an
    active member.

In 1894, on the occasion of feting his friend Joseph Joachim and
presenting the gift to the great master of a Stradivarius violin and
bow from his friends, in recognition of the fiftieth anniversary of
his first performance in London, Leighton made the following speech:--

                                                            1894.

    LADIES AND GENTLEMEN,--It was necessary that the motives and
    feelings which have drawn us together to-night should find brief
    expression on somebody's lips; and, in obedience to a command
    which has been laid on me by this Committee, I have to ask you
    to accept me, for a few moments, as your mouthpiece. Of the
    varied duties which life lays on us, there are some which we
    perform in simple discharge of conscience and with little joy;
    some, if few, into the discharge of which we can pour all our
    hearts; and such a duty is this which I have risen to perform.

    I have said that I shall only ask your attention for a few
    moments, and you will feel with me the fitness of brevity; for
    besides that, in every case, taste imposes restraint in praise
    of those who are present before us, long drawn and redundant
    eulogy would clash strangely with that rare simplicity which is
    one of the qualities by which Joachim, the Man, compels the
    esteem of all whose fortune it is to know him. But there would
    be in it, I think, also a further deeper-lying incongruity, for
    we know that Joachim, the Artist, has risen to the heights he
    occupies, perhaps alone, by fixing his constant gaze on high
    ideals, and lifting and sustaining his mind in a region above
    the shifting fickle atmosphere of praise or blame. Well, it is
    now fifty years since he took his first step along the upward
    path, which he has trodden in wholeness of heart and singleness
    of purpose from earliest boyhood to mellow middle age. During
    these fifty years he has not only ripened to the full his
    splendid gifts as an interpreter, ever interpreting the noblest
    works in the noblest manner, leading his hearers to their better
    comprehension; not only marked his place in the front ranks of
    living composers by works instinct with fire and imagination;
    but shown us also, as a man, how much high gifts are enhanced by
    modesty, and how good a thing to see is the life of an Artist
    who has never paltered with the dignity of his Art.

    Deep appreciation of these titles to respect and admiration has,
    as you know, led in Germany, the country of his adoption and his
    home, to an enthusiastic celebration of this, the fiftieth year
    of his artistic career; and we, his English friends, living in a
    country which we hope, nay, believe, is, after his own, not the
    least dear to him, have felt strongly impelled to express to him
    also in some form our gratitude, our sympathy, and our esteem.
    It has seemed to your Committee that these sentiments could not
    take a more fitting outward shape than that of the instrument
    over which he is lord: such an instrument, signed with the
    famous name of Stradivarius, and, as I am told, not unworthy of
    his fame, flanked with a bow the work of Tourte, and once the
    property of Kiesenwetter--such a fiddle and such a bow I now
    offer to him in your name. Its sensitive and well-seasoned
    shell will acknowledge and respond to the hand of the master,
    and the souls of many great musicians will, we hope, often speak
    through it to spellbound hearers. But we nourish another
    hope--the hope that, through the great waves of melody that
    shall roll forth from it under his compelling bow, a still small
    voice may now and again be interfused which, reaching his heart
    through his ears, shall speak to it of the many friends who, in
    spirit or in the body, are gathered round him affectionately
    to-night.

In 1888 Leighton delivered the superb Address at the Art Congress held
at Liverpool on December 3 (see Appendix). No Life of this great man
would be complete were his utterances on this occasion not given in
full, for therein is found his creed on Art, and the records of those
principles on which it was founded, expounded with clear force, fine
analysis, and, above all, with supreme courage. The subject, moreover,
as touching England's condition respecting Art, is one directly
affecting English readers.

A matter of interest to the general Art world came under discussion at
the Council meetings of the Academy in the winter of 1879 and 1880,
namely, whether women were to be admitted as members of their body. A
correspondence took place between Leighton and the late Mr. Henry
Wells, R.A., on the subject. Leighton's personal inclination was
certainly for admitting women into the body of the elect, as I know
from conversations he had with me on the subject. He invariably sought
to extend all art privileges to those who were, as artists, worthy to
receive them. He told me, however, that the majority of votes against
the inroad of women would be given as having regard to a question of
convenience rather than to one of principle, namely, the difficulty
the Academicians foresaw in admitting only one or two lady artist
Academicians to the yearly Banquets, and the greater difficulty of
extending invitations to lady guests.[67]

The following letters from Leighton to Mr. Wells give an insight into
the kind of work which his office of President entailed, and of the
characteristically thorough manner in which Leighton fulfilled them.

                                _Thursday Evening, 1879 or 1880._

    DEAR WELLS,--I have noticed during my last two sittings at your
    studio, that, whenever the deeply interesting subject of our
    Academy appeared on the tapis, it stood in the way of your work,
    and I have therefore purposely abstained, as you no doubt
    remarked, from going beyond the merest surface in the
    discussion of any of the points on which we have touched. I felt
    that the sittings I gave you being so few and so scantily
    measured out, the least I could do was not, wittingly, to make
    you lose your time. That is to say, I did not _tell_ you to-day
    orally what I now _write_, namely, my impression on your
    proposed question concerning the Chantrey purchases. The
    characteristic straightforwardness and loyalty with which you
    wished me to be informed on the point beforehand will not permit
    me to be silent in regard to your view. I have looked with the
    greatest care into the extract from the will which we all have,
    and have given the matter that thought which is due to your
    earnest conscientiousness, and I have satisfied myself that the
    General Assembly is wholly without a _locus standi_ in claiming
    to control the expenditure of the Chantrey trust moneys in any
    way whatever; those moneys never pass into its hands or come
    under its cognisance; they are paid into the hands of the
    president and treasurer, against their receipt, and are dealt
    with solely by the president and council for the time being. An
    attempt, therefore, on the part of the General Assembly to
    assume control in this matter is in my view _out of order_, and
    it would therefore be out of order to ask or answer a question
    based, as yours is, on that assumption. I think you will find
    this view in harmony with the opinion of the body; if it is
    largely challenged, I shall postpone the answer till I have
    taken a legal opinion, as the point is very important. Here are
    my cards on the table.--In haste, yours sincerely,

                                                   FRED LEIGHTON.


    _Private._]
                                                        _Monday._

    DEAR WELLS,--The usual stress of business has prevented me till
    now from thanking you for your note and valuable information; I
    shall, with great interest, turn to the passages you allude to
    as soon as I get a good opportunity, and what I read will have
    the greatest weight with me when I vote again on a purchase. It
    would not, however, touch my point in regard to the _General
    Assembly_, which can only interfere with a past purchase if it
    can be shown to be illegal; this can, of course, only be
    established by legal authority, and I am, myself, sorry that
    your first resolution does not run thus: That the President be
    requested to consult high legal authority as to whether such and
    such purchases are barred by the will of Sir F. Ch. If your
    misgivings on that head are shared by a majority the thing would
    pass immediately and undiscussed, almost.

    As concerns your motion on the pension resolution, I own to much
    misgiving; _I should not dream of alluding to this had you not
    yourself taken me aside about it the other day._ I am so far at
    one with you in principle that I feel, I can't say how deeply,
    that it is our paramount duty to interpret in the largest and
    most elevated sense our duty to the art of the country that we
    may be worthy in the eyes of the enlightened portion of the
    community of our high place, and that it is equally incumbent on
    us to keep our personal interests vigilantly in sub-ordination.
    I think that one of the present resolutions militates against
    this last view, and I need not conceal from you that it has not
    my sympathy. I am, however, very strongly of opinion that the
    form of your opposition to it will not be supported, and that in
    your desire for a logical comprehensiveness, you will fail of
    your end, which by simple direct opposition to the particular
    measure on the principle you have already enunciated and
    explained, you might _very probably_, I believe, achieve. I need
    not, I think, assure you, my dear Wells, that nothing is further
    from my thoughts than any _interference_ with a member's
    freedom; indeed, on that head my views are known to you; but I
    can't refrain from saying thus much to give you an opportunity
    of quietly thinking matters over (_don't answer this_) before
    Wednesday. After all, you want primarily to get rid of paragraph
    6, not to ensure a dialectical triumph. If the alternative is
    between your Committee and the resolution as it stands, I feel
    absolutely convinced that you will be left in a very cold
    minority; but if you point out that paragraph 6 takes our
    bounties off the ground of necessity, our only tenable ground,
    in fact commutes a _bounty_ into an unconditional _claim_ (of a
    formidable pecuniary nature, too), you will march in, I can't
    help thinking, with flying colours.

    Don't, I repeat, be at the trouble to answer this expression of
    the opinion of,--Yours sincerely,

                                                   FRED LEIGHTON.


                                  _Monday, February 1, (?) 1881._

    DEAR WELLS,--Since receiving your letter I have been so
    absolutely engrossed with business and work that I have not had
    time till now to answer it. I am sincerely glad you have asked
    for a little modification in the terms of the Lucy petition;
    meanwhile I have written to Gladstone, and my letter has been
    acknowledged with a promise to note its contents.

    In regard to your Chantrey resolution, I feel that, after the
    manner of very busy men, I have written in haste and not made
    myself quite clear. I should like, first, to remove one
    apprehension which you seem to have entertained; however
    strongly I may be convinced of the correctness of my own view on
    the matter under discussion, I cannot too emphatically say that
    as long as the points at issue were still _sub judice_ I should
    not countenance a purchase which should assume my view to be the
    right one; but no such postponement as would lead to this
    dilemma is to be feared; what I propose is this: as soon as ever
    we have closed the discussion on the schools, and whilst they
    are being printed in their amended form for final consideration,
    therefore, on Friday next, if we get through on Wednesday, or
    failing that on the 22nd or 23rd of February, the resolutions of
    Council will be put on the table in their rotation; as, however,
    the next step in the Chantrey affair is to merely _hear_ my
    answer to your memorandum, and as I understand that discussion
    on it will not be expected till members shall have had it to
    consider at their leisure, I will read it and lay it on the
    table _before_ I take up the resolutions of Council which stand
    on the paper before it, so that when it comes up for final
    discussion, presumably in the first days of March, it can be
    discussed and voted on with full mastery of the subject. It is
    on the agenda paper of THAT _meeting_ that your affirmative
    motion will stand; it does not come into force till then, since
    it is contingent on the effect produced on your mind by my
    answer of Friday (or of the next meeting after).

    With respect to Redgrave's motion, it may lead to a technical
    "censure" of the Council; but there are censures and censures,
    and nobody will suppose, certainly I never dreamt, that you
    meant to imply moral obliquity to us in regard to what we have
    done. I have not a word to object to what you advance about the
    right of complaint, but it does not exactly cover the case: if
    you caught us, say, taking our friends to the Exhibition (or
    ourselves) on Sunday, a matter on which no two opinions are
    admissible, then "a complaint" would be in its place; but in the
    matter of payment to Treasurer, two opinions may and do exist,
    and they can only be measured against one another by a vote, and
    a vote can only be taken on a motion.

    Lastly, as to the new codification committee, I think with you,
    _in strictest confidence_, that ---- was not a good choice; but
    he was chosen in the usual manner by a majority of votes: that
    your labours were not remunerated in the usual manner is an
    oversight, which, of course, must and shall be set right. There
    seems altogether, and your letter corroborates that impression,
    to have been much vagueness about the doings of the Committee
    _as a Committee_, though, as usual, much zealous work on your
    part. I do not gather that attendances were entered in a book,
    which is the machinery by which payment is generally regulated,
    and the Committee having lapsed without reporting to the Council
    on its labours (being a _sub-committee_ of the Council of 1878,
    it lapsed by a natural death with that Council), the whole thing
    had fallen out of notice. I hope that the old sub-committee will
    put in their claims, which will very certainly be satisfied. The
    codification has frequently been in my mind, for I consider it
    of very great importance, but as it is my impression that I am
    considered to drive the work of the Academy full hard as
    it is, I have hesitated to impose more labours on my colleagues,
    even though I am always ready to share them.--Sincerely yours,

                                                   FRED LEIGHTON.

    [Illustration: "ELIJAH IN THE WILDERNESS." 1879]

    [Illustration: SKETCH FOR "ELIJAH IN THE WILDERNESS." 1879
    Leighton House Collection]

    [Illustration: "NERUCCIA." 1879
    By permission of Mrs. Lees]

    [Illustration: "THE BATH OF PSYCHE." 1890
    National Gallery of British Art (Tate Gallery)]


                                               _Tuesday Morning_,
                             2 HOLLAND PARK ROAD, KENSINGTON, W.,
                                                _March 18, 1884_.

    DEAR WELLS,--Thank you for your letter received yesterday, which
    only lack of time prevented me from answering at once. I am
    happy to say that Richmond cheerfully acceded to my wish in
    regard to clauses 6 and 7. I do not think with Calderon, who has
    written to me, that the words of a man so high-minded as
    Richmond will indispose members in this matter, and, though I
    feel the importance of raising no prejudice against the proposal
    as keenly as ever, still wish him to initiate it. It is, I agree
    with you, a pity that the question of the retiring pensions must
    come off first; but that is, I fear, quite unavoidable, and it
    connects itself with the very first resolution. I assure you, my
    dear Wells, that I _see_ the bearing of all you say on this head
    as plainly as possible, and have done so all along; but it does
    not prevail with me, because it does not cover the whole ground,
    and because I do not anticipate the dangers for which you think
    it might be used as a precedent.

    In view of my own personal painful position in this matter, I
    shall _ask_ the Assembly _not_ to ratify the clause which
    affects _me_.--In great haste, yours sincerely,

                                                   FRED LEIGHTON.

Leighton's official life, as understood and carried out by him,
entailed infinitely more strain and occupation than can be described
in these pages, but, notwithstanding, unless the call away from his
easel was imperative, he kept certain hours in the day sacred to his
art. These were from 9 A.M. till noon, and from 1 P.M. till 4. It was
only in the off hours that he got through his other labours, which he
performed, nevertheless, with most assiduous conscientiousness.

Among his duties outside the Academy were those at the British Museum.
Mr. H.A. Grueber, Keeper of the Coins and Medals, writes: "Sir
Frederic Leighton was elected a Trustee of the British Museum on May
14, 1881. He was an active member of the Standing Committee, who
practically manage the affairs of the Museum, and he took great
interest in the place. He was also a member of the Sub-committees on
Buildings, on Antiquities, Prints and Drawings, also of those on Coins
and Medals."

In the first R.A. Exhibition after his election, three pictures of the
eight Leighton sent have, I think, a special interest--"Elijah in the
Wilderness" (the picture into which he said he put more of himself
than into any other he had painted up to that time); the portrait of
his very dear friend Professor Costa, painted in the previous autumn
at Lerici, and the head "Neruccia." Leighton with Costa studied the
methods used in painting by the Venetians and Correggio, and Costa
wrote the following with reference to them:--

    The result of these studies and of the experience of years was
    that Leighton and I definitely adopted the following method.
    Take a canvas or panel with the whitest possible preparation and
    non-absorbent--the drawing of the subject to be done with
    precision and indelible. On this seek to model in monochrome so
    strongly that it will bear the local colours painted with
    exaggeration, and then the grey, which is to be the ground of
    all the future half-tones; on this paint the lights, for which
    use only white, red, and black, avoiding yellow, and, stabbing
    (botteggiando) with the brush while the colour is wet, make the
    half-tints tell out from the grey beneath, which should be
    thoroughly dry. When all is dry, finish the picture with
    scumbles (spegazzi), adding yellow to complete the colour.

    Leighton formed his method of painting from these general
    maxims, and he painted my portrait at Lerici on these principles
    as an experiment, and then in 1878 we adopted the system
    definitely. For this portrait he had four sittings--one for the
    drawing and the monochrome chiaroscuro, one for the local
    colours; then, having covered all with grey, he painted the
    lights with red, white, and black, making use of the thoroughly
    dried grey beneath for his half-tints. With scumbles
    he completed the colour and the modelling.

    [Illustration: "THE LIGHT OF THE HAREM." 1880
    By kind permission of the Directors of the Leicester Gallery]

    [Illustration: "AND THE SEA GAVE UP THE DEAD WHICH WERE IN IT"
    Sketch for Complete Design, 1892]

    [Illustration: STUDY FOR FIGURE IN FRIEZE, "MUSIC." 1886
    Leighton House Collection]

    [Illustration: STUDY FOR "ANDROMEDA." 1890
    Leighton House Collection]

    [Illustration: FROM SKETCH IN CLAY FOR PERSEUS, IN THE PICTURE
    "PERSEUS AND ANDROMEDA." 1891]

    [Illustration: STUDY FOR FIGURE IN PANEL IN ROYAL
    EXCHANGE--"PHOENICIANS BARTERING WITH BRITONS"
    Leighton House Collection]

    [Illustration: "CYMON AND IPHIGENIA." 1884
    The Corporation of Leeds]

    [Illustration: STUDY IN COLOUR FOR "CYMON AND IPHIGENIA." 1884
    By permission of Mrs. Stewart Hodgson]

    [Illustration: STUDY FOR SLEEPING GROUP FOR "CYMON AND
    IPHIGENIA"
    Given by Lord Leighton to G.F. Watts, O.M., and given by the
    latter to the Collection in Leighton House, 1883]

As the exquisite fragments in pencil of cyclamen, bramble and vine
branch,[68] explain most intimately Leighton's genius as a
draughtsman, so this head of Neruccia appears to me, together with one
other work, to explain most explicitly his genius as a painter--a
modeller with the brush. In 1890 Leighton painted "The Bath of
Psyche."[69] The modelling in the torso of this figure, and in the
head of Neruccia, reach the zenith as exemplifying Leighton's
individuality as a painter. They might truly earn for him the
title--Praxiteles of the brush.

It would be tedious for writer and reader alike to describe too
minutely the special characteristics of even the most notable pictures
painted during the seventeen years when Leighton occupied the position
of President of the Royal Academy. Words are but poor interpreters of
painting such as his. Eighty canvases, two statues, and two
designs--the reverse of the Jubilee Medallion, "And the sea gave up
its dead which were in it"--were exhibited at the Royal Academy;
eighteen slighter works at the Suffolk Street, and twenty-three at the
Grosvenor Galleries. On referring to the list in the Appendix it will
be realised how great was the amount of labour involved in the
achievement of many of these works, considering their size, the
complication of their designs, and also the completeness of their
finish. It must also be remembered that Leighton made many hundreds of
studies for his pictures. More especially numerous were these for the
designs "And the sea gave up the dead which were in it," "The Dance,
Decorative Frieze"; "Cymon and Iphigenia"; "Music, a Frieze"; "Design
for the reverse of the Jubilee Medallion," "Captive Andromache,"
"Perseus and Andromeda," "Return of Persephone," "The Garden of the
Hesperides," "Rizpah," "Summer Slumbers," "The Spirit of the Summit,"
"Flaming June," "Phoenicians Bartering with Britons," and "Clytie."
When all these achievements are taken into account it will be realised
that Leighton, to the end, however important his duties outside his
studios, was true to his vocation, and proved himself the "workman
first and the official after."

As a work combining poetic feeling, power of design, and great beauty
in the arrangement of line, while at the same time expressing most
explicitly Leighton's creed of creeds--namely, the ennobling and
elevating influence of beauty in the lives of men and women--"Cymon
and Iphigenia" is perhaps the picture he himself would have chosen as
the most representative among these later works. He chose it as the
one he wished sent to the Berlin Exhibition in 1885. When beginning it
he described to me the moment of the day he wished to catch for the
scene--"the most mysteriously beautiful in the whole twenty-four
hours, when the _merest lip_ of the moon has risen from behind the sea
horizon, and the air is haunted still with the flush of the after-glow
from the sun already hidden in the west."[70]

The study for the group of sleeping figures reproduced here is almost
identical in design with the sketch in plaster from the clay, so
lamentably destroyed when Watts lent it to be cast in bronze
after Leighton's death. Leighton also gave the drawing of this group
to his fellow artist, so enthusiastically did Watts admire it. He, in
his turn, gave it to the Leighton House Collection in the year 1897,
together with the fine painting which Leighton exchanged for his own
portrait, painted about 1863, and which greeted friends as they
mounted the staircase in Leighton House during all the years he lived
in Holland Park Road (see frontispiece to Vol. I.). The study for
"Cymon and Iphigenia" is particularly valuable now as an example of
Leighton's rapid sketches where every touch reflects a mine of
knowledge, because it was put under glass before any of the crispness
of the touch was blurred by rubbing.[71]

    [Illustration: "THE SLUGGARD"
    From the Bronze Statuette--a direct reproduction from Lord
    Leighton's small sketch, 1886. Leighton House Collection]

    [Illustration: "NEEDLESS ALARMS"
    From Bronze Statuette, 1886. Leighton House Collection]

    [Illustration: "THE LAST WATCH OF HERO." 1887]

    [Illustration: STUDY IN COLOUR FOR "TRAGIC POETESS." 1890
    By permission of Mrs. Stewart Hodgson]

In a letter dated 1886 Watts wrote: "Leighton will carry off all the
honours this year with his ceiling[72] and his two statues."

"An Athlete Awakening from Sleep" (given to the Tate Gallery by Sir
Henry Tate) is generally known as "The Sluggard," a name bestowed on
it by Leighton himself. The victor's garland lies at the feet of the
athlete, a garland which does not preserve the owner from a sad
weariness. Mr. Brock, R.A., in whose studio "An Athlete" was
modelled, executed the fine bust of Leighton which was deposited in
the Academy as Mr. Brock's diploma work.[73]

Sir John Millais admired greatly the other work alluded to in Watts'
letter, "Needless Alarms." Leighton gave him this statuette, and
Millais, desiring to show his gratitude in a tangible form, painted
the picture "Shelling Peas" for Leighton.

In at least fourteen of the eighty pictures shown at the Academy
during the last seventeen years of Leighton's life, there can be
traced an earnest sentiment beyond the "sincerity of emotion" for
beauty which all evince. This feeling is, however, always guarded by a
marked reticence from sentimentalism. "Elijah in the Wilderness,"
"Elisha Raising the Son of the Shunammite," "The Jealousy of Simoetha,
the Sorceress," "The Last Watch of Hero," "Captive Andromache,"
"Return of Persephone," "Rizpah," "Tragic Poetess," "Sibyl,"
"Farewell," "The Spirit of the Summit," "Fatidica," "Lachrymae," and
the last passionate figure of "Clytie." The most popular pictures
Leighton painted during these years appear to be "Sister's Kiss," "The
Light of the Harem" (developed into a picture from the design of a
group in the fresco, "The Industrial Arts of Peace"), "Idyll,"
"Whispers," "Wedded" (now in Australia), "Memories," "Letty,"
"Invocation," "Solitude," "The Bath of Psyche," "Bacchante," "Corinna
of Tanagra," "The Bracelet," "Summer Slumber," "Atalanta," "Flaming
June," and "The Fair Persian" (unfinished). Two sketches in the
Leighton House Collection record effects which greatly fascinated
Leighton in Scotland--"A Pool, Findhorn River," deep tortoiseshell
brown; and "Rocks in the Findhorn," pink and grey enriched by lichen,
and it was in Scotland that the Lynn of Dee inspired the
subject of "Solitude." Leighton described to me the deep impression
this Lynn of Dee had made on him. "It is the veriest note of solitude!
a wonderful spot, full of poetic inspiration." In order to transmit a
vivid record of this sentiment to his canvas, he took a second journey
to the place.[74]

    [Illustration: "ATALANTA." 1893
    By permission of the Berlin Photographic Co., the owners of the
    Copyright]

    [Illustration: "FLAMING JUNE." 1895
    By permission of Mrs. Watney]

    [Illustration: STUDY FOR "FLAMING JUNE." 1895]

    [Illustration: "FATIDICA." 1894
    By permission of Messrs. T. Agnew & Son, the owners of the
    Copyright]

    [Illustration: STUDIES FOR "FATIDICA." 1894
    Leighton House Collection]

Leighton wrote the following letter to his father when first visiting
Forres, in which he described the "craze" he had for these "dark brown
Scotch rivers":--

                                             ROYAL STATION HOTEL,
                                                     FORRES, N.B.

    I drove over to Dunkeld (twelve and a half miles) to lunch at
    the Millais'; I think the drive one of the most enchanting
    things I know, and I was favoured, moreover, by a few of those
    divine glimpses of blue and silver sky of which Scotland has the
    monopoly (a monopoly which she uses, perhaps, just a trifle too
    modestly). This is Forres, as the paper shows you; if Macbeth's
    witches really did live in this neighbourhood, it is just as
    well they had their hands pretty full, for they would have found
    the place uncommonly dull otherwise, especially on the
    "Sawbath." On the other hand, the drive to and the walk along
    the banks of the Findhorn--the excursion for which one comes
    here--is quite delightful, and indeed surpassed my expectations.
    I must tell you that I have nothing short of a craze for your
    dark brown Scotch (and Irish) rivers, as dark as treacle, and as
    clear as a cairngorm. This particular stream contrives to rush
    part of the way through fantastic rocks of pink granite--you may
    imagine the effect. Here again from the heights over the river I
    _ought_ to have seen the sea and the coast of Sutherlandshire;
    but the weather was sulky and I had to draw on my imagination
    for the view.

    In the forenoon I went over by train to Elgin, to see the ruined
    cathedral, which is fine, but, like all Scotch architecture that
    I have seen, crude and barbaric. As I stood on the platform
    before starting, I heard a gruff, good-humoured voice hailing me
    from a train on the other side; it was the voice which goes so
    well with the rubicund face of the Duke of Cambridge. I was
    going by the same train, so he made me get into his compartment;
    he was going to Balmoral or Aberfeldie. He was very comic about
    B---- and his article in the _Nineteenth Century_--"A fellow who
    fouls his own nest is always a d----d bad lot--a d----d bad
    lot," with which sentiment I close a d----d long letter.--From
    your affectionate son,

                                                            FRED.

"Atalanta" may be noted, perhaps, as the strongest work achieved by
Leighton. Here _is_ "enormous power," though shown on a comparatively
small canvas. For noble beauty of the Pheidian type in the grand and
simple pose and modelling of the throat and shoulder, it would be
difficult to find its peer in Modern Art, and yet it was only the
worthy record of the beauty of an English girl. "Flaming June" (a
design first made to decorate as a bas-relief the marble bath on which
the figure in "Summer Slumber" reposes), is equally perfect in the
fine fulness of the modelling, but it lacks the direct simplicity
which gives such a distinguished strength to the "Atalanta." In the
sketch for "Flaming June" reproduced in these pages the pose is better
explained than in the completed picture, the foreshortened line of the
back and shoulder being confused somewhat by the drapery in the
painting.

At the age of twenty-five, in the wing-like petals of a cyclamen,
Leighton had succeeded in securing with the pencil the quality towards
which he aimed from the beginning to the end of his studies--and these
only ended with his life--namely, absolute completeness as far as
human eye and hand can reach completeness in rendering the perfection
of nature's forms. Notably in "Neruccia" and in "Psyche" he reached
that aim with the brush, but in "Atalanta," and in such studies as
those for "Flaming June," "Fatidica," and--imbued with a yet further
interest of dramatic feeling--for "Clytie," his aim was reached with
more freedom and power of touch. The quality of beauty in these works
was no invention of his--only, as has been noted before, a discernment
and echo in the artist's apprehension of nobler truths in nature than
are discovered by the many. They are nobler, because possessing the
germ of life and movement. In all nature's forms, beauty and style
result from the spring and moving on--the development of growth,
whether it requires aeons to develop the form as in mountains, years as
in trees, or only days as in flowers. In the human limbs there is the
further power of varied movement, and in the countenance of varied
expressions. The greatest art stamps a suggestion of this power of
growth and movement into the form and line expressing the facts it
records; and, making it harmonise graciously with perfect structure in
nature, the great artist evolves a thing of beauty. In our northern
climes, and in our modern civilisation, beauty of form and line excite
little genuine emotion. That is reserved for colour, tone, texture,
and, in these very latter days, for the cleverness of the executant.
The greatest opposer Leighton's teaching has had is laziness.
Students will not take the trouble to go through irksome labour to
secure knowledge, therefore they only aim at those qualities which are
made comparatively easy by an emotional preference; and such emotional
preference is rarely excited by form. There are exceptions, such as
Watts, whose greatest artistic emotion was excited when he seized the
beauty and style in Pheidias. He felt also the same enthusiastic
excitement over Leighton's studies, stamped with a like Pheidian
quality of style. Because the modern eye is so often blind to these
qualities, therefore Leighton's work has been disposed of by many as
merely academical and the result solely of taking inordinate pains!
Surely those desirous of any true culture might learn one lesson at
all events of Leighton: the value of Catholicity through learning "to
master what they reject as fully as what they adopt ... the better
motives of men" with whom they are not in sympathy. Catholicity is the
outcome of the best natures, the best understandings, the best
educations. It overrides those subtle egoisms and commercial interests
which so often guide while distorting a true judgment in art matters,
keeping the preferences of the public wriggling about without any
definite instinct or principal on a never truly-convincing dead level.
The mainspring of catholicity in art is a fervent reverence for
nature. All works in which such fervent reverence is found, in
whatever direction it is displayed, are worthy to be admitted into the
fold, whether it be form, colour, or tone in nature's aspect--whether
it be the stirring whirls of northern tempests, the rural peace of
English glades, or the fineness of rarefied atmosphere in the south,
as in Greek isles and sea. Whichever mood of nature appeals to a true
artist and inspires in him the sacred fire, and consequently the
expression in his touch, should find a place in the heart of the true
lover of art. Because the aesthetic pores of a music-lover are open to
the rapturous tumult of the wildly whirling Schumann symphony in A
minor, is he, therefore, incapable of being entranced by the rare
refinement of Palestrina's cameo-like phrases? Because he feels a
rapturous excitement as the curtain falls at the end of the first act
of "Lohengrin," can he not also feel a soul-satisfaction in the
elevated serenity of Bach's "Christmas Oratorio"? Does it not rather
denote a want of elasticity in the aesthetic perceptions, a want of
flexibility in the sensibilities flavouring somewhat of the
Philistine, to be touched by a limited range of emotions? Because
Leighton is not Whistler, or Watts is not Sargent, why must the one be
admired at the expense of the other? With Leighton's rare intellectual
acumen he knew well that these limitations in viewing various outlooks
on art arose chiefly from a want of wide culture and experience. In
the great galleries of Europe, among the treasures in the churches of
Italy, his own vision had been enlarged, and he had felt how
nourishing to his own best instincts such enlargement had proved.
Hence his earnest endeavours when first entering the Academy to
establish the Winter Exhibitions of Old Masters, and later, when
President, to give as many facilities as possible for students to
travel abroad. Probably, it never will be fully realised how greatly
Leighton's initiations in starting new ventures for young students and
artists have helped the real progress of English art. His great
modesty and rare tact prevented this initiation from being fully
appreciated even at the time. When such an one as Leighton is working
on great lines, the last thing he thinks of is, Who is really
achieving the work? The aim has to be accomplished; it matters little
who is used as the tool to achieve the work. The real satisfaction to
such a nature is the fact that the work _has_ been achieved.

Perhaps of all the ways in which Leighton helped to forward the
condition of art in England, the most valuable was his industry in
searching out unknown work, discovering what merit existed in it,
hunting up the artist, and, by becoming personally acquainted with
him, encouraging in every manner his onward progress. What he effected
in Mason's case with such a rich harvest to the world as the result,
he did in many other cases when the artist was a perfect stranger to
him. Mr. Alfred East, the President of the Royal Society of British
Artists, writes: "Lord Leighton was a man of broad sympathies in his
appreciation of Art, an earnest worker with a lofty purpose and a high
ideal. He liked to see these qualities in others, and spoke of the
dignity and privilege of being an artist, and lived up to it in his
own house. To those who knew him well he was singularly modest about
his work, soliciting criticism with a frankness which was as
unaffected as it was sincere. He never posed, but was a fellow-worker
and a comrade. Such were the characteristics of the artist at home. I
owe more to his encouragement than to any other influence of my life.
Our acquaintanceship grew into friendship; he helped me to speak to
him as I could speak to no other, of my own aims and ideals. This is
the great artist as I knew him."

Singularly chary of accepting favours or putting himself under any
obligation where he did not feel certain he could requite it by any
feeling or action of his own, the response Leighton's nature made when
any person, thing, or place gave him delight was that of a
spontaneous, unstinting gratitude. Never did any one enjoy more fully
the best of blessings--a grateful heart. Moreover, once the tender
spot of pity touched, a self-ignoring energy of helpfulness and desire
to benefit arose, which was at once the most beautiful and the least
fully understood trait in his character. It is difficult for many to
understand a _passion_ for unselfishness. "We bear with
resignation the sorrows of others," is one of the good sayings of
Walter Bagehot. No rule without an exception--Leighton did not bear
with resignation the sorrows of his friends, nor of those he pitied as
overweighted and in any need of help which he could give. No better
proof exists of the fineness, the distinction of a nature, or the
reverse, than the effect which misfortune or suffering produces on it.
Pity with Leighton was ever allied with profound respect. He gave help
as one indulging himself in a privilege rather than as one conferring
a benefit. A beautiful story, for which I happen to be the best
authority, is interwoven with the last years of his life.

    [Illustration: "MEMORIES." 1883
    By permission of Messrs. P. & D. Colnaghi, the owners of the
    Copyright]

    [Illustration: "THE JEALOUSY OF SIMOETHA, THE SORCERESS." 1887]

    [Illustration: "LETTY." 1884
    By permission of Mrs. Henry Joachim]

One day, somewhere in the winter of 1879, on opening a gate which
leads from our garden to the Holland Park Studios, I saw standing at
one of the studio doors a figure which I described to Leighton as a
"vision of beauty"--a young girl with a lovely white face, dressed in
deepest black, evidently a model. Needless to say, Leighton, ever
eager to procure good models, obtained her name from the artist to
whom she was sitting when I first saw her, and engaged her as a model
for the head. Shortly after she began to sit to Leighton, he wrote to
me saying the young girl was in sad circumstances, and he would be
very glad if I could help her by making some studies from her. I
agreed, and he arranged with her to give me sittings. She told me that
she had recently lost her mother, her father had deserted his family
of five girls and two boys, and she with her elder brother were left
to support them. She was endeavouring to act the part of mother to her
younger sisters and brother. As Leighton and I grew to know her better
we found her very intelligent and conscientious in acting this part,
and she enlisted our sympathies entirely. She confided to me, while
sitting one day, that she longed greatly to find something to do more
interesting and remunerative than spending her days as a model. She
thought she could act. I consulted Leighton. His first exclamation
was, "_Impossible!_ with _that_ voice! How _could_ she go on the
stage?" I thought the voice, which had a singularly unpleasant Cockney
twang in it, might be trained, as I had observed how very eager she
was to learn to speak in a more educated manner, quite realising her
own shortcomings. Leighton came round to my opinion; and, once having
made up his mind that she was bent on educating herself for the stage,
showed himself as ever the most unselfish and untiring befriender.
Meanwhile four of these beautiful children became useful to him as
models. From the second daughter, who afterwards married an artist,
Leighton painted "Memories," reproduced here; from the third, Hetty,
he painted "Simoetha the Sorceress" and "Farewell"; but it was the
youngest, Lina, quite a small child, who delighted him most, and who
had a rare, refined charm which must have captivated any child-lover.
She took the place of little Connie Gilchrist of the "Cleobouline,"
the "Music Lesson," and other of the earlier paintings, in the later
pictures. She sat for "Sister's Kiss," "The Light of the Harem,"
"Letty," the sleeping group in "Cymon and Iphigenia," "Kittens," in
the friezes "The Dance" and "Music," and "A little girl with golden
hair and pale blue eyes"--

    "Yellow and pale as ripened corn
    Which Autumn's kiss frees--grain from sheath
    Such was her hair, while her eyes beneath,
    Showed Spring's faint violets freshly born."

                             ROBERT BROWNING.

--also the child in "Captive Andromache." Of the sister-mother of this
little family, beautiful as she was, Leighton declared he never could
paint a successful likeness, notwithstanding his attempts in
"Viola,"[75] "Bianca," "Serenely wandering in a trance of sober
thought," and "Miss Dene." Her very beautiful throat, however, was
reproduced worthily in many of his subject-pictures, and the true
dramatic instinct she undoubtedly possessed enabled her to be of help
in such pictures as "Antigone," "Return of Persephone," and the last
picture, the passionate "Clytie." But however useful she proved as a
model, Leighton never for a moment thought of his own interests before
the serious welfare of the young girl's life. He realised that if she
was to make a successful actress, it involved serious and concentrated
study. One morning I received the following note:--

    DEAR MRS. BARRINGTON,--Miss Pullen will be very happy to sit to
    you on Monday, and will talk over the rest when you meet. You
    are very kind about it all, as is, indeed, your wont.

    _P.S._--You see my harassed old head does sometimes remember
    what I promise.

    [Illustration: STUDIES FROM DOROTHY DENE FOR "CLYTIE." 1895
    Leighton House Collection]

And later:--

                                             2 HOLLAND PARK ROAD,
                                                   KENSINGTON, W.

    DEAR MRS. BARRINGTON,--I want you to help me in a little
    conspiracy against (?) our young tragic friend. Mrs. Glyn
    frequently urges that she ought, at all events for a time, to
    give her _whole_ mind and being to the study of her art. I need
    not say I share that opinion, and I have at last, after infinite
    trouble and persistence (my _nose_, you know)[76] induced her to
    leave off sitting for a _month_, in the hope, if you will all
    help, of making it a _quarter_. This would, I am confident, be
    of the greatest value to her, giving her time also to read a
    little and concentrate her thoughts. I am quite prepared to give
    up painting from her for three months; but she is in mortal
    dread lest her other friends should think her unkind and
    ungrateful for their sympathy. I have told her I believe no such
    thing, and that I feel sure that Schmaltz and you (who work most
    from her) will, as willingly as I, postpone your studies in
    order to aid her in so important a matter. She is going to call
    on you to-day; if you agree with me, _be very firm_--have a
    _nose_! _Refuse_ to paint from her for three months.

We succeeded in making the little girl work exclusively at her acting,
and Leighton, Watts, and I frequently visited the school where she was
being trained under Mrs. Glyn, to hear her and her fellow-students
perform the pieces they had studied. Eventually she appeared in London
and in the provinces, and quickly communicated all her successes and
failures to Leighton and to me. Constant notes passed between us as we
each received news from our young _protegee_, or when we thought some
fresh step might be taken for her advantage. For instance, one of
these notes runs as follows:--

    DEAR MRS. BARRINGTON,--It has occurred to me that I perhaps
    seemed this morning what I certainly did not mean to seem,
    churlish in regard to that letter from Irving.[77] _If Miss
    Pullen is now ripe for him to hear her_--this is the most
    important point (for to go to him _too soon_ would be the most
    unwise thing possible in view of her getting a good
    engagement)--and if, having declined a letter on a previous
    occasion, she has any unnecessary scruple about now asking for
    one, it will be quite enough for you to tell me from her that
    she wishes for one, and I will at once write it. _Kemp will
    always be able to tell you where to get at me._ I can write as
    easily from Vienna or Constantinople as from here.

From Exeter Dorothy Dene wrote to Leighton after recounting an
unwonted success:--

    "Don't be frightened that I shall let all this praise turn my
    head. I know how much better it could be done, and after every
    scene a great weight falls on my heart that I have done no
    better. But I like you to warn me; it is good for me, so don't
    leave off, please. I am sorry that your friend, Lord
    Mount-Edgcumbe, will not see me, and that you had the bother of
    writing for nothing. Please do not fash yourself about finding
    out any one else. I must leave off now, as it is time to go to
    the theatre, and you will not get this any sooner if it were
    posted to-night than to-morrow.

                                                  _Sunday, 24th._

    "To continue, our lodgings are very comfortable, and nearly
    opposite the theatre; the food is good, and very fairly cooked,
    but I am very pleased with the tuck parcel; we had one of the
    birds when we arrived, the other things we have hardly touched.
    I thought it better to save them for places where the food may
    be bad. Please send me Mr. B. Tree's letter. I thought as you
    think about its advice. Thank you so much for _your_ kind advice
    and gentle reminders, I shall try so hard to remember all you
    have said to me at different times; and if I do become anything
    in the future, I shall owe all the best part of it to you."

An engagement for two matinees was made for her debut in London.

"Dear Mrs. Barrington, 'Dorothy' acts at the _Globe_ on Monday and
Tuesday afternoons," wrote Leighton; "I mean to go on Monday." I took
a party of eight to see her, including the late Lord Lytton, who took
much interest in the stage. After the performance Leighton wrote to
me, "Poor Dorothy was paralysed with terror yesterday--but I hope
intelligent people will have seen _through_ that." Again, later, "she
is adding, as she deserves, to the number of her friends, several of
whom treat her with really maternal kindness." I can indeed very truly
endorse Leighton's good opinion. Dorothy and three of her sisters were
worthy of all the interest shown in them. They were entirely
self-respecting, conscientious children, most affectionately devoted
to one another, and striving their utmost to improve in every sense,
and make themselves worthy of the help they received. Naturally they
adored their chief benefactor, Leighton. Unfortunately, Dorothy,
notwithstanding dramatic gifts, great perseverance and intelligence,
lacked charm on the stage. Her very beautiful face and throat were not
seen to advantage, as they were hardly in proportion with her figure,
which was short and too stiffly set to move gracefully on the stage.
Leighton in fun always called her "the little tee-to-tum," or when she
wore a large hat, "the mushroom." As he felt vitality waning and
mental effort a greater strain, the little family of Pullens had to
Leighton somewhat the same resting charm that Italy had in early days,
when he turned from the German austerity in study to the relaxation of
the _dolce far niente_ of Italian national life. "I go to see them,"
he used to say, "when I want to let my back hair down and get off the
stilts." When Leighton was dying, his sister, Mrs. Sutherland Orr,
took Dorothy into his room. He was too ill to speak, but only smiled
to her in answer to her saying, "If I have or ever will do anything
worth doing, I owe it all to you--everything I owe to you." It is
almost unnecessary, as it is distasteful, to mention that this
beautiful paternal attitude Leighton displayed towards these orphans
was made the subject of ugly gossip--for are there not always the
_miserables_ of the world who seek the ugly rather than the beautiful?
misinterpreting the beautiful so that it should come within the range
of their scandalous arrows, more especially when the darts attack a
man in the high position Leighton held. Some of these offshoots of
envy and jealousy came within earshot of Leighton's sisters, who
thought it well to warn him in a letter that such malice was in the
air. He wrote a lengthy answer, ending with the following sentence:
"But let me turn away from the whole thing, it has pained me more than
enough. I implore you not to reopen it. On the only thing that
matters, you are _absolutely assured, if you believe in my honour_. If
you hear these rumours again, meet them with a flat, ungarnished
denial. Let that suffice--it does for me." To a lady friend he wrote
still more explicitly, in order, as he said, that there should exist
in his own handwriting an implicit and unmitigated denial of the
malicious falsehood. Leighton never knew under whose auspices this
scandal was conducted. As is the case invariably, it was impossible to
put the finger exactly on the culprit--for these fulsome things have
to be propagated under the rose, in order that they should get a firm
root before an authoritative denial can be given. However, after
Leighton's death, the lie was stated more boldly--even directly to his
two sisters. It is necessary, therefore, to include in the account of
his life the full and truthful version of the kind and fatherly
protection Leighton gave to this family.

The interests of the Kyrle Society were another cause which I had in
common with Leighton. He spoke at the first public meeting that was
held in the Kensington Town Hall on January 27, 1881, and I possess an
interesting correspondence with him on the subject, which space will
not allow me to quote. The important matter contained in it appears in
the following correspondence between Mr. T.C. Horsfall, the chief
mover in establishing the Art Museum and Galleries in Manchester, and
Leighton, together with a discussion on other vital points connected
with Art:--

                                           _April 7, about 1880._

    DEAR SIR,--I am probably too late to be of any use, but have
    nevertheless much pleasure in assuring you once again of the
    sympathy with which I view your endeavours to bring the refining
    influences of Art in all its forms, and, so to speak, in
    co-operation on the masses in the vast industrial centre from
    which you write. I believe that in seeking to elicit and to
    cultivate their sense of what is beautiful you are opening up to
    them a deep source of enjoyment, and by opposing good to bad
    influences, rendering them great and lasting service.--Yours
    very faithfully,

                                                   FRED LEIGHTON.

           *       *       *       *       *

                                             _February 17, 1881._

    I have carefully read over the programme of your enterprise, and
    there is much in it with which I can warmly sympathise. I desire
    nothing more deeply than to see the love and knowledge of Art
    penetrate into the masses of the people in this country--there
    is no end which I would more willingly serve; but there is in
    your programme a paragraph which I cannot too emphatically
    repudiate--that, namely, which excludes from Art, as far as the
    public is concerned, that which is the root of the finest Art as
    Art, the human form, the noblest of visible things. That you
    should sternly and stringently exclude all work which reveals
    an offensive aim or prurient mind is what I should be the
    first to claim, but that you should lay down as a corner-stone
    of your scheme an enactment which would exclude by implication
    more than half the loftiest work we owe to Art--_nearly all
    Michael Angelo_, much of Raphael's best, Sebastiano del Piomba's
    "Raising of Lazarus," Titian's "Bacchus and Ariadne,"
    Botticelli's "Birth of Venus"--this is indeed a measure from
    which I must most distinctly dissociate myself, and which makes
    it impossible for me to connect my name with an enterprise which
    would else command my sympathy.

    [Illustration: STUDY IN COLOUR FOR "GREEK GIRLS PLAYING AT
    BALL." 1889
    By permission of Mrs. Stewart Hodgson]

    _From the "Manchester Courier," August 30, 1890._

    SIR FREDERIC LEIGHTON ON THE MANAGEMENT OF ART GALLERIES.

    To the Editor of the _Manchester Courier_.

    SIR,--On the 4th and 6th inst. I published two long letters on
    the management of art galleries, of some part of which this is a
    summary:--No one can intelligently and fully enjoy any picture
    or statue unless he has some measure of three kinds of
    knowledge. (1) He must know something about the subject
    represented, or he cannot enjoy the expression by the work of
    the artist's feeling and thought; (2) he must know something of
    the processes of the art in which the artist has worked, or he
    cannot know what effects the artist sought or might have sought;
    (3) he must know something of the history of the art, or he
    cannot understand what elements in the work are due to the
    artist himself and what to his time and place; or enjoy at all
    some of the finest works ever produced. For the giving of the
    second and third of these three kinds of knowledge there ought
    to be subsidiary collections in our Manchester galleries, kept
    distinct from the principal collection, and for the giving of
    the first kind there ought to be several distinct subsidiary
    collections, of which some should be for the purpose of giving
    knowledge of flowers, birds, trees, and the other beautiful
    objects which are "elements of landscape." As a very large
    proportion of the people of all large towns are ignorant of all
    that is interesting in nature, and of all that is noblest and
    most interesting in history and in contemporary life, and as
    pictures can very effectively give some knowledge both of nature
    and of the deeds of men while fulfilling their special function,
    which is to give certain kinds of aesthetic pleasure, the
    principal collections in our galleries ought to be used for the
    purpose of giving knowledge of nature and of noble human nature.
    A gallery of good pictures of the kind would, by reason of the
    interest of the subjects represented, attract so much attention
    that the public would to a far larger extent than now feel the
    influence of the artistic qualities of pictures. In order to
    obtain pictures of suitable subjects, the directors of art
    galleries, instead of only buying pictures in exhibitions and
    studios as they now do, should, as a rule, revert to the custom
    which prevailed in the ages when art influenced life deeply, and
    should ask artists to paint pictures of prescribed subjects. I
    believe that they would get thus better pictures and at lower
    prices. Many artists certainly would be at their best when they
    knew they were working to enlighten a great community, and would
    gladly accept a moderate price for a picture ordered for a
    public gallery.

    I sent a copy of my letters to Sir Frederic Leighton, and asked
    him if he would let me have his opinion respecting the principal
    suggestions contained in them. With the great kindness which
    distinguishes him, Sir Frederic Leighton has written me the
    following letter, which contains advice so valuable that I am
    sure every person in Manchester who cares for art will be glad
    to have an opportunity of reading it:--

      "DEAR MR. HORSFALL,--I must apologise for my very long
      delay in answering your letter--a delay due in great part
      to lack of time, but in part also to the fact that your
      questions could not be answered hastily, or without due
      consideration. I may say at the outset that I very warmly
      appreciate the depth of your interest in the subject of
      art, and the constancy of your efforts to spread its
      influence in Manchester; and I am glad to be able to add
      that on not a few points, I find myself in harmony with
      your views.

      "It is evidently not possible for me to touch, within the
      compass of a letter, upon more than one or two of the
      matters with which you deal in your two long communications
      to the Manchester press; and, indeed, the question on which
      you mainly dilate, and in regard to which I am not wholly at
      one with you, would require to be dealt with at far greater
      length than is possible to me here. I must content myself
      with saying what little seems to me sufficient to indicate
      the grounds of my dissent from you. But first I should like
      to say a word in passing on the vexed subject of _copies_.

      "There can be no doubt that it would be an immense advantage
      to those who cannot travel--that is to say, to the enormous
      majority of men--to bring before their eyes, through
      reproductions--if these reproductions were absolutely
      faithful--the masterpieces to which distance deprives them
      of access. This is, in the case of sculpture and
      architectural detail, in a large measure achieved by the
      means of plaster casts, though it is needless to point out
      that the capacity of the material robs the reproduction of
      much of the life and light of the original. With pictures
      the case is different. The subtle and infinite charm which
      resides in the _handiwork_ of a master, and in the absence
      of which half the personality of his work is lost, can
      hardly ever be rendered by a copyist. For this reason the
      overwhelming majority of even reasonable copies is to my
      mind worse than useless. Such copies can kindle no
      enthusiasm, and they virtually misinform the student. It has
      always seemed to me that the best way to acquaint young
      people with pictures which they are not able to see is to
      put before them photographs of the originals, which, besides
      giving design, form, and light and shade, with absolute
      fidelity, render, in a wonderful way, the executive
      physiognomy of the work; and by the side of these
      photographs free, but faithful, coloured sketches of the
      pictures should hang, giving the scheme, harmony, and tone
      of the colour, but not, like finished copies, professing an
      identity with the original, which is never achieved.

      "Turning now to what you say on the subject of the
      acquisition of works for a public gallery, I should at once
      dissuade you from any idea of giving definite commissions--I
      mean commission to paint specially selected subjects. I have
      always felt very strongly that artistic work, to be of real
      value, must be the outcome of entirely spontaneous impulse
      in an artist. I believe that in the immense majority of
      cases work done under any other conditions lacks vitality
      and sincerity, and will not show the worker at his best. A
      subject which does not impose itself unbidden on the artist
      will never elicit his full powers. I have myself on that
      ground for many years past invariably declined to paint
      under any kind of restriction.

      "Neither does your idea of--practically--refusing
      encouragement to any work which does not commemorate a noble
      deed, and, if possible, the noble deed of a well-known
      personage, commend itself to me. It seems to me, on the
      contrary, to be a harmful one, inasmuch as it misdirects the
      mind of a people, already little open to pure artistic
      emotion, as to the special function of Art. This can, of
      course, only be the doing of something which it _alone_ can
      achieve. Now, direct ethical teaching is specially the
      province of the written and the spoken word. A page or two
      from the pen of a great and nobly-inspired moralist--a
      Newman, say, or a Liddon, or a Martineau--can fire us more
      potently and definitely for good than a whole gallery of
      paintings. This does not, of course, mean that a moral
      lesson may not indirectly be conveyed by a work of art, and
      thereby enhance its purely moral value. _But it cannot be
      the highest function of any form of expression to convey
      that which can be more forcibly, more clearly, and more
      certainly brought home through another channel._ You may no
      more make this direct _explicit_ ethical teaching a test of
      worth in a painted work than you may do so in the case of
      instrumental music; indeed by doing so you will turn the
      attention of those before whom you place it from the true
      character of its excellence--you will, so to speak,
      mis-focus their emotional sensibility. It is only by
      concentrating his attention on essentially artistic
      attributes that you can hope to intensify in the spectator
      that perception of what is beautiful in the highest, widest,
      and fullest sense of the word, through which he may enrich
      his life by the multiplication of precious moments akin to
      those which the noblest and most entrancing music may bestow
      on him through different forms of aesthetic emotion. It is in
      the power to lift us out of ourselves into regions of such
      pure and penetrating enjoyment that the privilege and
      greatness of art reside. If, in a fine painting, a further
      wholly human source of emotion is present, and if that
      emotion is more vividly kindled in the spectator by the fact
      that he is attuned to receive it by the excitement of
      aesthetic perception through the beauty of the work of art as
      such, that work will gain no doubt in interest and in width
      of appeal. But it will not therefore be of a loftier order
      than a great work in architecture or music--than the
      Parthenon, for instance, or a symphony of Beethoven, neither
      of which preaches a direct moral lesson.

      "But I am being led away into undue length without the
      possibility, after all, of doing more than roughly indicate
      the grounds of my dissent from a rather vital article of
      your creed--a dissent which will, I am afraid, jar on you in
      proportion to the great sincerity with which you hold your
      faith. I may say, by the way, that I dwelt at rather greater
      length on this very subject in my first presidential address
      to the Royal Academy, delivered on 16th December 1879.--And,
      herewith, I remain, dear Mr. Horsfall, yours very truly,

                                                   FRED LEIGHTON.
        "2 HOLLAND PARK ROAD, KENSINGTON,
            "_August 18, 1890_."

    Examples of the kind of copies which Sir F. Leighton recommends
    can be seen in the Art Museum in No. 1 Room. We have there a
    photograph of the "Adoration of the Magi" of Paul Veronese, with
    a series of studies by Mr. F. Shields of the composition, the
    light and shade, and the arrangement of colour in the picture.
    These copies suffice to prove that such a collection as Sir F.
    Leighton recommends would be of the greatest value and interest.
    May I say with regard to two points in the letter, that my
    proposal to use some parts of the collections in our galleries
    for the purpose of revealing the beauty of nature and the
    greatness of human nature, does not involve any belief that the
    giving of ethical teaching ought to be one of the functions of
    pictures, and that the proposal is made partly for the purpose
    of increasing the width of appeal of works of art. While trying
    to make that appeal reach a large part of the community, we may
    usefully teach, by means of other parts of the collections, that
    the excellence of paintings has no relation to ethical
    teaching.

    With regard to the influence on the artist of the choice by
    others of his subjects, I think that Sir F. Leighton is misled
    by his own great gifts. A man of remarkably wide culture, and of
    great poetical power, he has been enabled, by the great range
    and strength of his imagination, to choose subjects giving ample
    scope for the exercise of the qualities peculiar to the painter,
    and yet appealing strongly to the powers of thought and feeling
    of all fairly educated people. To such a man, and to such a man
    only, spontaneous impulse can now be a sufficient guide in the
    choice of his subject; and to such a man, and only to such a
    man, the choice of his subject by other persons of intelligence
    would be a harmful restriction. In every picture gallery it is
    but too obvious that the majority of even able painters, though
    unrestricted by the will of any committee, are impeded by more
    hampering restrictions than any intelligent committee would
    impose, and are unable to find subjects interesting both to
    themselves and to others. For many able painters the intelligent
    choice by others of subjects for their work would remove, and
    not impose, restrictions. It must be remembered that the
    subjects of the works of Pheidias, of Cimabue, of Giotto, and
    indeed those of most of the works which have been much cared
    for, were chosen for, and not by, the artists.--Yours, &c.,

                                                   T.C. HORSFALL.

The following letter is Mr. Horsfall's answer to the one published in
the _Manchester Courier_, August 30, 1890:--

                                 SWANSCOE PARK, NEAR MACCLESFIELD,
                                               _August 20, 1890_.

    DEAR SIR FREDERIC LEIGHTON,--It is most kind of you to answer my
    letter so fully. I shall show my gratitude by doing my best to
    make your counsel as useful as possible to Manchester.

    The system which you suggest for giving some idea of
    masterpieces which are too distant to be visited seems to me to
    be admirable, and I cannot but believe that it will be adopted
    in one of our Manchester Galleries.

    With regard to the advisableness of choosing for public
    galleries chiefly pictures of noble subjects respecting which
    most people have, when they see the pictures, or can be expected
    to gain, some knowledge, though I feel the great weight of your
    argument, I am still of the same opinion. I may say this without
    presumption, because the great question which we are discussing:
    "How can Art be made most useful to England?" involves the two
    other questions: "What are the best conditions under which
    artists can work?" and "How can the best work of artists be made
    to influence the rest of the community?" In considering the
    second of these questions an artist is, I think, impeded by his
    special gifts, while I, not an artist, aided by the _qualites de
    mes defauts_, and by the results of several years of experiment
    in the use of pictures, believe myself to have gained much
    trustworthy knowledge! Speaking from the standpoint which I have
    thus reached, I should say that whilst the artist is most
    conscious of the analogy which exists between painting and
    instrumental music, there is really a much closer analogy
    between painting and poetry, or between painting and song, and
    that it is this closer analogy which should guide the action of
    the directors of public galleries. Painting deals, while
    instrumental music does not, with subjects respecting which we
    think and feel, and it must accept the results for good and evil
    of this; its products cannot be, as instrumental music is,
    without definite relation to our feeling and thought, and a
    simply neutral relation being impossible, the relation must be
    ennobling or debasing in some degree. I think that my analysis
    of the conditions which must be fulfilled if the relations is to
    be an ennobling one was sound.

    In asking that painters shall choose subjects pure and lovely
    "and of good report," I am not asking that painting shall leave
    its special function--shall cease to do that which it can do
    better than any other art; but only that it shall recognise that
    its function differs from that of instrumental music, and is the
    creation in us of a symphony of feeling or emotional thought and
    enjoyment of form and colour, and human skill, and love of
    beauty.--With very many thanks, I am, dear Sir Frederic
    Leighton, yours sincerely,

                                                   T.C. HORSFALL.


                             2 HOLLAND PARK ROAD, KENSINGTON, W.,
                                               _August 22, 1890_.

    DEAR MR. HORSFALL,--I have to thank you for your kind and
    interesting letter of the 20th.

    Knowing of old the views you entertain, and the radical
    divergence which exists between them and my own, I had fully
    anticipated the spirit of your answer; in fact, it almost seemed
    to me when I wrote at some length the other day that I ought to
    explain that it was out of deference to your wish and in high
    appreciation of the long and earnest thought which you have
    given to a grave subject that I did so, rather than in the hope
    that my views would carry conviction or commend themselves to
    you.

    The divergence between us is, as I said, at the root of things,
    and is one on which I do not think experience either qualifies
    or disqualifies us to judge. The question is not what effect
    pictures may have had on certain people, but what the _proper_
    function of Art is. The question is theoretic rather than
    practical. _If_ the primary function of Art is definitely
    didactic, _if_ its first duty is to inculcate a specific moral
    truth, then, indeed, there is, as you very rightly say, no
    neutral ground. Either the teaching is wholesome or it is
    mischievous.

    Meanwhile, our brief correspondence only throws into stronger
    light the impossibility to which I believe I alluded in my first
    letter, of dealing with such a subject within the compass of a
    letter, and in broad and sweeping outlines. So, for instance,
    when I used instrumental music as a parallel, I did not for a
    moment mean to describe its province as being identical with
    that of painting. Neither, on the other hand, would you, I
    presume, in instancing song on your side wish to be taken too
    literally; for you would have, according to your theory, to
    excommunicate, let us say, for instance, Schubert, the king of
    song-writers, who has played on more varied chords of feeling
    and imagination than any other musician of his kind, and of whom
    I am not aware that he ever inculcated (I feel pretty certain
    that he never meant to inculcate) a definite moral lesson.

    But I am beginning again. Let me at once draw rein, and
    abandoning a barren, however interesting controversy, remain,
    dear Mr. Horsfall, yours sincerely,

                                                   FRED LEIGHTON.


                             2 HOLLAND PARK ROAD, KENSINGTON, W.,
                                               _August 28, 1890_.

    DEAR MR. HORSFALL,--Before starting for my holiday, of which I
    stand in much need, I write one line to acknowledge and thank
    you for your amiable and interesting letter, which shows me, I
    am very glad to see, that we are much less divided in opinion
    than I should have gathered from what you had previously
    written, and indeed printed.

    Judgments given as absolute in your letters to the Manchester
    press are shown by the commentary which your last letter
    furnishes to be in a manner conditional, and without that
    commentary your words were rather misleading. I was not
    unnaturally a little startled--I, who do not think a "subject"
    in the ordinary sense of the word imperative at all--to find you
    condemn the purchase of Yeames's "Arthur and Hubert" (which, for
    the element of human emotion, certainly satisfies the
    Aristotelian demand in reference to tragedy), because the
    emotion does not turn on an heroic act; and I may say, in
    passing, that I am unable to see how a scene in which deep pity
    for the helpless is aroused, can be justly described as a
    "horror which it is foolish to try to realise."

    Meanwhile, I fully feel the practical difficulty which your last
    letter describes. It is a difficulty of the most perplexing
    kind. For it must be evident that whilst with a people of strong
    moral fibre and an almost entire absence of aesthetic
    sensibility--at all events, on the side of form--you may
    indirectly insinuate some perception of the beautiful--of that
    essence which lifts us out of ourselves--under the cover and
    pretext of a _moral_ emotion--we cannot ignore the danger of
    producing the exactly opposite effect of confirming the
    dully-strung spectator in the belief that the stirring of that
    moral emotion is in fact the _raison d'etre_ of the work. One
    is, of course, glad, as the world goes, that the doors of
    righteousness should be opened, even by the wrong key; but one
    would still more desire that the door which yields only to that
    key should not itself remain closed.

    Pray do not take the trouble to acknowledge these parting words:
    but believe me, very truly yours,

                                                   FRED LEIGHTON.

With regard to Leighton's acute artistic sense of fitness when it was
a matter of chosing a site for buildings or monuments, so that such
placing should give them their full value of effect, I remember, after
a site had been decided on for Cleopatra's Needle in London, Leighton
vehemently denouncing the idea of placing it where it now stands. The
conversation we had respecting it was recalled by finding the
following letter:--

    DEAR SIR,--It is a source of regret to me that I am unable to be
    present as a listener at the discussion to-morrow. Meanwhile the
    question of the base, though a very important one, is in my mind
    very secondary to that of the site, and the (in my poor opinion)
    radical wrongness of the present selection much mars my interest
    in the whole affair. A monument which, intended to be
    conspicuous, is not the _focus_ of the avenues that lead to it,
    I think against the most primary perceptions of effect. Two
    magnificent avenues give access to Cleopatra's Needle, the
    finest river and the finest embankment in Europe; _both of these
    run past it_ as if they had forgotten it. I may add that what
    would only have been feeble is rendered worse than feeble by the
    (of course accidental) semblance of matching with the short
    tower over the way.

    Pray excuse the great haste in which I write and the consequent
    abruptness of my expressions, and believe me, yours very truly,

                                                   FRED LEIGHTON.

Mr. J. Goodall, in his Reminiscences, says: "Many years before it was
removed from Egypt I used to see it lying on the seashore near
Alexandria. I agree with Lord Leighton's opinion that it was not
erected on a suitable site. It is a pity it was not put up in front of
the British Museum."

Leighton, needless to say, took infinite interest in Sir Henry Tate's
splendid scheme for memorialising the success of a commercial life, by
presenting to his nation a gallery in which the best British works of
art might find a home, and, moreover, by the gift to the public of
the nucleus of such a collection. It was truly amazing to see the
amount of time and trouble which Leighton devoted to this scheme,
considering how full to overflowing his life already appeared to be.
But, whether it was a question of a splendid enterprise, or a
struggling artist of whom the world had never heard, or even an
earnest amateur, once his sense aroused that he could be of help,
Leighton manufactured time somehow to give that help.[78] But the
high-minded, public-spirited view Sir Henry Tate took of the
responsibilities of wealth specially enlisted Leighton's sympathies,
and he evinced an intense interest in helping to work out the great
idea.

Another matter which concerned him very seriously was the fact that a
work by the greatest sculptor England can claim--Alfred
Stevens--purporting to memorialise our great warrior, the Duke of
Wellington, was allowed to remain unfinished and shunted away in a
side chapel of St. Paul's Cathedral, instead of being completed and
placed in the position for which it was designed. The following
letters to Mr. Henry Wells show that in 1888 Leighton had induced
others to view the matter in the same light:--

                                             2 HOLLAND PARK ROAD,
                                               _August 12, 1888_.

    DEAR WELLS,--The list for the Memorial Committee is practically
    complete, and though it is not in every particular the list
    which you or I might have drawn up, it is a good one, and as I
    told you I think in a previous note, I have not liked to
    interfere too much, as Agnew has so zealously taken the work on
    himself. I meant to send you the list, but have cleverly come
    away from home (I am writing at the Senior United Service Club)
    without it. I have of course asked Agnew to add his own name;
    for the Academy I have proposed to him the four Trustees--not as
    Trustees, but because they offer a ready-made group in a body
    where none is afore or after--Sir J. Gilbert, Linton, and Coutts
    Lindsay will complete the artistic section for the present. The
    next step, as I have suggested to Agnew, is to get at the Dean
    of St. Paul's--this I have offered to do. A chairman will have
    to be appointed; I should suggest, or rather have suggested, the
    D. of Cleveland--if he joins; I believe his answer has not yet
    come in. And there must be a banker: then a letter from the
    Committee should appear in the _Times_ inviting adhesions and
    subscriptions, to be published from time to time: is all this in
    harmony with your own view? Are you not afraid that the moment
    when "everybody" (for _our_ purposes it _is_ everybody) is
    leaving town or has left it--I go myself in a few days--is a
    very bad one? Many people lose sight of their _Times_, or would
    not write from the country or foreign parts. How would it strike
    you to wait a month or two, having now laid the foundation? It
    is a nice point. There are pros, but there are also cons. With
    all good wishes, yours sincerely,

                                                   FRED LEIGHTON.

    You have seen no doubt in your _Times_ that we mean to exhibit
    our lamented friend's work in a worthy manner.

    _P.P.S._--By-the-bye, _S. Kensington_ ought to be represented. I
    will ask Agnew to write to T. Armstrong.

    [Illustration: "BACCHANTE." 1892
    By permission of Messrs. Henry Graves & Co., the owners of the
    Copyright]

    [Illustration: STUDY IN OILS FOR "BACCHANTE." 1892
    By permission of Mrs. Stewart Hodgson]


                             2 HOLLAND PARK ROAD, KENSINGTON, W.,
                                              _November 2, 1892_.

    DEAR WELLS,--Best thanks for your cheque and kind note. You will
    be glad to hear that the removal is going on capitally. I did
    not wait for the full money-promise; I had _determined_ to do
    the thing, and I set it going on my personal guarantee when we
    were L300 short of the full sum. _Now_ we have the money, young
    Lehmann munificently sending a cheque _for that amount_.

The great monument having been moved to its right position, the next
question was to raise funds for the completion of the work. This was
perplexing Leighton during the last weeks of his life. Having written
a letter to the _Times_ in 1895, and the donations having come in but
scantily, he was puzzled to know what further steps to take.

Leighton himself, so distinguished a sculptor, took a special interest
in all efforts to promote the knowledge and love of plastic art. When,
therefore, his old friend Mr. Walter Copland Perry called a meeting at
Grosvenor House--at which the late Duke of Westminster presided--to
lay before it his scheme for the formation of a gallery of casts from
all the best Greek and Roman statues, Leighton was one of the most
zealous and active promoters of the scheme.[79]

Leighton was commissioned by the Government to execute the medallion
for Queen Victoria's Jubilee in 1887. M. Edouard Lanteri, now
Professor of Modelling at the South Kensington schools, assisted him
in carrying out the design, and became an ardent admirer of the
President. M. Lanteri described to me how certain difficulties
occurred in the casting. Leighton said they must work on till these
were set right--and they _did_ work eighteen hours on end.

All to whom the work of Watts, Burne-Jones, and Rossetti has appealed,
owe Leighton a debt of gratitude. Before the Grosvenor Gallery
Exhibition of his work took place in 1882, Watts, in talking to me of
the unpopularity of the pictures he felt most inspired to paint, would
often give as a proof of this that, with one exception, no one had
ever cared to engrave his pictures; and truly, without Mr. Fred
Hollyer's photographs the general public would have known little of
the special value of this work, nor of the art of Rossetti and
Burne-Jones. Mr. Hollyer's photographs are not merely copies--they
have as art an atmosphere of charm in themselves; they render what may
be called the _soul_ of a picture. He writes:--

    "About 1875 I received a letter from Baroness ----, requesting
    me to call upon her in order to arrange to photograph the
    collection of works of art in her country house. She had
    employed other photographers, but the results had not been
    satisfactory. I carried the matter through, and not only
    received a considerable amount in remuneration, but was given
    great encouragement to persevere with my work at a time when I
    had nearly decided on going to America. The Baroness never
    mentioned who it was that had recommended me, and though I had
    been constantly working for him during many years, it was not
    till six months after his death that I discovered it was Lord
    Leighton who had been my good friend. I should be glad to bear
    testimony to his great heart and loving kindness, and do regret
    not having been able to thank him myself."

Leighton was made a Baronet in 1886. The following letter from
Gladstone, written in 1885, refers to Leighton having submitted to him
the names of Millais and Watts as artists worthy to receive the
honour, at the same time begging him earnestly not to include his
own:--

    _Private._]
                                    10 DOWNING STREET, WHITEHALL,
                                                 _June 17, 1885_.

    MY DEAR SIR F. LEIGHTON,--Your letter has given me much
    pleasure. I can assure you that I in return highly appreciate
    the generous spirit you have shown, and I value the advice you
    kindly tendered in this matter of Art Honours. I am reporting
    rather fully to Her Majesty on our conversation of Monday, and
    on the personal abnegation on your own part, which commands my
    cordial respect.--I remain always, very faithfully yours,

                                                  W.E. GLADSTONE.

On Watts declining the honour, Leighton was at first much vexed; but
Watts, having explained to him the reason which made it inadvisable
for him to accept a baronetcy, Leighton fully, as he told my husband
and myself, saw the necessity of his declining.

Since the first years when Leighton settled in London he had been
favoured by the personal friendship of many members of the Royal
family, who very greatly esteemed him. He not only attended the State
banquets and entertainments to which he was summoned, but was
frequently the guest at receptions of a private and a more intimate
character at Marlborough House and elsewhere.

In these pages there is only space to note a few, among the very many
directions in which he served the Art interests of his country. In
foreign lands, and in the Colonies no less than in England, he
extended the knowledge and appreciation of the best English Art by his
unwearying exertions; and yet it must always be remembered he ever
remained "a workman first, an official after."

Professor Church, appointed in 1879 to the Professorship of Chemistry
in the Royal Academy of Arts in London, has preserved letters and
notes from Leighton on the subject of pigments.[80] It is almost
incredible that his mind could have penetrated with such accuracy into
all the details of his craft as fresh questions arose as to the value
of new vehicles and colours, considering his endless labours connected
with the wider interests of Art, and the absorbing nature of his own
work. But there exist over sixty letters, and more than twenty cards,
dating from 1880 to November 1895, two months before his death, in
which he proves his insistency to master thoroughly every detail of
his craft. He wrote: "It is, I feel, rather a duty in me to ascertain
about these various new vehicles."

The following extracts may prove of interest and value to
painters.[81]

                                                           _8th._

    DEAR PROF. CHURCH,--I write to acknowledge your letter of the
    6th, the information in which (Jaune de Naples) is to me of
    very great importance indeed. I believe Hills to be really
    anxious to help us in the matter of medium. I should be
    peculiarly glad if we could send forth a thoroughly trustworthy,
    hard-drying, supple, and not yellowing vehicle. Let us consider
    it. I find myself using a mixture, roughly, of equal parts of
    amber varnish (Roberson's) and oil of spike; and, say, a sixth
    of the whole of poppy oil (Roberson's): that is, 3/7 amber, 3/7
    spike, 1/7 poppy; but I vary according to the work; and again I
    don't know what Roberson's amber varnish is, it does not seem
    _very_ drying. Of course one would want a good middle drying
    power, to which, _mixing the ingredients_, one might add any one
    at will. I think that "Siccatif de Haarlem" has about that
    middle quality, if I remember it rightly. It is, I think, copal,
    poppy oil, and turps.; but it seemed to me to yellow a little,
    why, I don't know; poppy should not darken. Chromophile is
    delightful up to a certain point, and then the work sinks
    extraordinarily blind and tallowy; and as you want something in
    the way of varnish at the end, it seems desirable to carry that
    or _some_ varnish in a moderate degree right through. Chromoph.
    becomes a little _milky_ in a bottle with spir. of turp., and
    turns bright green when left in a dipper.

    Your proposal to _report_ to us annually is very valuable, and
    could be worked to the _general_ advantage.

           *       *       *       *       *

    I am delighted to find that you are in co-operation with my
    friend Mr. Hills, who has a warm and genuine desire to serve Art
    and his friends the artists. I find his poppy oil _clarified
    with charcoal_ very delightful stuff. Am I wrong in thinking the
    action of the charcoal on it has been to render it more
    _drying_? I think that a vehicle made with that oil, amber
    varnish, and oil of spike will be a very satisfactory vehicle
    indeed; particularly if you can, between you, _bleach_ the oil
    yet more. Chromophile is quite colourless. The mastic varnish
    _that won't bloom_ will be a great triumph. _Pace_ our
    detractors, it shall, I hope, be seen in time that the R.A. is
    not unmindful of the needs of artists even in the matter of
    material appliances.

           *       *       *       *       *

    I observe that you speak in your valuable manual of Aureolin as
    a _very slow-drying_ colour when ground with oil; finding, in
    use, that _Roberson's_ Aureolin dries, on the contrary,
    extremely quick--it is always absolutely dry the next day, and I
    use no vehicle but Bell's Medium, _i.e._ linseed and oil of
    spike and turps.--I wrote to ask him what he grinds the colour
    in. He answers "_pure linseed oil without the addition of any
    drier._" This puzzles me. Where is the solution? Are there
    different kinds of Aureolin? When you have a leisure moment send
    me a post-card.

           *       *       *       *       *

    Among the madders in your handbook _scarlet_ madder does not
    appear; I hope it is not a treacherous colour; I use it freely,
    but only mixture with other _dark_ colours, to give them
    richness. I also use cadmium _red_; is that wrong? A line on a
    post-card will greatly oblige.

    _P.S._--Of course I only use cadmium red when I want a _very_
    deep orange in drapery or sky--nothing could replace it.

           *       *       *       *       *

                                                  _Feb. 2, 1885._

    Here is a little problem: I thought all _burnt_ colours were
    _ipso facto_ sound. Roberson tells me that burnt white
    (Chremnitz do.), a lovely colour _like ivory_, plays most
    amazing tricks, darkens and lightens again in rapid succession.
    WHY? When you are in Long Acre make him show you his samples.

           *       *       *       *       *

    Thanks for your letter. I don't use any particular colours other
    than those you mentioned in your lectures, although I thought of
    trying deep yellow madder again; I used to like it very much. I
    suppose you have the list--it is a very long one--of Edouard's
    colours. Smith is his agent here (14 Charles Street, Middlesex
    Hospital). I use one or two colours (Tadema I think _all_) from
    Mommen's in Brussels; his burnt sienna is _superb_. Asphaltum
    would reward study; it was _universally_ used by the Venetians,
    and seems never to have cracked with them. I am very glad that
    you are steadily pursuing your collection of specimens and
    experiments, which I hope will by degrees become an exhaustive
    one, and of infinite value to the profession. _Grounds_, too,
    will deserve much attention.

           *       *       *       *       *

    Kindly tell me whether there is any harm in putting a _thin_
    coat of mastic, softened perhaps with a drop or two of oil, over
    works _finished quite recently_ but _begun_ a year or more ago?
    If I understand rightly, cracking is caused by atmospheric
    action through the _back_ of the canvas, by _distension_ of
    underlying partially soft paint and, consequent disruption of
    the upper, harder layer of varnish. If the first painting is a
    year old, is it not tough enough to resist the atmosphere, and
    is it not _anyhow_ pretty safe when the canvas is _backed_?

    I suppose "Mutrie yellow" is quite safe alone and mixed with
    other pigments?

           *       *       *       *       *

    Thanks for your note. Yes, I do like the white oil, but I add
    copal to it if I want it to be very drying, or mix copal on the
    palette with a slow-drying colour, say a lake. This, I suppose,
    is all right; if so, don't trouble to acknowledge this. The oil
    of orange is delightful on account of its smell, but dries less
    quickly than turpentine (rectfd. spirit). Is it not _always_
    better to have _some_ resin in a picture _throughout_ since it
    has to be varnished at the end?

           *       *       *       *       *

                                                _April 21, 1888._

    I am so much enamoured with the method, so far as vehicle is
    concerned, which I have used during the last year, that I should
    like to feel quite certain that it is _absolutely safe_. I use a
    "single-primed" canvas, and underpaint with "Bell's medium" and
    rect. spir. turps., which, under your advice, I have in _small_
    bottles, so that using it freely a bottle lasts a very short
    time, and the stuff is therefore always fresh. The mixture I
    _use up to the end_ (except when I now and then use the pigment
    _alone_), and letting the turps. rather _preponderate_ as I
    advance. I have found to my amazement that this mixture dries
    even in winter weather excellently, and that I can use with it
    even scarlet madder and aureolin, which, at least the former,
    hitherto I never attempted to use except stiffened with amber
    or copal; and I further find that this mixture, though of course
    it "sinks" to some extent (and especially with the blues), in
    the main bears up very fairly, incomparably better than I should
    have expected, and in fact quite enough. Before beginning to
    paint I rub over the part each time with Bell's medium and
    saliva nearly equal parts, or say five oil to four saliva beaten
    up with the knife on the palette to a white mucilage. This, if
    left alone, makes a good varnish, and is delightful to paint
    into. So far, so good; at least I suppose so. (Do you see any
    elements of danger? cracking? darkening?) But at the end
    something must go over it all, if only to lock it up (I
    suppose), certainly to get uniform gloss and strength. I propose
    in the Academy to put Roberson's medium over the whole of my
    large one and to retouch with the same. A portrait on to which I
    _don't_ intend to work I should cover with mastic and _a little
    poppy oil_; there is no harm in this, I suppose, and the small
    quantity of mastic is not likely to yellow, is it? I know this
    mixture _won't come off_, but why should it?

           *       *       *       *       *

                                                  _May 30, 1889._

    Messrs. Reeves send me a colour in which I delight, but which I
    have hitherto always avoided as being unsafe, to wit, indigo. I
    suppose one ought not to use it, ought one? although my old
    friend, and in some ways my master, Robert Fleury, employed it
    extensively in _underpainting_ blue draperies.

           *       *       *       *       *

                                             _December 23, 1889._

    I have got a recipe--a very simple one--from a friend of mine in
    Italy, who paints a good deal in distemper, and who in technical
    matters is quite the most leery person I ever came across. In
    this recipe he mentions what he calls "Gum Damar," which he, in
    his characteristic ignorance of spelling (for Italians are not
    very strong in orthography), writes with an apostrophe, D'Amar.
    Now I presume he means "Gum Dammar" (I believe there is such a
    thing, is there not?), but I should like to feel sure. Perhaps
    you will kindly enlighten me on a post-card.

    The distemper itself is the simplest thing in the world. It is
    only a proportion of water and yolk of egg (he deprecates the
    use of vinegar), to which he adds a certain number of drops (I
    have not the recipe by me) of this gum. Of course it would be
    important not to use the wrong gum. Hence the trouble I am
    giving you.

           *       *       *       *       *

                                              _January 27, 1890._

    I have just received from Perugia the enclosed sample of Gum
    Dammar, which you were kind enough to say that you would report
    upon to me. A few drops of this (by-the-bye, I do not know how
    it is to be dissolved) and the yolk of an egg stirred in water,
    form the distemper used by my friend Mariani.

    I don't know whether I told you that he is rather an interesting
    fellow. He is one of those extremely dexterous Italian
    workmen-artists who know and can work in every material, and
    whose forgeries of sixteenth century bric-a-brac, cassoni,
    reliefs in pastiglia, &c. &c., have, I am afraid, not
    infrequently been purchased as original by very crafty persons.

    Several friends of mine who use distemper, and he amongst the
    number, tell me that by putting a preparatory coating of
    distemper over thoroughly dry oil, you can with perfect safety
    interpose a layer of _painting_ in distemper between two
    paintings in oil--an extremely valuable thing for us _for
    recovering quality_.

           *       *       *       *       *

                                              _January 31, 1890._

    Many thanks for your valuable letter. I have had the information
    entered in a little book, where I keep the outpourings of your
    wisdom on matters chemical.

    Thanks also for the card, in which you give me a somewhat long
    name for my Gomme Dammar. I suppose in an appeal to a chemist
    the _first_ portion would suffice.

           *       *       *       *       *

                                             _February 14, 1890._

    Many thanks for your valuable note. I may say in passing that
    the specimen of "Ruby Madder" sent by Mr. Laurie appears to me
    to be inferior in brilliancy to both the Rose Madder and the
    Madder Carmine furnished by Messrs. Roberson; and I have no
    reason to doubt that the latter colours are perfectly
    trustworthy.

    It will give me great pleasure to receive the dedication of your
    book, which I look forward to seeing with pleasure, and using
    with profit.

           *       *       *       *       *

                                                  _May 19, 1890._

    Many thanks for your note, which seems to open up an interesting
    point. I gather from what you say that the mode of _manufacture_
    of a colour may affect its drying properties over a range
    extending from drying very slowly to drying very rapidly; and I
    shall be much interested in hearing what your experiments lead
    to under this head.

           *       *       *       *       *

                                             _January 30, 1891._

    Many thanks for your letter. I see that I had better wait for a
    final opinion until the few months have expired which you still
    require as tests of permanence. Meanwhile, I am a little unhappy
    to see in the case of colour after colour the expression
    "semi-permanent." I do not quite know what that means. Let me
    know _at your leisure_ whether it means permanent under certain
    conditions, and, if so, what; or merely in a general way that
    the pigment stands, but only pretty well. The Rosso Saturno I
    quite understand is to be set aside.

    Another perplexity is in regard to the Burnt Madder. If the
    madders are in themselves sound colours, as I have always
    understood them to be, how do they lose their permanence by
    burning? I should like to use the Gialetto, and I rather gather
    from what you say that I may do so. I hear with interest what
    you tell me of your new varnish. As for myself, I have got to
    dislike the use of any resins in my work to such an extent that
    I have completely set them aside. Of course when a picture is
    finished it requires some gum, not only to protect it, but to
    bring up the colour to its full value. Will you let me know--but
    this will do at your leisure, for the time has not come
    yet--whether a picture being painted as I paint mine,
    exclusively with Bell's medium and turpentine from first to
    last, and, I may add, worked on up to the last moment of sending
    in, _i.e._ a fortnight later, may on the walls of the Academy be
    safely varnished with this new material of yours, either alone
    or diluted with a little poppy oil? I look forward with interest
    to Heyl's Madder Green.

           *       *       *       *       *

                                              _December 5, 1891._

    I shall certainly try the Heyl's Madder Green, which I hear of
    through you for the first time. Laurie's daffodil cadmium is
    very pretty. I have got some; but my new delight now is yellow
    cobalt, which you have found to be absolutely safe, and which is
    absolutely delightful as a colour.

           *       *       *       *       *

    My tempera is come from Italy, and I am told that it is made of
    the tails (feelers?) of the cuttle-fish (sepia). Would you like
    to look at it again from curiosity? I understand that with the
    reservation that it darkens, I may use it with impunity in,
    under, and with the oil--that is enough for _my_ purpose.

           *       *       *       *       *

                                              _October 16, 1894._

    Will you kindly advise me on the tempera, of which I send a
    tube? It is used by my friend, Prof. Costa, who gave it me; he
    likes it vastly. It coalesces _with oil_; he uses it also by
    itself _between_ two paintings in oil. I have often longed for
    something to keep down the _greasiness_ and _slipperiness_ of
    oil paint when correcting or going over a surface often, oil and
    water _do_ coalesce sufficiently. The most luminous thing I ever
    painted (and it has stood like a rock) was painted (or certainly
    _thickly under_painted) with a vehicle made of _starch and oil_.
    What _this_ medium is, I don't know. Please advise.

           *       *       *       *       *

                                                 _March 7, 1894._

    Forgive secretary again.

    I am much obliged by your note, and read with great satisfaction
    what you say about Newman's golden ochre. I shall now, until I
    hear from you further, adopt the motto "Ex uno disce omnes," and
    assume that the _yellow_ ochre is equally sound and serviceable;
    although the colour is so much finer than any yellow ochre of my
    acquaintance that I cannot quite close my mind to a lurking
    suspicion that it is stimulated or refreshed by some foreign
    ingredient.

           *       *       *       *       *

                                                _March 13, 1894._

    Many thanks. You send me good tidings. The yellow ochre is by
    far the finest I have ever seen.

           *       *       *       *       *

    I enclose, because we think (Watts and I) that it will interest
    you, a specimen of purple _lake_ (_not madder_), such as Watts
    has used _all his life_, which has been baking in the sun for
    _two_ years; it is slightly browner, but more beautiful than
    ever, and has, you see, retained its full _body_; this is
    remarkable.

           *       *       *       *       *

                                                 _June 22, 1894._

    Very many thanks for your interesting and exhaustive
    investigations on the French lakes. I observe that in several
    cases you mention lakes having _cracked_. I presume, however,
    there is no reason to suppose they would do this when embodied
    with other colours, and that _if_ otherwise safe they might
    therefore be used. The purple lake used by our friend Watts is
    furnished to him, I have always understood, by Messrs. Newton of
    Rathbone Place. I am glad to hear so good an account of the pale
    boiled linseed oil from May & Baker, Ltd., of Battersea. I do
    not, however, gather from what you say that there can be any
    reason for substituting it for Bell's medium, to which I am much
    attached, and which, as you know, is, with the admixture of
    one-third rectified essence of turpentine, the only vehicle I
    use. This note, of course, requires no acknowledgment--anything
    you may have to say on these various points will abundantly keep
    until I get a further account of your investigations on the
    purple lake.

           *       *       *       *       *

    Many thanks for your valuable caution. Amongst the lakes you
    tried, did you include the garance _nuance brun_ and do. _brun
    fonce_? Both are superb colours, and it would be nice to think
    one might use them. It is very comfortable to feel that one has
    a _conscience_ one can tune at Shelsley.

           *       *       *       *       *

                                                _April 19, 1894._

    I am about now to take up a large decorative painting for the
    Exchange, a work which cannot be done on the spot on account,
    _inter alia_, of the darkness of the place, and will, therefore,
    be carried out here at the studio on _canvas_, and then
    "maroufle" on the wall. Macbeth (A.R.A.), who is also doing one,
    is using _Parris's_ "Marble medium," in which, a thousand years
    ago, I painted two figures for mosaic at South Kensington; great
    brilliancy is obtainable, but I rather fear a certain tendency
    to look waxy and almost shiny. I myself incline to use Gambier
    _Parry's_ material, which I have used on the _wall_ at South
    Kensington and greatly like. But now the question arises, ought
    the canvas to be _prepared_? and on this I shall be grateful for
    your opinion, as the matter is very important. G. Parry told me
    that canvas either _could_ or _should_ be prepared for his
    medium, I don't remember which. Roberson's man tells me that
    Madox Brown and Fredk. Shields (I think) both had canvases
    prepared for a similar purpose. I shall postpone ordering mine
    till I have your instructions; till when, and always, I am, in
    much haste.

           *       *       *       *       *

                                                _April 23, 1894._

    Many thanks for your letter. I shall, of course, obey your
    instructions punctually, and substitute paraffin wax for the
    ordinary Brecknell and Turner beeswax, as prescribed by Parry
    himself. I will see Roberson immediately, for I should not think
    it right, as he ground the colours and prepared the medium
    throughout for my two large frescoes at South Kensington, to
    abandon him in favour of Laurie, or anybody else.

    You suggest that I should make a little experiment on a small
    canvas. Do you think that would be necessary? I presume that the
    material will work exactly as it did before, and that the
    surface will be--bar the granulation--very much the same as on a
    wall. I ask this question, because I ought to get to work
    immediately, and I gather from a reference to your work that it
    will take several weeks before the process of preparation is
    complete.

    I wish I could throw light for you on the verb "maroufler," and
    should like to know what subterranean connection there is, or
    can be, between it and the word "maroufle" which is, as you say,
    being interpreted, a "rascal."

    At all events, when the moment comes for the operation, I must
    endeavour to obtain information from France, where the process
    is in very frequent use.

           *       *       *       *       *

                                             _February 27, 1895._

    A contretemps has occurred of which I think I ought to inform
    you, as it relates to the very interesting subject of grounds
    and pigments.

    Robersons, when they came to roll up my fresco to transport it
    to the Exchange, found that either the ground or the
    pigment--probably both, as they are of the same substance--was
    extremely brittle and cracked right across, cracking at a rather
    abrupt tangent from the circumference of the circle; so that
    they immediately struck work, and declined to go any further.

    As far as the painting itself is concerned, I do not believe
    that any serious damage is done, because on re-straining it
    flat, the cracks are barely perceptible, and probably would not
    be at all perceptible in _situ_.

    Meanwhile, if any question arises as to the ground, it has
    occurred to me, and it is on this point I wish to consult you,
    that the cause may be the substitution of paraffin wax for the
    ordinary wax hitherto used in Gambier Parry's material, which,
    though perhaps not absolutely so durable as paraffin, is
    sufficiently so, and very malleable. One does not see what else
    could have cracked in that abrupt and sharp manner--certainly
    not the copal, which has oil in it and is further made supple by
    the oil of spike. If it turned out that the paraffin was the
    peccant element, I should be, _entre nous_, rather glad, because
    it diminished the facility of the work.

           *       *       *       *       *

With reference to the cracking of this work Professor Church writes:--

    This unrolling was begun in very cold weather; if the
    temperature had been a little higher, nothing of this kind would
    have taken place. The picture now shows no sign of defect or
    injury, and is in perfect condition. By substituting _ceresin_,
    a paraffin obtained from ozokerite or earthwax, for crystalline
    paraffin, the chance of cracking is obviated. The ceresin, which
    should have a melting-point of 150 deg. or 160 deg. Fahrenheit,
    constitutes a safe substitute for the beeswax commonly employed
    in Gambier Parry's Spirit Fresco Medium.


                                      FOGGIA, _October 15, 1895_.

    You will be surprised to get a letter from me with an Italian
    superscription; I am writing thus early before my return to save
    time. When I was in Venice the other day, Van Haanen spoke to
    me, _with approval_, of a certain vehicle, of which I had
    already heard before vaguely, the invention of the French
    painter, Vibert. You probably know of it, as the subject of
    media has occupied you. There are, it appears, three forms of
    this medium: the vehicle for painting, the medium for painting
    _into_ in retouching, and the final _varnish_. As far as I
    understood Van Haanen in a hurried conversation--he was a little
    vague--the painting medium contains no gum, only, he seemed to
    think, petroleum and oil; I assume that in the final "vernis"
    there _is_ gum of some kind.

    I am perfectly satisfied with Bell's medium and fresh turpentine
    for the very little use I make of vehicle in painting; but there
    is always the difficulty of the _final_ varnish in the Academy.
    I don't like risking mastic or copal _so soon_ on work which
    contains _nothing_ but oil (and if I ever do use a little, I put
    poppy oil with it), and the result is that I generally varnish
    with Roberson's medium, which is safe, but I fear a little
    inclined to _yellow_ in time.

    Now what I want you kindly to tell me, my dear Church, is the
    exact composition of the _three_ Vibert media, and your opinion
    about the safety of using _all three_ in the prescribed order;
    and this I should like to know on my return at the _beginning_
    of November (hence my haste in writing), and also whether I can
    safely use these vehicles on work _begun in my usual medium_.

    It is just possible you may not have heard of the Vibert
    vehicles; if so, I would ask you to be so kind as to obtain (of
    course at _my_ expense) a bottle of each of the mixtures and to
    test them carefully.

    A line to say this has reached you would find me at the Hotel
    Royal Mazzeri, Via 20 Settembre, _Rome_.

    With kind regards and anticipated thanks.

           *       *       *       *       *

                                       HOTEL ROYAL MAZZERI, ROME,
                                              _October 22, 1895_.

    Many thanks for your prompt and amiable answer. I shall be
    interested to hear on my return the upshot of your analysis; but
    I _hate vernis_ in painting, as Bocchini tells us the Venetians
    did, _comme la peste_.

    I am very glad you are getting on so satisfactorily with your
    work on the frescoes.

    In haste (for I have many letters before me).

    _P.S._--No; I am sorry to say I am no better of my special
    ailment though my _general_ condition is good.

           *       *       *       *       *

                             2 HOLLAND PARK ROAD, KENSINGTON, W.,
                                              _November 8, 1895_.

    Excuse the hand of my secretary.

    Many thanks for your note about Vibert's varnishes, which I
    shall accordingly dismiss from my mind--the varnishes, I mean,
    not your note.

One chapter in which is revealed Leighton's serious inner life closed
during the years he was President. The last letter which has been
preserved from his beloved master, Steinle, is dated 22nd November
1883, Frankfurt:--

    DEAR FRIEND,--Yesterday evening I received your letter from
    Florence, and answer at once, partly to tell you how delighted I
    am at the result of the consultation with Quarfe, as also at
    your comfort and well-being, and partly because this part of
    your letter has greatly roused my curiosity for a second, which
    shall also tell me something about Vienna, Verona, and Florence.
    At the same time, however, I want to make use of a pause in my
    work to tell you that the first three coloured contours are
    completed. To the painting I dedicated all my small skill, and
    would have died in order to secure that the drawing and
    composition should produce a life-like effect; I believe also
    that these pictures will look like frescoes in their
    surroundings.

Some time after this Leighton wrote to Mrs. Pattison the following
letter, which proves that to the end he retained his great affection
for Eduard von Steinle. This friend and master died in 1886, but
whether Leighton made this inquiry before or after that date I do not
know, as his letter is not dated:--

    DEAR MRS. PATTISON,--I saw a paragraph not long ago in the
    _Academy_ which concerned me deeply; it did not _say_, but it
    implied that my dear old friend and master, Ed. Steinle
    (professor at Frankfurt a/M) is dead. Did you by chance write
    the note? and do you know when or how he died, if he be indeed
    dead? His wife has not written to me. I am anxious to have some
    certainty in the matter.

(Influenced) "--for good far beyond all others by Steinle, a
noble-minded, single-hearted artist, _s'il en fut_ ... Steinle's is
the indelible seal." In making any estimate of Leighton's character
these words should ever be remembered. They prove how deeply rooted
were those feelings on which his principles were grafted. These words
were no mere outlet for youthful enthusiasm and affection, but were
noted with reference to an account of his life about to be written for
publication; therefore we may consider them to be a deliberate
statement made for a purpose, when he had reached the zenith of his
fame and was already President of the Academy. The design by Steinle
here produced, called _Der Winter_, in which the artist has drawn his
own portrait when old, throws a light on the mind and nature of
Leighton's master, whose influence on him for good was greater "far
beyond all others."

Written on the drawing are these lines, penned by Steinle:--

    Giunto e gia 'l corso della vita mia,
    Che tempestoso mar per fragil barca
    Al comun porto ov 'a render si varca
    Giunto ragion d'ogni opera trista e pia.
    Indi l'affettuosa fantasia
    Che l'arte si fece idola e monarca
    Conosco ben quant 'era d'error carca
    Ch' errore e cio che l'uom quaggiu desia.

         .     .     .     .     .     .

    I pensier miei gia de' miei danni lieti
    Che fian se s'a due morti m'avvicino
    L'una m' e certa, l'altra mi minaccia?

         .     .     .     .     .     .

    Ne pinger ne scolpir fin piu che queti
    L'anima volta a quell' amor divino
    Ch'aperse a prender noi in croce le braccia.

    [Illustration: "DER WINTER"
    Drawing by Eduard von Steinle]

No other member of Leighton's family was ever known to have been an
artist, and neither his parents nor his sisters pretended to any
knowledge of painting; but respecting literature he had an interest in
common with both his sisters, also a very strong sympathy existed
between Mrs. Matthews and Leighton in their love for music. In answer
to a letter from Mrs. Orr relating to Mr. Augustine Birrell's
well-known book, Leighton wrote, "I have read 'Obiter Dicta,' and am
much charmed with its delicate humour and ease of its style. I thought
'Truth Seekers' charmingly written." With reference, however, to the
Browning chapter he continues:--

    Browning's obscurity hides a shorthand of which he keeps the key
    in _his_ pocket. A matter of form, _not_ of matter, as "O.D."
    hath it. Browning is not abstruse; he is a _deep_ thinker, who
    _therefore_ (_vide_ "O.D.") requires obscure language; he is a
    most ingenious dialectician and a subtle analyst; but he is not
    a great poet on _that_ account--he is a great poet because of
    his magnificent central heat, and the surface of interests over
    which he sheds it. All this is rather late in the day to remark,
    and one would not be exasperated by his friends if one had not a
    sort of feeling that they _have_ done something to mar him. You
    say he would not be obscure if he _knew_ it?--_distinguons_. His
    obscurity is not intentional--of course--it is inherent in a
    style which is strongly personal, and therefore sincere--but is
    it in no degree _wilful_?--does he _not_ accept, virtually, some
    such (absolutely false) view of his obscurity as "O.D.'s"? A
    pity it certainly is; Browning is the last man who in his heart
    _wishes_ to touch only the few--nobody knows better than he does
    that that is not the characteristic of the greatest poets, and
    that not for that is a poet's soul kindled to a white heat.
    Meanwhile, here _is_ the fact that men of average culture and
    average brains (I claim both, for an example), and _desirous_ of
    _understanding_, as well as full of admiration for his powers,
    often get at his meaning only by considerable effort, and
    sometimes not at all, and that not because the thought is
    obscure, but because it is wilfully written in cypher.

The following letter to a friend of his sister's contains a criticism
of Leighton's on Goethe's _Sprueche_ under the head of "Kunst":--

    _Private._]
                             2 HOLLAND PARK ROAD, KENSINGTON, W.,
                                                    17/8/91.

    DEAR MR. BAILEY SAUNDERS,--Complying with your wish, expressed
    through my sister, Mrs. Orr, I have gone carefully through the
    _Sprueche_ under the head "Kunst," and have marked certain
    passages. I have, however, deferred writing till the last moment
    (I am starting presently for the Continent), partly because I
    have been overwhelmingly busy, and partly because I am a good
    deal "exercised" on the whole matter. To speak with entire
    frankness, I cannot feel sympathy with the idea of the
    publication, and feel that the connection of my name with it
    would imply an adhesion which does not exist. On re-reading more
    than once the maxims and sayings in question, which I had not
    seen for many years, I find myself confirmed in my earlier
    impression of them, that their value is in no way commensurate
    to the authority of Goethe's great name. Some of them are, in my
    opinion, wholly misleading and some obscure; some commonplace,
    some irrelevant to the subject. Again, my markings do not by any
    means always mean assent; and, on the other hand, the
    discrimination between the value of a marked paragraph is often
    a nice one, and is not represented by the difference between
    selection and omission, which, _on the face of it_, seems assent
    and dissent. In sum, I ask myself what the outcome is--what _is_
    the selection? it does not give to the world an important or
    instructive intellectual possession; it _seems_ to express the
    selection of the best by a particular individual (who does not
    spontaneously desire to make such selections), and in _reality_
    does _not_ represent anything that he assents to throughout.

    But why a selection at all? I cannot refrain from asking myself.
    The interest of these particular _Sprueche_ lies in the fact that
    _they are utterances of Goethe's_ (and he gave them with a
    context)--but then what is the meaning of a selection?

    You see I speak very bluntly in the matter, but also sincerely;
    and I have at all events shown my good will.--In much haste,
    yours faithfully,

                                                   FRED LEIGHTON.

    I am, as I said, just off, but if you wished especially to
    communicate with me, a line sent _here_ would reach me after
    some delay.

Though Leighton persisted in affirming that he hardly ever read, the
number of letters, and answers to letters from scholars, referring to
poems and general literature, which exist in the correspondence he
preserved, prove that if he did not read he nevertheless somehow got a
knowledge of the inside of books. To a question having reference to
the Nine Muses (he was then painting his frieze "Music") which he
asked Swinburne, he received the answer:--

                                    THE PINES, PUTNEY HILL, S.W.,
                                               _August 21, 1885_.

    DEAR LEIGHTON,--I doubt very much whether Shelley himself could
    have answered your question to your satisfaction. His
    scholarship was that of a clever but idle boy in the upper forms
    of a public school. His translation from Plato, as Mr. Jowett
    tells me, and his translation from Euripides, as I know by
    personal experiment, having carefully collated it with the
    original text, absolutely swarm with blunders, sometimes,
    certainly, resulting in sheer nonsense. I fancy he may have been
    thinking of Aphrodite Urania, and perhaps confounding (as indeed
    it seems to me that a Greek poet might possibly and pardonably
    have done) the goddess of divine love with the Muse who was
    _not_ the Muse of astronomy when she first made her appearance
    in the Theogony of Hesiod, but simply the "heavenly one" in a
    general way, as I gather from a reference to the lexicon. I
    should have thought Calliope or Euterpe a fitter head mourner
    for Keats: but probably Shelley wished to introduce the most
    distinguished in the rank of the Muses in that capacity, on such
    an occasion. And if Urania was in a certain sense the chief of
    the Nine, she would naturally be most musical of mourners.--Ever
    yours sincerely,

                                                 A.C. SWINBURNE.

As years went on, Leighton became more and more enamoured of the
beauty to be found in our own islands, and longed, as can be traced in
his letters, that his sisters should share with him his intense love
of nature.

To his elder sister, who was in Yorkshire, he wrote in 1887:--

    "A broad shoulder of moor, lifted against a great field of sky,
    is one of the grandest and most pathetic things in nature (see
    Leopardi). The beauty of moorland is that it has a particular
    poetry and impressiveness for _every_ condition of atmosphere
    and weather."

Again:--

    "I am very glad you like Ilkley so much--moors have an immense
    fascination for me, but all English scenery of whatever kind has
    charm for me. It has two immense virtues: first, being entirely
    of its own _kind_, it never suggests a, to itself, disparaging
    comparison with the scenery of any other country, and secondly,
    it is steeped, every fold and nook of it, in English poetry, and
    is haunted with the murmur of the prettiest of peace-suggesting
    words: _home_. I wonder whether you both feel as I do the
    endearing quality in our old green-brown country."

It became his habit, in these later years, to visit Scotland in
September before flying off to his second home. More and more did he
realise the marvellous beauty of the scenery there. He told me,
shortly before he died, that the most beautiful vision he had ever
beheld on earth was the one he saw when approaching Skye by sea from
the south, when the sun was setting and illuminating the range of the
Cuillin Hills with magic light and colour. He wrote to his father
from:--

                    THE HIGHLAND RAILWAY COMPANY'S STATION HOTEL,
                                                  INVERNESS.

    Accurately the _charmingness_ of Scotland, it is the
    starting-point for everything. But I observe that at the rate of
    writing I should fill a volume before I had given you the
    hastiest account of my journey, so I will e'en cut it short and
    simply say that, taking it altogether, my too brief stay in the
    Highlands has been a source of very great enjoyment to me, if
    not of any particular benefit to my health, for which indeed it
    has been too short. I have had more than the usual proportion of
    fine weather, and am corroborated in my old opinion that for
    beauty of colouring nothing north of the Alps will compare with
    this most lovely country, and that the wealth and variety of
    effects of light and shade is altogether unrivalled.
    Unfortunately, working here is very difficult, all the effects
    are so bafflingly fugitive; nevertheless, I have made three
    little sketches which, though hasty, will be of value if only
    to revive my recollections of the effects they very feebly
    render; they were all done in one day; and no one day since I
    did them has been such as to make sketching possible--except
    this the last and one of the most enchanting, which I have spent
    delightfully but fruitlessly on the top of a coach.

From Gressoney, St. Jean, September 1, 1891, he wrote to Mrs.
Matthews:--

    Many thanks for your letter received last night; as it crossed
    one from me to the Dad, which I hope he could read (it was writ
    large), I should not write again at once (having, of course,
    nothing to say--except that it is, _pour changer_, a splendid
    afternoon, and I ought to be out of doors) but that I want you
    at once to tell the poor old Dad how concerned and sorry I am to
    hear that he has been so ailing, and ailing so long, and how I
    wonder at his superb power of recuperation. I don't ask in
    _this_ letter how the Dad is, because I am sure he will send me
    a line in answer to my note to him. But I have another reason
    for writing at once; I want you, please, to thank Lina with best
    love, for her nice long letter (_she does not want a letter
    written from here_), and tell her, before it is too late, that I
    hope she won't give up her Ballater without _a very full trial_,
    because I know that it takes many people a considerable time to
    get acclimatised to that bracing air. Tell her also that I was
    myself going to suggest an _Ausflug_ to Braemar; if she goes to
    the Invercauld Arms let her use my name, and she will be well
    treated. I should _peculiarly_ like her to see the Lynn of
    Dee--she will only have to scramble five or six yards off the
    main road to look down into the stream from under some of the
    grandest old Scotch firs in Scotland; and I verily believe that
    the watching for a silent bit of those dark, dark, seemingly
    bottomless, noiselessly swirling pools, _tiny_ as they are under
    the hollow grey craig, will, somehow, whisper a big peace and a
    strange wondering fascination into her being; the whole thing is
    not bigger than an expensive toy, but it lays a never-failing
    grip on _me_.[82]--Affectionate brother,

                                                            FRED.

To Mrs. Orr when in Scotland:--

                                               _August 22, 1891._

    If you can manage it go to a favourite haunt of mine, the Lynn
    of Dee, quite a tiny tumble of green waters in fantastically
    scooped grey rocks, no higher than a cottage, under astounding
    old Scotch firs (by-the-bye the grandest tree in the world to my
    thinking), where I have sat interminably long looking down into
    the dark deep pools, from which now and then a salmon leaps. To
    me no spot about there is so fascinating.


                                   GRAND HOTEL, BRUFANI, PERUGIA,
                                               _October 3, 1891_.

    DEAR LINA,--Well, I am glad you got to the Lynn of Dee, though
    sorry that you could not be there in solitude and see it without
    sitting in a pool of water. I am glad, too, that you saw the
    salmon leap; I did not mention that most exciting spectacle
    because it is not by any means _always_ on view--you were in
    luck; but what you must make for another time is the bit three
    or four yards _below_ the fall where the vehemence of the winter
    torrent has scooped and worn pools so deep that as your eye is
    drawn down past half-hidden submerged rocky shapes you come at
    last to absolute dark brown night, and whilst you are conscious
    of a rapid, swirling current, no _sound_, no faintest gurgle
    even, reaches your ear; the silent mystery of it all absolutely
    invades and possesses you; that is what I faintly tried to put
    into my "Solitude," of which a photogravure embellishes your
    staircase. I am vexed that you had so much rain; however, you
    had a few fine glimpses, and if a rainy day in Scotland is like
    the Scotch Sawbath, a fine one throws you the gates of Heaven.
    It is curious how much clearer the air is (_when clear_) than we
    get it south of the Tweed.

    I am glad that the Dad has rallied so satisfactorily; tell him,
    with my love, that I have heard from the gentleman in Copenhagen
    for whom I carved the marble "Athlete." He is benighted enough
    to say that in his opinion it is one of the most important
    statues of modern times; and he wants my bust, if there is one,
    for his collection of portraits.

    [Illustration: STUDY IN COLOUR FOR "SOLITUDE." 1890
    By permission of Mrs. Stewart Hodgson]

Leighton also particularly desired that his sister should see
Malinmore, County Donegal, when visiting Ireland. He wrote from
Kensington, "I am bent on your seeing Malinmore."

And again, from Scotland:--

                                       INVERNESS, _September 13_.

    DEAR LINA,--I can't help feeling a good deal of responsibility
    about the melancholy, treeless wilds to which I have sent you,
    because I happen to like them vastly; and I particularly feel
    that _everything_ will turn on your seeing, not indeed all or
    nearly all _I_ saw--that is impossible--but as much as your
    strength will allow; take your courage, therefore, in one hand,
    your goloshes in another, and your umbrella in a third, and
    _from_ the car--_abseits_--see the _whole coast-line close_ to
    the rocks overlooking the sea; there is not an inch that won't
    reward you. There is a bit not more than half a mile from
    Malinmore (_to'ards_ Malinhead), that is, though _small_, quite
    Dantesque in its grim blackness (a few wet feet _im Nothfall_
    won't hurt you). Of course, to do this well you must be in cars
    _every_ day to take you in all directions to the point _from_
    which to make your _Abstecher_--sometimes towards Glencolumskill
    and the Hog's Back beyond (magnificent), sometimes towards
    Malinhead, where you must see every little bay, including the
    Silver Strand.

    At first sight the breaking up of the weather is a bore, _mit
    Seitenblick auf Ihnen_--but is not as bad as it seems; bad
    (dirty) weather suits these parts, and the day will not dawn in
    which I shall have forgotten certain dramatic sunsets and the
    swooping of certain storm-clouds like the flight of huge fiery
    birds of prey, more than once witnessed and deposed to on canvas
    by me, over this treeless tract of moor.


FOOTNOTES:

[58] "Athlete Strangling a Python," exhibited in the International
Exhibition, Paris, 1878.

[59] "The Arts of War."

[60] "Addresses delivered to the Students of the Royal Academy by the
late Lord Leighton." Publishers: Kegan Paul, Trench, Truebner & Co.
1897.

[61] "Not everybody," wrote the late Mr. Underhill, who for some time,
as private secretary to Sir Frederic Leighton, had special
opportunities of knowing, "is aware of the tax upon a man's time and
energy that is involved in the acceptance of the office in question.
The post is a peculiar one, and requires a combination of talents not
frequently to be found, inasmuch as it demands an established standing
as a painter, together with great urbanity and considerable social
position. The inroads which the occupancy of the office makes upon an
artist's time are very considerable. There is, on the average, at least
one Council meeting for every three weeks throughout the whole year.
There are, from time to time, general assemblies for the election of
new members and for other purposes, over which the President is bound,
of course, to preside. For ten days or a fortnight in every April he
has to be in attendance with the Council daily at Burlington House, for
the purpose of selecting the pictures which are to be hung in the
Spring Exhibition. He has to preside over the banquet which yearly
precedes the opening of the Academy, and he has to act as host at the
annual conversazione. Finally, it is his duty every other year to
deliver a long, elaborate, and carefully prepared 'Discourse' upon
matters connected with art, to the students who are for that purpose
assembled. It is a post of much honour and small profit." "To
administer the affairs of the Academy, to fulfil a round of social
semi-public and public engagements, and to paint pictures which
invariably reach a high level of excellence, would, of course, be
impossible--even to Sir Frederic Leighton--were it not for the fact
that he makes the very most of the time at his disposal. 'That's the
secret,' remarked a distinguished member of the Academy to the present
writer some little time before the President's death; 'Sir Frederic
knows exactly how long it will take to do a certain thing, and he
apportions his time accordingly.'"--"Frederic, Lord Leighton, P.R.A.:
His Life and Works." By Ernest Rhys.

[62] While writing this discourse Leighton wrote to his father:--

                                      PERUGIA, _October 5, 1889_.

    DEAR DAD,--You will be surprised to hear that your letter (for
    which best thanks) only came to my hands _yesterday_ on my
    arrival here; it had apparently, after enjoying a junket through
    Spain, returned to England before its final despatch here. The
    envelope, which I enclose, will amuse you; Ulysses himself did
    not visit more cities of men! I am glad my Spanish tour is at an
    end; the insufferable heat, the long journeys, the frequent
    _night_ travelling, have conspired to make it rather trying to
    me physically. I have never been thoroughly well the whole time.
    Here it is absolutely cold, and I shall probably soon begin
    firing; it rains also, and I fear the weather is altogether
    unpromising; but the air is magnificent, and I am very fond of
    the place, and I shall enjoy my stay as much as the necessity of
    writing my (adjective) Address will allow.

    My journey through Spain, though fatiguing, was extremely
    interesting and very profitable to me for the matter in hand. My
    stay in Madrid was made more enjoyable by the extreme amiability
    of my very old friend our ambassador, who brought me into
    contact with two or three interesting people, from whom I
    gathered valuable information in regard to things Spanish; to
    say nothing of getting compartments reserved for me in trains,
    &c. &c. It is rather fortunate that our diplomatic
    representatives abroad are mostly personal friends of mine. Post
    is just going, so good-bye for the present.--Your affectionate
    son,

                                                            FRED.

Leighton mastered the Spanish language completely in the course of the
few weeks he spent in Spain in 1866. A friend who was present gives an
amusing account of an incident which occurred when Leighton dined with
Mrs. Adelaide Sartoris after his return. He was sitting next Senor
Garcia (only now just dead at the age of 102); the conversation was
being carried on in Spanish. Mrs. Sartoris, in astonishment and
admiration at the fluent manner in which Leighton was talking the
language of which he did not know a word a few weeks before, exclaimed,
"But, Senor Garcia, _do_ say he makes some little mistakes!" "But he
_doesn't_," replied Garcia; "he hasn't made one!"

[63] Mr. Norman Shaw wrote the following letter the day after he heard
this address in 1891:--

                               6 ELLERDALE ROAD, HAMPSTEAD, N.W.,
                                             _December 11, 1891_.

    DEAR SIR FREDERIC,--I was so sorry I missed you last night.
    After the election I went into the galleries to find my people,
    and when I came out you had gone--and quite right too, for you
    must have been very tired.

    I thank you very sincerely for your most admirable address. I
    had heard that it was to be on the subject of French Art, but I
    had not realised that it was to be entirely about Architecture!
    and as an architect I naturally feel very deeply its great and
    permanent value. It is altogether a new sensation to have a
    Presidential address devoted to the Mother of the Arts! and I am
    sure its influence will be wide, deep, and lasting.

    Amongst the many regrettable phases of modern art, there is none
    that I feel more than the isolation that the three great
    branches of art exist under in this country (for in France I am
    sure it is quite different), and I cannot help feeling that your
    address is a tremendous step in the right direction; but, alas!
    I don't believe one in twenty of our colleagues understood what
    you were so clearly explaining, and I fear not one in fifty
    cared! But it is absurd to suppose that with the advancement of
    knowledge this state of things can last, so it is intensely
    satisfactory to have it on record that not merely have we had a
    President that knew all that is to be known about the art, but
    who also cared and loved it!

    I thought your remarks on the French apse quite delightful. I
    have always felt this strongly, and though as an Englishman
    (Scotchman!) I like our square east ends, still I am bound to
    admit that there is a logical completeness about a chevet that
    the square end cannot claim. But I shall only weary you if I go
    on in this prosy way! so thanking you again most heartily for
    your grand contribution, believe me to remain,--Yours very
    sincerely,

                                                  R. NORMAN SHAW.
    SIR FREDERIC LEIGHTON, BART.

[64] From a boy, without any effort or thought on his part, he
exercised an unquestioned domination over others. Speaking of the days
when he, as a boy of seventeen, first made friends with Leighton in
Rome, Sir E. Poynter said, "He knew he was clever, but he hadn't a
particle of conceit. I never saw him cast down, he was always jolly and
noble; none ever thought of refusing him obedience." Again, Sir E.
Poynter refers to these early days in his Dedication to Leighton of
"Ten Lectures on Art": "I came to-day from the 'Varnishing Day' at the
Royal Academy Exhibition with a pleasant conviction that there is, on
all sides, a more decided tendency towards a higher standard in Art,
both as regards treatment of subject and execution, than I have before
noticed; and I have no hesitation in attributing this sudden
improvement, in the main, to the stimulus given us all by the election
of our new President, and to the influence of the energy, thoroughness,
and nobility of aim which he displays in everything he undertakes. I
was probably the first, when we were both young, and in Rome together,
to whom he had the opportunity of showing the disinterested kindness
which he has invariably extended to beginners; and to him, as the
friend and master who first directed my ambition, and whose precepts I
never fail to recall when at work (as many another will recall them), I
venture to dedicate this book with affection and respect." Signor
Giovanni Costa wrote: "I remember once in Siena there was an unemployed
half-hour in our programme. Leighton happening to go to the window of
the hotel, exclaimed, 'The Cupola of the Duomo is on fire!' and as he
said it he rushed downstairs to go there. I, being lame, could not keep
pace with him, but followed, and on arriving in the Piazza attempted to
enter the Duomo past a line of soldiers who were keeping the ground;
but they would not allow me to. Seeing them carrying wooden hoardings
into the cathedral, I shouted. 'You are taking fuel to the fire! Let me
in--I am an artist and a custodian of artistic treasures.' The word
'custodian' moved them, and they let me pass. When I got inside the
Duomo I found Leighton commanding in the midst. He was saying, 'You are
bringing fuel to the fire.' There was a major of infantry with his
company, who cried out, 'Open the windows!' Leighton exclaimed, 'My
dear sir, you are fanning the flames; you must shut the windows.' He
had placed himself at the head of everybody, and the windows were shut.
From the cupola into the church fell melting flakes of fire ('cadean di
fuoco dilatate falde'--_Dante_) from the burning and liquefied lead,
which would certainly have ignited the boards with which they had
intended to cover the _graffitte_ by Beccafumi on the marble pavement.
Our half-hour was over. Leighton looked at his watch and said, 'In any
case the cupola is burnt; let us be off to the Opera del Duomo; Duccio
Buoninsegna is waiting for us!'"

[65] Sir George Grove wrote after the banquet in 1882: "Dear
Leighton,--Let me say a word of most hearty congratulations on the
brilliant way in which you got through your _Herculean_ task on
Saturday. You are really a prodigy! Your last speech reads just as
fresh and gay and unembarrassed as the first, and every one of the nine
is as neat, as pointed, as perfectly _a propos_ as if there were
nothing else to be said! Thank you especially for the reference to the
music business."

[66] The following is one of many letters of regret expressed when
Leighton resigned:--

                                    19 QUEEN STREET, MAYFAIR, W.,
                                                       _June 24_.

    DEAR SIR FREDERIC,--I trust you will allow me to express to you
    the sincere regret I feel at your being compelled to give up
    your command of the "Artists." To myself volunteering has always
    been so inseparably connected with your command, that I cannot
    at present realise the extent of the blank which your
    resignation will create. I shall ever remember with pride that
    it was under your auspices that I rose through the ranks and
    obtained my commission.--Believe me, dear Sir Frederic, very
    truly yours,

                                                      W. PASTEUR.
    SIR FREDERIC LEIGHTON, P.R.A.

[67] The following correspondence took place between Leighton and Mr.
Henry Wells, R.A.

    To Sir FREDERIC LEIGHTON, P.R.A.
                                           _January 27, (?) 1880._

    I will avail myself of this opportunity to remark upon the
    statement you made in your summing up, viz. that if women were
    made members under the existing law they would not have the
    right to sit on Council.

    If you can establish this, if you can show us that any one
    elected a "member" under our law can be debarred on the score of
    sex from taking a seat on the Council, then I will instantly
    allow that our laws do provide for the election of women, and
    that the very ground of our argument is proved to be a
    quicksand. When you endorsed the statement that came so
    naturally from Millais, Calderon, and Leslie, I felt the matter
    was serious, for I saw at once that you could not do justice to
    our argument in the summing up because its very foundation was
    misapprehended by you. Although the question is now disposed of,
    I beg of you to look closely into the matter and assure yourself
    of it. I only wish I had known beforehand where your doubts were
    centered, for I would have done my best to remove them. I know
    you will find, beyond all doubt and controversy, that any one
    made a "member" by election can make good a claim to a seat on
    the Council, just as Mr. Tresham made good his claim; and it is
    because our laws provide for only one kind of members--a
    Council-sitting kind--that we felt the necessity of providing
    for the election of a non-Council-sitting kind.

    In making this distinction we follow the example of George the
    Third and the founders of the Academy (who presumably knew
    something of the understanding upon which the two ladies became
    connected with the Society), for their decision, when they
    _administered_ the law in the Tresham case, excluded women from
    a privilege which could not be denied to a "member" elected
    under the law. Of course their and our interpretation is open to
    dispute; but this much is beyond dispute, that if the law is
    interpreted as providing for women being "members," then it also
    places them (against the intention, as we see, of the founders)
    upon the Council; and as the great majority of the present
    Academicians have made up their minds that women shall not sit
    on Council, legislation would be necessary on either reading of
    the law.

    The schedule of privileges to be given on the one hypothesis,
    would on the other give place to a subtraction of privileges,
    and either schedule would be determined according to the varying
    shades of opinions of the members.

    There would remain only this difference in the result; one
    schedule would be based upon a law that is open to varying
    interpretations, whereas according to our method the schedule
    was based upon a positive resolution providing for the election
    of women, thus removing the question from all future discussion
    and doubt.

                                                           H.T.W.


    From Sir FREDERIC LEIGHTON, P.R.A.
                                              _January 30, 1880._

    "In regard to the women question, I perfectly _saw_ your
    contention and the logical cohesion of your view, and I was
    familiar with the Tresham episode, only I dissent from your
    view; I maintain that there were from the first
    non-Council-sitting members--for 'members' the women certainly
    were. 'It is the King's pleasure that the following forty
    persons be the original _members_ of the Society,' and they did
    not serve on Council, as the roster shows, _though all members_
    were supposed to have sat; of course the laws were for the
    original as well as the elected members, and if the privilege
    could be refused to an original member whose name stands on the
    paper that says that all members shall serve in Council, it can
    and must on the same grounds be refused to elected female
    members after the custom is consecrated by Royal sanction."


                                              _January 31, 1880._

    "DEAR WELLS,--I should much like to hear what you wish to say
    about the office of Treasurer--there are several points
    connected directly or indirectly with the office which it will
    be well to consider before I ask the Queen to appoint, and I
    have called a Council for _Thursday_ (the funeral is not till
    Tuesday), at which these matters may be considered. It would
    seem advisable and convenient that the Treasurer's work be done
    at the Academy, and not away from it. I think also that the
    wording of the clause appointing a Surveyor might be made
    clearer; it ought not to be _possible_ for any one to
    misunderstand or misinterpret its bearing. Unfortunately I have
    an appointment to-morrow afternoon at 4.30, and my work in the
    day is so urgent, having to be handed over on a fixed day, that
    I cannot leave it--would _Tuesday_ at _five_ do? say at the
    Athenaeum, or here a little later? we should still be forty-eight
    hours in advance of the Council. In regard to the women
    question, I perfectly _saw_ your contention and the logical
    cohesion of your view, and I was familiar with the Tresham
    episode, only I dissent from your view; I maintain that there
    were from the first 'non-Council-sitting' members--for 'members'
    the women certainly were: 'It is Her Majesty's pleasure that the
    following forty persons be the original _members_ of the
    Society,' and they did not serve on Council as the roster shows,
    though _all members_ were supposed to have sat. Of course the
    laws were for the 'original' as well as for the 'elected'
    members, and if the privilege could be refused to an original
    member whose name stands on the paper, that says that all
    members shall serve on Council, it can and must on the same
    grounds be refused to 'elected' female members after the custom
    is consecrated by Royal sanction.--In haste, yours very truly,

                                                   FRED LEIGHTON.

    "I have said nothing in this letter about poor Barry, but you
    may imagine whether the tragic event has moved and haunts me."


    To Sir FREDERIC LEIGHTON, P.R.A.
                                              _February 1, 1880._

    I am very glad indeed to have the statement of your views which
    you have given me on the women question. Everything is now
    clear, side matters are disposed of, and only a single point
    remains on which we have to join issue. On my part I hold that
    our laws are in a definite and unequivocal form. That their
    foundation is in the "Instrument" and that every addition to, or
    modification, or annulment of the provisions in that document
    has been made in the manner prescribed, viz. by "resolutions"
    passed by the General Assembly and afterwards sanctioned by the
    Sovereign. These acts of legislation are all drawn up in a
    special way (as to size and pattern), to receive the sign manual
    of the Sovereign; and the tablets arranged in the order of their
    dates constitute our Statute-Book. I hold that no law can be
    changed or privilege taken away except by a subsequent act of
    legislation done in the prescribed manner.

    On your part you hold that laws can be changed and privileges
    taken away by a "custom consecrated by Royal sanction." Thus the
    issue raised is very clear and distinct indeed.

    I will point out that the question as to women sitting on
    Council was only on one occasion, and then only incidentally,
    before the Academy. Until the Tresham case arose the ballot had
    been used in forming the Council, and consequently no question
    of rights could appear while that process remained unchallenged.
    But whether we are discussing a single act of adjudication, or
    such a succession of acts as may be called a "custom," is really
    immaterial, because the sole question before us is this--can any
    act or acts other than those of legislation override and
    supplant the enactments of our law?

    If it could be established that our laws must give way to the
    class of acts you point to, it would then be the first duty of
    the Academy to have our records minutely searched to ascertain
    what other laws have been supplanted by administrative actions
    sanctioned by the Sovereign; and the historical method so much
    discountenanced at our last Assembly would in truth rise into
    paramount importance. Many cases would most probably be found.
    We have one in suspense before us at this moment--the case of
    the engravers.

    The laws of the Academy distinctly provide (but not more
    distinctly than that without discrimination "members" shall sit
    on Council) that a vacancy in the case of R.A. engravers shall
    not be filled up until the assent of the General Assembly has
    been taken by vote. Since the making of that law only two
    vacancies have occurred. They were both filled up without a
    preliminary permission, and the Sovereign sanctioned the
    election. On your contention, therefore, the custom consecrated
    by these sanctions must override the law itself, and nothing at
    this time stands between Barlow and the Queen's signature to his
    Diploma.

    The Constitutional question you have raised is certainly one of
    the highest importance, and I shall watch its development with
    great interest. It is a matter of little moment what the view of
    an ordinary member like myself may be, but not so with the
    President, and I offer no apology for endeavouring to throw
    light upon the subject.

                                                           H.T.W.

[68] See Chapter III.

[69] Now in the Tate Gallery, purchased under the terms of the Chantrey
Bequest.

[70] The owners of Leighton's pictures must feel satisfaction, not only
in the fact that in all cases the beauty of the forms and arrangements
of line grow on the eye more and more the longer they are studied, but
also that the work itself improves by keeping. I noticed this to be the
case very decidedly in "Cymon and Iphigenia." I had seen it when
completed, the day before it left the studio in 1884; and when it
returned there in 1901 (the owner, Sir Cuthbert Quilter, having kindly
lent it for exhibition), and was placed in precisely the same light, I
was surprised to see how much it had improved in tone during those
seventeen years; it had gained so very greatly in those qualities which
suggest the feeling Leighton wished it to inspire.

[71] Leighton kept these precious studies he made for his pictures in a
drawer where I was often invited, rather apologetically, to turn them
over as if they were absolutely of no importance. I protested against
the cursory treatment they received at the hand of their creator; and
on seeing one superlatively beautiful study of drapery pinned on his
easel one day, I implored him to have it glazed and framed before it
ran any danger of being rubbed. He did so, and always alluded to it
after as "that sketch you lost for me," because, being framed, he lent
it to some one--he did not remember to whom--and it never came back.
Periodically I asked if it had returned; "No--some one, I suppose, has
taken a fancy to it," Leighton would reply. The pace at which he had to
live in order to fulfil the work he had set himself, enforced great
carelessness about his own interests in such matters. Unfortunately,
after Leighton's death, the sketches were exposed to much defacement, a
natural consequence of their being moved before being secured under
glass.

[72] Ceiling for a music room, painted for Mr. Marquand, New York.

[73] Mr. Brock gave a replica of this bust to the Leighton House
Collection in 1897. It is from some points of view the most
characteristic portrait of Leighton in existence.

[74] Miss Emily Hickey, the poetess, was inspired by Leighton's picture
to write the following lines:--

        SOLITUDE

    O'er the grey rocks, like monarchs robed and crowned,
      High tower the firs in swart magnificence,
      Where, winter after winter, vehemence
    Of the wild torrent's rush, unstayed, unbound,
    Hath scooped and worn the rocks till so profound
      The deep pool's depth that all the gazer's sense
      Fills with the absolute, dark-brown night intense.
    The rapid current swirls, but never a sound.

    By the high grandeur of the silence wooed
      Into its bond of comradeship, the maid
      Sits with the quiet on her bosom laid;
    Not on the great unknowable to brood;
      Only to wait a while till, unafraid,
    She see the spirit of the solitude.

            E.H. HICKEY.
                    _Oct. 26, '91._

[75] As portraits, the two heads Watts painted from "Dorothy Dene" were
superior to those Leighton painted.

[76] This referred to a joke we had had with reference to a photograph
Mrs. Cameron had taken of my brother-in-law, Mr. W.R. Greg. Mrs.
Cameron had insisted that all character, will-force, and superiority in
general, evinced themselves through the size of the nose and the height
of the bridge. The result was, in trying to accentuate this feature in
my brother-in-law's photograph, she had made it almost _all_ nose!

[77] Among Leighton's correspondence is the following interesting
letter from Irving, who was an ardent admirer of Leighton's, and was
among the first to join the committee formed to preserve his house for
the public.

                             15A GRAFTON STREET, BOND STREET, W.,
                                          _January 1, 1889_.

    DEAR SIR FREDERIC,--I am glad that you are coming to "Macbeth,"
    and I wish you had been with us on Saturday.

    The seats you wish for I enclose, though I should ever look upon
    it as a great privilege to welcome you myself.

    Ellen Terry's performance is remarkable, and perfectly
    delightful after the soulless and insipid imitations of Sarah
    Siddons to which we have been accustomed.

    You will find the cobwebs of half a century brushed away.

    There is an amusing article in to-day's _Standard_, which
    overshoots the mark, and clearly shows how offensive it is to
    some minds to be earnest and conscientious in one's work. But I
    need not point this out to you.--Remaining, my dear Sir
    Frederic, yours sincerely,

                                                       H. IRVING.

[78] Needless to say that time was invariably forthcoming to welcome
and entertain the friends he loved. The following letter from Costa
gives a picture of his delight in so doing:--

                                        "LONDON, _Dec. 10, 1888_,
                                            "2 HOLLAND PARK ROAD.

    "DEAREST TONINA,--A thousand thanks for the twelve letters which
    I have found awaiting me here.

    "I have just arrived from the station, where I found the
    President, who was shedding light all round him, all radiant
    with his white beard. Note that the train arrived at a quarter
    past five, and there was an hour's drive from the station to his
    house, and then he had to dine, and at half-past seven he was
    due at the Academy for a distribution of prizes to the students,
    where I, too, was to have accompanied him. However, in London
    there was one of those fogs which put a stop to all traffic, and
    it took us an hour and three-quarters to reach home.

    "The cabman had to get down and lead the horse; with one hand he
    guided the animal, which was slipping on the ice, and with the
    other he held a lantern. What darkness,--the gloom of hell
    itself! Boys holding torches and shouting, showed us the way;
    foot passengers called out, 'Hi there! look where you're going
    to!' but, in spite of everything, the cabman with his lantern
    banged into a railing.

    "At last we arrived at our destination, having discussed all the
    way along the speech which Leighton made at Liverpool. The
    dinner was ready, and eaten hurriedly, with the obligatory
    champagne. I had eaten nothing since the morning. Whilst dining,
    I got off accompanying him to the Academy, pleading my rheumatic
    pains, and I ate like a famished and attentive dog. But the
    President, spite of the hurry he was in, never once ceased from
    tracing the iron line along which I am to run as long as I am
    with him, and so he has set me down for a trip on Saturday.

    "Good-night; I am going to bed, as I am deadly sleepy. Did you
    receive a letter of mine from Castle Howard?

    "Thank for me the kind writers of the twelve little letters; in
    the midst of these fogs they have been twelve stars to me. A
    kiss to dear Tonachino. Frederic was much amused by Georgia's
    letter, and embraces you all.

    "Love to all, from Ninaccio, who has the greatest possible
    desire to repass the Channel."--(See "Giovanni Costa: His Life,
    Work, and Times," by Olivia Rossetti Agresti.)

[79] It may interest his friends to know that the valuable collection
of casts which Mr. Copland Perry spent four years in forming, after
visits to all the collections of ancient sculptures in Europe, has been
ceded to the British Museum, and will be transferred from the South
Kensington Museum, where it has long been hidden away in a dark
corridor, to suitable courts in the new buildings of the British
Museum.

[80] Professor Church's Lectures were given to the outer world beyond
the Academy in the form of a book, published in 1891, and dedicated by
permission to Leighton.

[81] The questions raised in these letters have been very fully
answered in the third edition of Professor Church's "Chemistry of
Paints and Painting" (see Index), published in 1901.

[82] This spot inspired the picture "Solitude."




CHAPTER VI

LIFE WANING--DEATH

1887-1896


Already in 1887 his friends noticed that Leighton showed at times that
he was overtaxing his strength. On retiring from the Academy as an
active member, Mr. George Richmond wrote:--

                              20 YORK STREET, PORTMAN SQUARE, W.,
                                              _January 13, 1887_.

    MY DEAR SIR FREDERIC,--I have just received your most kind and
    generous note, and thank you and the Council for so promptly
    complying with my request to retire from the R. Academy as an
    active member.

    To do it was much worse than making a will; but, having done it,
    I am greatly relieved.

    Had it been earlier it would have been wiser; but as delay has
    not forfeited the esteem of my dear President and others, I am
    thankful and content.

    But one word of parting advice I crave to offer, which my
    admiration of your rule and guidance in your high office
    constrains me to make.

    Many of us have remarked that you draw upon your strength too
    severely; my parting words then are, and please accept, follow,
    and forgive them:--

    Spare yourself when you can, that you may long be spared to give
    yourself, when you ought.

    And now farewell, from your loyal and affectionate old friend,

                                                   GEO. RICHMOND.

From San Martino, 20th September 1889, Leighton wrote to his
father:--

                              SAN MARTINO, _September 20 (1889)_.

    DEAR DAD,--I received your letter two or three days ago, but
    have deferred answering till I could say something one way or
    another about my health, for of course I have nothing else to
    tell of in these high latitudes. Well, I am in fairly good trim,
    and as well as I am likely to be till I leave, for San Martino
    will be shorn of my presence on Friday next as ever is (my
    address for the first fortnight in October will be Hotel
    Brufani, _Perugia_). On the other hand, if you were to ask me
    whether I am "as fit as a fiddle" or a "flea," or "as a strong
    man requiring to run a race," or "a giant refreshed," or "a
    bridegroom coming forth from his chamber," or whatever simile
    you like, I am obliged to own that I am not. I am aware that the
    air is superb, and when I get on to an exposed slope and open my
    mouth like a carp I am further aware at (and for) the time--so
    to speak, "for this once only"--of very gratifying symptoms;
    then they are fugitive, and my _average_ condition is perhaps a
    little less satisfactory than on Hampstead Heath. On the other
    hand, of course, such air _must_ in some occult way be
    benefiting my tissues, and I shall no doubt, as the stock phrase
    is, "feel _so_ much better _afterwards_." Meanwhile, I undergo
    much humiliation; whilst _ladies_ make with comfort and ease
    delightful ascents to neighbouring peaks, I humbly pant up an
    anthill or two, resting at every third yard--puffy, helpless,
    effete. And lest I should console myself with inexpensive
    commonplace about my years, &c. &c., I have before me two
    acquaintances, _not_ climbers by trade, one 65 and the other
    (most charming of men, Sir James Paget) 73, who put in their
    twelve, sixteen, or even at a pinch eighteen or twenty miles to
    my one, and back again without turning a hair or having a
    vestige of fatigue! Ugh!!

    I am most truly sorry that your strength did not enable you to
    see Manchester; but it is _wonderful_ that you do what you do on
    the doorstep of 89!--Your affectionate son,

                                                            FRED.

From Tours, October 30, he wrote to Mrs. Matthews:--

                                       TOURS, _October 30, 1890_.

    I hope, when I get back next week, that I shall find the old dad
    fairly well. More can't be expected; and especially I hope to
    find Lina drawing within sight of the end of her anxious
    toil.[83] I am delighted to hear that she means to leave town
    again for a bit--a _good_ bit, I hope. Tell her with my love
    that she is to make herself _very_ comfortable, and _not to look
    at the money_, but _send for a cheque whenever convenient_. She
    _must_, in justice to herself, do her work under the most
    favourable circumstances she can command.

    I have, of course, no particular news; I have been visiting
    _till now_. (I am going to-morrow to Blois and Chambord.)
    Nothing but old familiar scenes with the old familiar enjoyment,
    in the more serious sense of the word, but not of course with
    the old buoyancy of spirit--_that_ must necessarily fade with
    every year now, and I must be content with an occasional little
    flicker of the waning candle. I have, however, been better in
    health during the second than during the first half of my
    holiday. In Rome I was the whole time with old Nino,[84] whom I
    further took on a _Giro_ to Siena and Florence. I also gave him
    a commission: very few things could give him so much pleasure
    (_inside_--he is not demonstrative!), and _nothing_ is now so
    needful to him. His lameness is not as bad as I had feared; but
    he had a bad attack of his enemy, rheumatism, at Florence, and
    had to bolt back to his people. Of course, too, his anxiety
    about Georgina, my god-daughter, who has only just pulled
    through a terrible illness, has put a heavy strain on him in
    every way.

    Weather has broken up; of late _bitter_ cold, to-day cold _plus_
    rain, worthy of London.

On January 24, 1892, Doctor Leighton died at the age of ninety-two, at
11 Kensington Park Gardens, where for many years, every Sunday when in
London, Leighton invariably went to see his father and his two sisters
at five o'clock, remaining to the last minute before dinner. This
regular habit he continued after Doctor Leighton's death; Mrs.
Sutherland Orr living on in the same house and Mrs. Matthews in the
close vicinity. In the autumn of 1893 Leighton was advised to go to
the Hotel Riffel Alp, Zermatt. "What a stupendous view this is from my
window," he wrote. "Weather in the main superb; it is finest for this
scenery when it is not fine. Knee still rather troublesome--nuisance!
Am seeing a doctor." In the October of the same year he wrote to Mrs.
Matthews:--

                                           VERONA (Italy again!),
                                               _October 2, 1893_.

    DEAR GUSSY,--I hope you are not very savage with me for not
    writing sooner. I've had a tremendous "Hetztour" through
    Germany--_thirty_ towns in thirty days; a Yankee might be proud
    of it; and over an area contained between _Luebeck_ (N.), if you
    please, and Berne (S.), Vienna (E.), and Colmar (W.), and I have
    made notes everywhere, _and_ I have a game knee, with the result
    (not so much of the game knee as of the hurried travelling) that
    I have had little time for writing anything beyond notes of
    immediate necessity. But you _will_ be savage at hearing that I
    never received your Munich letter (alluded to in Lina's last),
    either at the hotel or "Postlagernd"--can you remember at what
    _date_ you wrote it? I would _try_ to recover it--I hate losing
    letters, don't you? Thank Lina for her letter, and say that I am
    concerned at the very poor and shabby account given of her. She
    was going to send for the doctor; I hope he was able to help her
    (though I don't know on what plea one expects that of a doctor).
    By this time you may have recovered from your cure. What a
    rickety lot we are! At Perugia, where I shall be on Wednesday, I
    am going under physic for my knee, which, though hardly more
    than an inconvenience, is a very depressing prospect. I have
    written to Roberts, who has sent me prescriptions which I shall
    have made up (to-morrow) by his namesake in Florence. My journey
    has been, I am bound to say, in a high degree interesting and
    sometimes delightful. (I wonder whether you were ever at
    Hildesheim--its amazing picturesqueness, Renaissance houses,
    carved and painted, are enough to make your hair curl for the
    rest of your natural life.) But I have not bought a single
    German novel, after all the trouble you took twice over, except
    _Soll und Haben_, which I have just begun; how amazingly
    _altmodisch_ and stodgy it is, but evidently very clever. I have
    grown very indolent about reading in trains. Wednesday I reach
    Perugia--Thursday I shall take a holiday--Friday I shall--but
    enough! In Berlin I saw dear old Joe (Dr. Joachim)--(the only
    person I did see, except Malet, the Ambassador, a very old
    friend of mine--very snug and _good_ little bachelor dinner
    there--"just as you are"). He (Joe) seemed very fit after "les
    eaux" somewhere, and sent you kind messages. He was pleased at
    my calling, and came next day to see me off at the station.

In August 1894 he took his sister, Mrs. Matthews, to Bayreuth. On his
rapidly returning to London he completed the panel he presented to the
Royal Exchange. He worked hard at this for three weeks. He then went
to Scotland, and finished his holiday, as usual, in Italy. On his
return, after attending the first Monday Popular concert at St. James'
Hall, when walking to the Athenaeum he was seized by his first attack
of angina pectoris. Dr. Roberts, to whom Leighton was attached, and in
whose judgment and skill he had had great confidence for years,
writes, "I attended Lord Leighton for over twenty years. I was
constantly seeing and watching him. He never was a robust man; but all
his organs kept in health till two years before his death, when I
discovered the commencement of the trouble that ultimately proved
fatal. I never told him of this condition, as I felt its progress
would be slow.... He once told me he considered my fees to him were
too small, and asked me to increase them." Some years previous to this
first attack Leighton would say, "I always see Dr. Roberts every
Sunday for him to tell me I am not ill." In November 1894 Sir Lauder
Brunton was called in for consultation, and he and Dr. Roberts
prescribed a course of Swedish massage; and to this Leighton devoted
the later hours of his afternoons for several months that winter. Work
continued as vigorously as ever. The pictures--"Lachrymae," "'Twixt
Hope and Fear," "Flaming June," "Listener," "Clytie," "Candida," "The
Vestal," "A Bacchante," "The Fair Persian," were the fruit of the last
year's labours, besides the sketches which he painted on his last
journeys to Algiers, Ireland, and Italy.

    [Illustration: "SUMMER SLUMBER." 1894
    By permission of Mr. Phillipson]

    [Illustration: SKETCH FOR "SUMMER SLUMBER." 1894
    Presented by H.M. the King to the Leighton House Collection]

Very characteristic was the manner in which Leighton faced his
condition. Absolutely natural as he invariably was, without
nervousness, and considerate to the last degree in not making his
state a burden on others, he never, even at this juncture,
concentrated his thoughts on himself. Once when a friend implored him
to draw in and not expend his strength unnecessarily, he answered,
with almost impatience, "But that would not be life to me! I must go
on, thinking about it as little as possible." There was something of
the boy about Leighton up to the very end, and in those last months
much of the pathos of the boy who is known to be doomed, but who plays
his game with just as much eager verve up to the end.

Mr. Briton Riviere, the comrade whose nature was so worthily tuned to
Leighton, writes:--

    One of the last times that I met him actively employed was at a
    committee meeting of the Athenaeum. He had some pain and
    difficulty in climbing the stairs to the committee-room, and
    evident pain in speaking; but because he felt that the candidate
    he proposed ought to be elected, and that no one else would
    propose him with more earnest conviction than he could (and he
    was the best proposer of a candidate I have ever heard), he came
    there at all risks to himself and _would_ have done so against
    all opposition and all disadvantages, simply because he thought
    it his particular duty to do so. This is only a type of the
    manner in which he treated all his official work during those
    last years of physical suffering which he fought so bravely.
    Watching him, it was then I recognised that he was on the same
    plane as the seaman who never strikes his flag, and at the last
    goes down practically unvanquished.

Every day that grey pallor increased, and that sunken, indescribable
look of waning life in the face. Nevertheless Leighton lived much as
before, never making illness an excuse for avoiding any duty. As
matters grew more serious his doctors enforced a rest--a voyage--an
absence from the May Academy Banquet. At this juncture Leighton
tendered his resignation as President of the Academy. It was not
accepted.

To Mr. Briton Riviere he wrote:--

    DEAR RIVIERE,--Many thanks for your most kind words. I have been
    deeply touched by the generous, and, I must almost say,
    affectionate attitude of my brother members in this painful
    conjuncture. How much I value _your_ friendship, you, I am sure,
    know.--Sincerely yours always,

                                                   FRED LEIGHTON.

He decided on leaving England for two months, and fixed on Algiers as
a dry climate likely to suit his health. It had lived in his memory
also ever since the first visit in 1857, as a country singularly
fascinating to him. Before leaving he fulfilled his duties as
President in choosing the pictures for that year's Exhibition. These
duties he had often described as the most wearing of the whole year.
His intense sense of duty, and desire to judge in every case the
interests of the individual artist together with those of art, fairly
and adequately, inflicted a strain and entailed an indescribable
fatigue, he said, even when he was well. During those days in 1895 he
suffered acutely.

From Hotel Continental, Tangiers, 18th April 1895, Leighton wrote:--

    DEAR WELLS,--Although letters do not leave these wilds daily and
    take an unconscionable time, as I now find, on the way, I trust
    this will reach you in time for the first varnishing day, on
    which I believe you hold the general meeting; it carries with
    it warm and grateful--and _envious_ greetings to you all. These
    you will, I know, deliver to my brother members at lunch, for
    then only is the _whole_ body gathered together. They, knowing
    me, will understand my humiliation at not being under arms and
    at my post at this season. I wish I could ask you to tell them
    that I see much sign of betterment in my condition: the slowness
    of my cure--if cure it be--is, of course, depressing; but I
    shall comfort myself on Thursday with the thought that perhaps,
    at some time between one and two, you are wishing well to one
    who claims to be a faithful friend to you all. I look forward
    keenly to what will, I feel sure, be the admirable performance
    of our dear old Millais. Unfortunately, I have not the remotest
    notion of where I shall be when the news might reach me--in
    Africa or in Europe--but reach me it will in time. You perhaps
    think of me as basking in the sun between blue skies and blue
    seas. How different are the facts! Blustering winds,
    occasionally rain, chilly atmosphere, everything murky and
    without colour! A change _should_ not be far off, for this sort
    of thing has prevailed for a month and more. I did not bargain
    for it.

    I hope, my dear Wells--and indeed I do not doubt--that you are
    getting on well and comfortably with your vice-regency, and am
    always yours sincerely,

                                                   FRED LEIGHTON.


                                      TANGIERS, _April 25, 1895_.

    DEAR LINA,--The day before yesterday I received your nice long
    letter--you had not yet got mine from Gib.--and yesterday one
    came from poor Gussy, and I am going, as you will both believe
    when this reaches you, to kill two birds with one epistolary
    stone. First, let me say that I am grieved--I dare hardly say,
    _surprised_, for it is, alas! a wicked way you both have--to
    hear that neither of you has derived any benefit, to speak of,
    by your outing, and you indeed, poor dear, appear to be a little
    worse. The fact is that at our ages, _con rispetto_, when one
    happens to have pretty homes, one _does_ miss them under the
    discomforts and shortcomings of lodgings or inns. As for me,
    though I am fairly comfortable here, I have whiffs of a certain
    "House Beautiful" in Kensington which are very tantalising. How
    am I? Well, I think I may at last claim a _little_ improvement,
    of course I give myself every chance, and am superlatively,
    disgracefully lazy, _and put myself to no tests_; but I notice
    this, that though I have my regulation three attacks (when not
    more) a day, they are milder, I think, and I _know_ that I can
    get rid of them almost immediately by certain respiratory
    exercises my Swede taught me. This I assume is again _no more
    capsules_, we shall see.

    Yes, I do perfectly remember the old home in St. Katherine's at
    Bath, and should hugely like to see it. I hope when the old
    inhabitant goes off, it will fall into reverent hands.

    No, I have not yet tackled Nordau. I am looking forward to him
    much, but have so far, except some Pater (Greek studies), mostly
    fribbled; two or three Spanish novels; a few short tales by
    Hardy, clever, but his figures are talking dolls, taught out of
    a book; _L'Innocente_, dull, but not so _coarse_ as I had
    understood. "Tales of Mean Streets"--now there, if you like, is
    powerful stuff. For pithy terseness and absolute sobriety of
    means, for subtle and humorous observation and scathing
    directness, they are unrivalled; but oh! what a picture! what a
    state of things, and who shall ever let the light into the
    tenebrous and foul depths? But how funny too, and grim; the old
    woman who pockets the ten shillings given for port, in order
    that she may have mutes at the funeral! Have also read
    "Keynotes." Clever, one or two even powerful, but other than I
    expected. Who is the woman? half Norse? half Irish? The writing
    is bad; intentionally, apparently; a cross between an
    interviewer and Ibsen for scrappy abruptness. _Her_ keynote is
    belief in the _immeasurable_ (but not explained) superiority of
    women, whom no man can _understand_; well, certainly, _I_ don't
    know _wo sie hinaus will_.

    I have had more kind notes, this is a kind world _tout de meme_.
    When stodgy, elderly Englishmen talk to me of the number of
    people who _love_ me, I feel quite a lump in my throat. Of
    another kind, but pretty, is the enclosed from W. Watson, the
    poet, whom I admire, you know; nice also the telegram. I wrote a
    _menschlich_ letter when her husband died (_I_ have known them
    nearly forty years), and again a pretty letter t'other day about
    the wedding.

    But I _must_ finish this scribble. I shall be gone when you get
    this, write _Algiers_ (poste restante), I shall get it _some_
    time or other, but am still vague.

    Love to poor Gussy.--Afft. bro.,

                                                            FRED.

Leighton enclosed the following from William Watson, and the telegram
from the Comtesse de Paris:--

                                    66 CHERITON ROAD, FOLKESTONE,
                                           _April 18, 1895_.

    DEAR SIR FREDERIC LEIGHTON,--May I venture to say, somewhat
    superfluously, what a delight it was to be made free of your
    Palace of Art on a recent Sunday, and how highly I valued the
    privilege. Mr. Wilfrid Meynell had already made me happy by
    reporting the generous things you had said about my verses. I
    wish the great pleasure thus given me were not alloyed by the
    news of your temporarily impaired health. But in common with the
    rest of the world I hope those sunnier regions to which you
    perhaps feel more spiritually akin than to our own may quickly
    renew your full energies.

    Pray forgive anything which may be intrusive or otherwise
    unwarrantable in this letter, and believe me, dear Sir
    Frederick, with very grateful sense of your kindness, and pride
    in your good opinion, yours sincerely,

                                                  WILLIAM WATSON.
    SIR FREDERIC LEIGHTON, Bart., P.R.A.


    _Telegram._]
                                                _April 16, 1895._
    TO SIR FREDERIC LEIGHTON,
        2 HOLLAND PARK ROAD,
            KENSINGTON, LONDON.

    Profondement touchee de votre si bonne lettre et aimables voeux
    pour ma fille, je vous en remercie de tout mon coeur, y voyant
    une nouvelle preuve de votre amitie. Je regrette vivement pas
    avoir le plaisir de vous revoir avant longtemps, mais suis sure
    penserez a moi.

                                                  COMTESSE PARIS.
    BUCKINGHAM.

On arriving at Alger, Leighton wrote:--

                                           HOTEL D'EUROPE, ALGER,
                                                   _May 9, 1895_.

    DEAR WELLS,--I got your first kind letter three days ago at
    Tlencen, and this morning, on passing through this place, your
    very interesting account of the Banquet. I know you will not
    resent a _very_ brief acknowledgment; I have _one_ day here
    only, and a large pile of letters, with a good many of which I
    must deal, however laconically, at once. I need not assure you
    that your most kind words, like so many manifestations of
    friendship that I have received, touch me to the quick and will
    not be forgotten. That my dear old friend Millais could carry
    away his audience by his earnest and intense personality, I was
    quite certain. I rejoice in my heart at his success, apart from
    what I feel about his affectionate and warm expressions. It is
    worth while to break down, to be treated with such infinite
    kindness as I have met with everywhere amongst my colleagues and
    friends. I know you will like to hear that I am at last very
    decidedly better; in another month--for I don't mean to come
    home sooner--I really expect to be externally quite patched
    up--of course, the warning and the constant threat will remain
    by me, but I shall try to be careful, and hope yet for long to
    be the devoted servant of my brother members in the Academy.
    Meanwhile, believe me, always sincerely yours,

                                                   FRED LEIGHTON.

    _P.S._--I trust you have not suffered in your throat, which is a
    frequent anxiety to you from the necessity of much speaking. _I_
    know how trying that is.


                                           HOTEL D'EUROPE, ALGER,
                                                  _May 21, 1895_.

    DEAR LINA,--In an hour or two I leave for Europe, and in three
    weeks I shall be home again in comfortable Kensington.

    I am grieved that you should have been worried--as well you
    might--by that idiotic report that I should not return to
    society or my profession (I wonder who invented it!), but you
    were fortunately soon relieved; I think I told you about the
    trouble Reuter and Hardy took in the matter. By-the-bye, you
    were right in supposing that the "long walk" was also a figment
    of the correspondents.

    I am very glad to hear that you and Gussy are both at all events
    a little better at last. My bulletin is chequered, but certain
    things are satisfactory; in the first place, I see that fine
    weather and sun and pure air and the rest of it have nothing
    whatever to do with my condition; this, as I can't choose my
    climate, is distinctly reassuring; also, the fact of my having
    been much better shows that I may hope distinctly for much
    improvement: in the other, a certain relapse which is now upon
    me shows how needful caution is, only it is disappointing to
    have had to go back to capsules. I have had in the main a most
    enjoyable time; have been very fortunate in the weather,
    inasmuch as the heat has not yet been intolerable, and I have
    done some work which will be useful perhaps and certainly
    delightful as a reminiscence and suggestion. A variety of
    untoward things, one on the top of the other, no doubt quite
    account for my, I hope not durable, relapse, and I have no doubt
    when I write again I shall be able to report fresh improvement.
    The odd thing is, the bad effects _last_ so curiously. I
    understand hot railway journeys, bad food, &c. &c., telling on
    me, but I have been now two whole days and a bit in Algiers in
    _utter_ idleness, and a great deal on my back, and yet this
    morning I got an attack _lying in bed_! but don't let this
    disturb you--for several weeks I was much better and required
    _no_ capsules at all. This short little note will reach you, I
    suppose, on Friday morning; a line on that day or on Saturday or
    Sunday, just to say that it has reached you would catch me at
    the Hotel Continental, Rue Castiglione, _Paris_. Please tell me,
    on the altogether improbable chance of my "looking in" on the
    Channel Islands, what the _best_ hotels are--I _must_ be
    comfortable. Best love to Gussy.--From your affectionate old
    brother,

                                                            FRED.

    _P.S._--I wrote to the P. of W.'s secretary, asking him to say
    how much H.R.H.'s kind words had gratified me--I enclose the
    answer, which is nice, I think.

On Leighton's return to London he resumed his duties as President. He
tried to believe what Sir Lauder Brunton hoped, but found it somewhat
difficult to do so in the face of _facts_, he used to say. He,
however, assumed that he was mending. On 19th July 1895 he wrote:--

    DEAR BRITON RIVIERE,--Very many thanks for your kind and
    thoughtful note. Do not think of postponing your motion; I have
    already been the innocent cause of the postponement of two very
    contentious motions in Council; I could not think of standing
    further in the way--pray, therefore, proceed with it. I had a
    nasty attack at that meeting but have felt no after effects, and
    am no doubt slowly mending. In haste, yours ever sincerely,

                                                   FRED LEIGHTON.

    [Illustration: "THE FAIR PERSIAN"
    (Unfinished at the time of Lord Leighton's death.) 1896
    By permission of Sir Elliott Lees]

From his account to his friends after his return, his health had
varied while abroad in an unaccountable manner, except in one instance
where, as my husband and I knew from personal experience, the
conditions were normally unhealthy. This evidently was the cause for
his having had specially violent attacks at Morlaix in Brittany, which
he visited on his journey home--and where, some years previously, our
whole party had become more or less ill, owing, it was thought, to the
unhealthiness of the place. His condition was much the same as when he
left England. He worked steadily in his studio, and received the
guests at the Annual Soiree of the Royal Academy. At the conclusion of
the function a friend asked him how it had really fared with him--for
apparently his vitality had appeared, as usual, inexhaustible. "I
think the attacks must be greatly a matter of nerves," he answered. "I
have stood here three hours and a quarter and have not had one,--while
I was dressing and fearing how I should get through it, I had
_three_."

Leighton did not go to Scotland that autumn but to the wild west coast
of Ireland, again to that Malinmore that had so greatly fascinated
him, and whose wild beauty he had longed for his sister to enjoy,
"taking her courage in one hand, her goloshes in a second, and
umbrella in the third."[85] On his way there he wrote to Mrs. Orr:--

                                              IMPERIAL HOTEL,
                                         PEMBROKE STREET, CORK,
                                   _Thursday, September 5, 1895_.

    DEAR LINA,--I was glad to glean from your letter of last
    Thursday that, taking it all round, you are having a fairly good
    time, and Gussy ditto. (I can't stand _wind_ either, it
    aggravates my system.) I've never seen Mull--should like to--but
    _not_ being a sociable bird (like you) should wish to have no
    acquaintances. Is it Napier of _Magdala_? if so, I knew the old
    lord of that ilk; indeed, to be accurate, I knew him even if it
    was not so; or Lord Napier of _Ettrick_? if so ditto, ditto. It
    is always the previous lot _I_ knew. By this time you will have
    been to Lindisfarne[86] (lovely name!)--if you did not enjoy the
    sands and the Abbey you need not call on me again. I suppose you
    are at home now. In a week or two I shall no doubt know how I
    am. Just off to Killarney, then Galway, then _Malinmore_, County
    Donegal, where I shall be from (say) the 10th to (say) the 17th,
    your affectionate old brother.

In another letter he wrote to Mrs. Orr: "I am too glad that you have
made acquaintances--been a gregarious person. If I make an
acquaintance anywhere, I have simply lost the game." From Malinmore on
September 19th he wrote to me: "I'm sorry that you saw Scotland in a
mist; its beauty is _succulent colour_--you want rain first and then a
burst of sun--I am enjoying unsociable solitude keenly, like the bear
I am; health so so; I'm sowing patience, but so far reaping nothing in
particular. In a fortnight, off to Italy." On this visit to his
"second home" Leighton began with Venice, from whence he wrote to me
Oct. 9th: "The wind is howling and the rain pouring down in
torrents--not a correct attitude in Venice--I'm no better." Leighton
next went to Naples, where he wrote the following letter to Mrs.
Orr:--

                                           HOTEL BRISTOL, NAPLES,
                                              _October 18, 1895_.

    DEAR LINA,--I am sorry that you and Gussy don't see your way to
    going to Bayreuth, since it is your health that seems to stand
    in the way; other reasons are all my eye. I KNOW from Gussy's
    own mouth that she would particularly like to hear the Siegfried
    Tetralogy at Bayreuth (and this _may_ be the last time of giving
    it _there_), I _know_ also that, given, of course, the Fuersten
    Loge with its facilities, you would like to go, because you have
    said so. Well it will remain open in case you change what you,
    fondly and perhaps sincerely, regard as your minds.

    I am very glad you take such a very sensible view of my ailment,
    because it makes it more easy to speak of it; I also live in the
    hope and, almost, expectation, that it will fizzle out some day
    of its own accord, and this enables me to bear up against the
    entire absence _at present_ of any improvement. I have at last
    finished my "Nordau," which I have read through from cover to
    cover; it is a very vigorous and remarkable book and of riveting
    interest to any one who likes polemics (from _outside_) as I do.
    The author is at his best when he is dissecting a particular
    victim--say Nietzsche--on the other hand one is not a little
    repelled by his astoundingly unparliamentary insolence, his not
    infrequent disingenuousness and _spitzfindelei_ and his curious
    narrownesses and lacunae. The _Boecke die er schneidet_ when he
    gets on the subject of graphic art are quite comic. The fact is
    he is in some respects absolutely devoid of perception, like an
    otherwise most intelligent and cultured man who should have no
    ear for music. What, for instance, can we say of a man who
    asserts, as a truism, that aesthetic and _sexual_(!) feelings
    (not sensual but "_geschlechtlich_") are not merely akin but
    actually cover one another to a very large extent! I doubt
    whether there is anything chaster than the sense of beauty in
    abstract form; he has no inkling of this. When all is said and
    done he is himself in some measure a _crypto_degenerate, if I
    may so call him; degeneracy is a _Zwangsvorstellung_ with him,
    he sees it everywhere; a curious instance is his seeing it in
    the fondness of English writers for alliteration; of course he
    knows, with his wide culture, better than I do that this
    assonance of the beginning of words dates from the dawn of our
    literature; _he might_, no doubt, say, "Yes! it is a
    _Rueckschlag_," but he would therein give another proof of his
    ineptitude in aesthetic matters. In _every_ Art, _iteration_, of
    which alliteration is a form, has ever been a powerful source of
    expression and charm. Meanwhile his last, remarkable, chapter
    "Therapie" takes a good deal of the sting out of the book; he
    owns that certain peculiarities--excess of sensibility and the
    like--are present in _nearly all art_, that it is, in fact, only
    a question of a degree and, he adds, in a passage which Gussy
    has marked, "Who shall say _where_, exactly, madness begins?"
    Amen! And that little (or large) spice of something which
    _might_ be madness if there was much more of it, has given to us
    poor mortals some of our keenest delights--"more grease to its
    elbow," say I, in my vulgar way. But, I say! Nietzsche!!
    eh?--I've also read J. Kowaleski, with great interest--but,
    crikey! _what_ a creature to live with!!

    Tell Gussy, with my love, that I have got the usual two seats
    (Queen's Hall) for the November _Wagner_. Tell her to keep the
    day open.--Afftly. yrs.

                                                            FRED.

From Naples he travelled to Rome to find his dear friend Giovanni
Costa, with whom he spent the last weeks of his holiday. Of this visit
Costa wrote the following in his "Notes":--

    "His last study from nature was painted in Rome in October 1895,
    for the unfinished picture of 'Clytie,' exhibited in the Royal
    Academy, 1896. It was a study of fruit, and he enjoyed working
    on it for several hours, though he was then ill; and I believe
    that the hours he passed in the courtyard of the Palazzo
    Odeschalchi painting these fruits, which he had arranged on a
    marble sarcophagus, afforded him, perhaps, the last artistic
    pleasures he ever enjoyed. It is true that after this he went to
    the Vatican, to Siena, and to Florence, where he saw for the
    last time the masterpieces with which these towns abound. But,
    standing before the great works of the masters of the past, he
    could only sigh.

    "He worshipped children, and his pictures of children with fruit
    and flowers are among the most delicious and spontaneous work
    ever done by him in painting. And I can see him again, during
    the last visit he paid to Rome in 1895, on his knees before my
    little girl, to accede to her request that she should have a
    lock of his hair as a remembrance."

Nothing could give a better record of two sides of Leighton's nature,
often believed to be incompatible, than the contents of the letter
from Naples to his sister, with its remarks on Nordau, Nietzsche, and
the like, and this beautiful picture recalled by his old friend
Costa--Leighton on his knees before a little child. The intellect
which could crack the hardest of intellectual nuts was surmounted by
lowly reverence for all beauty, most ardently adored when that beauty
came to him in its most innocent childlike garb.

Writing to me on his return on November the 6th Leighton says: "I
shall try to look in to-morrow at five. I want very much to hear
Fuller-Maitland's preachment" (Lectures on Purcell were being given at
our house previous to the Purcell Festival). "I am sorry to say I am
no better, rather worse." On being asked the next day, as he came into
our house, "How is it?" the answer Leighton gave was, "Oh, worse!
Sometimes fifteen attacks a day." On his birthday, the 3rd of
December, he wrote to his sister:--

                             2 HOLLAND PARK ROAD, KENSINGTON, W.,
                                              _December 3, 1895_.

    DEAR LINA,--The grand leaves in a mossy pot, and the sweet
    flowers, and the poems, and your letter, came all together. I
    know you will let me answer you both on one piece of paper. I
    know, dears, how true is your love, and though I am not a
    demonstrative person, it is very precious to me. I know you will
    both like to hear that after an _hour's_ innings between L.
    Brunton, Dr. Tunnicliffe his partner, Roberts, and three most
    ingenious scientific instruments, and after tapping and
    auscultating of my wretched ear cap fore and aft, it was
    pronounced that (in some mysterious way) I am _not_ worse, but
    _better_; well, I am glad to hear it; meanwhile my medicine is
    being strengthened, and will be again in the (pretty certain)
    event of its requiring more strength. L.B. quite _hopes_ to rig
    me out for the May banquet. Much love to both from affectionate
    old brother.

On the 14th he wrote to his friend Mr. Henry Wells:--

                             2 HOLLAND PARK ROAD, KENSINGTON, W.,
                                             _December 14, 1895_.

    DEAR WELLS,--Many thanks for your kind letter, relying on which
    I hasten to "nail" you for the _27th_; I shall be very much
    disappointed if you say me "nay." I never give a _long_ notice,
    in part so as to bring about a little shuffling of cards, and
    relieving my guests of a certain monotony of routine which might
    in the end irk them. I need not assure you that I am most warmly
    sensible to the vigilant and truly friendly interest which you
    manifest concerning my health; believe me, if I differ from you
    in not believing in the efficacy or feasibility of a suspension
    of activity for a year or two, it is in no unreasoning or
    perverse spirit (and let me, by-the-bye, say in passing that I
    have, for a few days past, certainly been a little better).
    Putting aside for a moment the fact that I have for the next
    year, and more, definite professional _obligations_ in the way
    of commissioned work (which is, unfortunately, not incompatible
    with having a certain number of unsold works!), to withdraw from
    Academic duties would mean _leaving England_ for the period in
    question; it would be morally impossible to remain here,
    apparently in robust health, congratulated constantly, as I am,
    on my healthy appearance, going about unrebuked by a _very_
    cautious doctor (Lauder Brunton), taking the pleasures of life
    _apparently_ without any stint (as a matter of _fact_ I am very
    quiet and regular, and under _continuous_ medical treatment),
    and then shirking all its _duties_; but experience has shown
    that I gain nothing by absence--by change of climate and the
    rest; and, on the other hand, my temperament being what you
    know, the withdrawal from my active life would infallibly prey
    on me and have a marked effect on my health through my spirits;
    this is also the opinion of Lauder Brunton. My care must be to
    live quietly but not idly, and thus try to mend gradually, as I
    doubtless shall, in the hands of my doctor _and my masseur_.
    _If_, which God forbid, I am pronounced still unfit in May, I
    will bow, with whatever bitterness, to the judgment, but till
    then I must not forego hope. Meanwhile, you have all done me
    infinite service in prohibiting the "Discourse" for this year--I
    can't say how grateful I was for that! I shall also avoid, as
    far as may be, all _controversy_ at our table; that is the worst
    thing of all by far, for yours sincerely always,

                                                   FRED LEIGHTON.[87]

With the New Year honours and among those bestowed was a Peerage on
Leighton, who was created Lord Leighton, Baron of Stretton (see chap.
i. vol. i., Antecedents). Needless to say, congratulations poured in
from all sorts and conditions. One of these in writing was preserved
because enclosed in a note to his sister.

                                              _January 13, 1896._

    MY DEAR LEIGHTON,--I have just come back from Italy, and hope
    that it is not too late to tell you with how much satisfaction I
    read of the mark of honour that has been accepted by you. I am
    not a passionate admirer of the legislative feats of the House
    of Lords, but so long as it stands, it is well that such a man
    as you should sit there. I hope that the thing has given you
    pleasure, and for my poor part I rejoice both as a friend and as
    a humble admirer of art and genius that this honourable
    recognition has fallen to you.--Yours sincerely,

                                                     JOHN MORLEY.

    Not a word of reply, I pray.

From his native place Leighton received the following:--

    When it was announced on Wednesday that the Queen had been
    pleased to confer the dignity of a Peerage of the United Kingdom
    upon Sir Frederic Leighton, Bart., President of the Royal
    Academy, who is a native of Scarborough, having been born here
    sixty-five years ago, the Mayor (Alderman Cross, J.P.) sent the
    following telegram:--"Sir Frederic Leighton, 2 Holland Park
    Road, London, the Mayor, Corporation, and inhabitants of
    Scarborough present their hearty congratulations on the honour
    conferred upon you.--The Mayor, Scarborough." The next morning
    the following reply was received:--"The Mayor of
    Scarborough,--Sincere thanks for congratulations from my
    birthplace.

                                                       LEIGHTON."

Leighton had been loath to acquaint his sisters with the real nature
of his complaint, as he was aware how much their anxiety for him would
be increased if they knew. However, he at last felt it was necessary
to tell them. Very characteristically, he chose the moment when they
were at the theatre, thinking it might produce a less painful shock
when mentioned casually, and when their attention might be distracted
more easily. It was difficult, however, under any circumstances to
temper the blow. Leighton wrote the next Sunday--"I do hope I shall
find you better this afternoon.... I ought not to have spoken to you
about my ailment." I received the following in Somerset, dated January
20, dictated, ... "As I am (not to put too fine a point on it) in bed
with a very bad cough at this moment, you will, I know, forgive my
using the hand of a secretary in writing to you. I see that you want a
contribution for Mrs. Watts Hughes' Home for Boys; I therefore enclose
a cheque." ... On the day following, Tuesday, his doctors decreed that
he should remain in his room, but on Wednesday, the day after,
Leighton insisted on getting into his studio, where he worked all the
morning from models. In the afternoon he drove in his open
carriage--certainly without the permission of his doctors!--to
Westminster, getting out and standing in the raw damp of a cold
January afternoon to watch the pulling down of some old houses which
had interested him. In the evening he wrote to me a letter, which
happened to be the last he penned. A Lecture was to be given for the
benefit of Mrs. Watts Hughes' Home for Boys; and in return for
Leighton's contribution I had sent him four five shilling tickets to
give away, offering to change them for half guinea tickets, but
suggesting it would be most rash of him to go himself. However, he
intended to go, and wrote that Wednesday evening:--

    DEAR MRS. BARRINGTON,--... Since you are good enough to offer to
    change the tickets for tenners, I will ask you to do so, and
    thank you in advance. Yes, Mackail's book, which oddly enough I
    _have_ read--for, alas! I never read now--is an exquisite bit of
    work.

When the Lecture was given on the evening of January 29, Leighton had
left us already four days!

At five o'clock on Thursday morning, January 23, he woke, feeling
terrible pain and great distress in breathing, but would not ring for
his servant because he believed him to be delicate, and thought it
might hurt him to be disturbed so early. At seven he rang, and Dr.
Roberts, who was telegraphed for, at once saw that the situation was
of the gravest. Sir Lauder Brunton also was summoned. Leighton's
servant had promised his sisters that they should be sent for at once
if the symptoms at any time became more acute; but on his mentioning
this, Leighton said he must not send for Mrs. Orr and Mrs. Matthews,
as they were both more ill than he was. However, as the morning went
on and there were no signs of any change for the better, the sisters
were told of his condition, and at once came--not leaving him till the
end.

On Thursday afternoon, when he was supposed to be sinking, and they
were with him alone, he expressed his wishes as to his property--the
sums of money he wished given to various friends--adding that he
should like ten thousand pounds to be given to the Royal Academy.
These were wishes expressed--not legacies, as he left his whole
property unconditionally to his sisters, and believed that they, as
next-of-kin, would, as a matter of course, be his heirs.

Contrary to the doctor's expectations, Leighton rallied on the Friday,
and hopes were expressed that he might recover from the acute attack
from which he was suffering. On his hearing this, he exclaimed to his
sisters, "Would it not have been a pity if I had had to die just when
I was going to paint better!"

On the Saturday morning the gravest symptoms returned, and every hope
vanished. It was then suggested to Leighton that it would be better
for him to make a will, and his lawyer was sent for; but it was some
time before he could arrive. Though the agony was great, Leighton
refused all alleviations till his will was written out. It was as
follows:--

      This is the last will and testament of Frederic Leighton.
      I will and bequeath to my sisters, Alexandra Orr and
      Augusta Newnburg Matthews, the whole estate
      unconditionally.

                                                   FRED LEIGHTON.

Mrs. Orr wrote: "When the official will had been drawn up and signed,
he said, 'Does this give my sisters absolute control over all I have?'
On the lawyer answering in the affirmative, Leighton asked, 'Then no
one can interfere with them?' 'No one,' answered the lawyer; 'they are
paramount.' He was afraid that the brief paragraph was not
sufficiently strong."

After signing it, he said, "My love to the Academy"; but his last
words were spoken in German, and meant for his sisters' ears alone.
Then came the end.

       *       *       *       *       *

"We went together," writes Lady Loch, "to see Fred Leighton the Sunday
before he died, and he said, 'Mind you come to "my concert." I have
just settled it all with Villiers Stanford, and it will be
beautiful.'" In about ten days after, with aching hearts at the loss
of so true, so warm, so great a friend, we attended his burial
service at St. Paul's Cathedral, seeing such proofs of real mourning
all along the Embankment and streets, for indeed every man, woman, and
child had lost a real, true friend.

    [Illustration: "THE SPIRIT OF THE SUMMIT." 1894]

    [Illustration: STUDY FOR "LACHRYMAE." 1895]

All who were present must ever remember the last "Music" in the March
before, when (contrasting so strongly in colour and sentiment)
"Lachrymae" and "Flaming June" stood on the easels, and for the first
time the silk room was open, hung with the work of Leighton's friends;
how, through all the beautiful strains from Joachim and the rest, a
tragic note rang out to tell, as it seemed, of the waning life of the
centre of it all. No one said it, but all felt that the last chapter
was ending of those many, many perfect pages in life known as
"Leighton's music."

A voice sang with emotion Charles Kingsley's soul-stirring verse--

    "When all the world is old, lad,
      And all the trees are brown;
    And all the sport is stale, lad,
      And all the wheels run down,
    Creep home, and take your place there,
      The spent and maim'd among;
    God grant you find one face there
      You loved when all was young."

Cruelly pathetic did it seem that one who had ever had the vitality of
a boy, who had ever been the inspirer and support of those weary
overwrought ones whose wheels had run down before their time, should
himself be stricken, creeping home "the spent and maimed among."

The studios emptied, and he came down the stairs with the last of us.
Dainty figures of girls were dancing round the fountain in the empty
Arab Hall; and as he went to the outer door they flew to him, throwing
their arms round his neck. "They are all my god-children," he said,
as each, fleet-footed, fled out of the gate. A clasp, a wring of a
friend's hand; then, ashen pale, tired and haggard, he turned back
lonely into the House Beautiful--and that book was closed.

Instead of strains of perfect song and music hailing their completion,
the six pictures of the next year looked down on the coffin, and over
a rich carpeting of beautiful flowers. In the centre, above the head,
the sun-loving "Clytie" stretched out her arms, bidding a passionate
farewell to her god.

The coffin was borne away to the Academy on Saturday, February 1,
previous to the funeral on the Monday.

    [Illustration: "CLYTIE." 1896
    By permission of the Fine Art Society, the owners of the
    Copyright]

The following is a correct account of the public funeral, written on
the day it took place, and forwarded to Leighton's birthplace.

    At half-past ten this morning, by which time a dense crowd had
    collected in the neighbourhood of the Royal Academy, the workmen
    commenced to remove the numerous wreaths from the Central Hall,
    where the body of Lord Leighton has rested since Saturday night,
    and to load the huge floral car. Prominent among these wreaths
    was one from the Princess Christian; but that from the Prince
    and Princess of Wales was conveyed in a separate carriage by
    representatives of the Prince and Princess, General Ellis and
    Lord Colville of Culross. The wreath consisted of choice white
    flowers rising from a bank of delicate green foliage, and
    attached was a card written by the Princess of Wales, and
    inscribed as follows:--

    "Life's race well run,
    Life's work well done,
    Life's Crown well won,
          Now comes rest."

    Then follow the words, "A mark of sincere and affectionate
    regard, esteem, and admiration for a great artist and much
    beloved friend, from Alexandra and Albert Edward." At the head
    of the card were the words, "To Sir Frederic Leighton." There
    was also a wreath from the Empress Frederick, bearing the words:
    "From Victoria, Empress Frederick," in the Empress's own
    writing.

    The Queen's wreath for the funeral of Lord Leighton was sent
    from Buckingham Palace this morning to Colonel the Honourable W.
    Carington, by whom it was conveyed to St. Paul's Cathedral. The
    wreath is composed of laurel, entwined with which are
    immortelles, and it is tied with broad satin ribbon. Attached to
    the wreath is an autograph card from Her Majesty, with the
    following inscription: "A mark of respect from Victoria, R.I."

    About five minutes to eleven the coffin was removed from the
    Central Hall, and carried through the vestibule into the
    quadrangle. A detachment of the Artists' Volunteers was drawn up
    here, and saluted the coffin as soon as it emerged into the open
    by presenting arms. The remains were placed in a glass hearse,
    and the volunteers took up their position at the front and
    sides. The pall-bearers, relatives, and others meanwhile formed
    in procession, and punctually at eleven the cortege left the
    Academy, the crowd reverentially uncovering as the hearse passed
    into the street. The whole length of the route, from Piccadilly
    to St. Paul's, was lined with people; but the crowds were quiet
    and orderly, and maintained a clear space for the funeral
    cortege without the assistance of the police. The volunteers
    marched with arms reversed, and the remains of the deceased
    artist were carried to their last resting-place with every
    manifestation of mournful regret. Flags were at half-mast on
    many public buildings, and as the solemn procession passed
    slowly along, the remains were reverently saluted by the crowd.
    Passing into Pall Mall by Charing Cross, the procession wended
    its way through Northumberland Street, proceeding thence along
    the Thames Embankment, New Bridge Street, and Ludgate Hill, St.
    Paul's being reached shortly before noon.

    The service in the Cathedral, which occupied an hour, was at
    once picturesque as a spectacle and impressive in its solemnity
    as a religious function.

    More than an hour before the time appointed for the arrival of
    the funeral cortege, the space available to the public in St.
    Paul's was occupied, and a few minutes after eleven o'clock,
    visitors of distinction, who had been provided with special
    invitations, began to fill up the reserved seats in the
    transept.

    Among those present were representatives of the Royal Family,
    the German Emperor, and the King of Belgium, members of both
    Houses of Parliament, including the Speaker; delegates from
    learned bodies and artistic associations, as well as from the
    art committees of various provincial municipalities.

    The first lesson was read by the Dean, and the succeeding
    passages were given by the Bishop of Stepney; but the greater
    part of the service was undertaken by the Archbishop of York,
    chaplain of the Royal Academy. The musical portions of the
    service were exceptionally fine, and included, as a somewhat
    unusual feature, a trombone quartette.

    Lord Salisbury had promised to be one of the pall-bearers, but
    found himself unable to attend. The pall-bearers were
    Major-General Ellis, representing the Prince and Princess of
    Wales; the Duke of Abercorn, Sir Joseph Lister, Sir J. Millais,
    Sir E. Thompson, Sir A. Mackenzie, and Professor Lecky.

    After the coffin was lowered into the crypt by a central opening
    directly beneath the dome, the two sisters of the late Lord
    Leighton came to the front, and took a last look at it. When the
    coffin was lowered many beautiful flowers were placed upon it,
    and again, after the opening was covered up, the space was more
    than covered by further wreaths sent by various Academicians,
    the Royal Academy, students, and personal friends, many of whom
    lingered some time after the conclusion of the solemn ceremony.

                    _Scarborough Evening News, February 3, 1896._

       *       *       *       *       *

Leighton's death touched, as did his life, all sorts and conditions of
men; for he had been the true friend alike of the greatest and of the
least. The soil in which true distinction is rooted is of a quality
too rich, too fertile to be affected by class prejudice. Leighton's
own life was made beautiful by the gratitude he felt for the joy
nature's loveliness inspired in his soul, and by the passion to make
known through his work the mysterious treasure, the never-failing
fountain of delight, ever springing up in his heart. Lovingly human,
he ardently desired not only to pass on his own joy in beauty to every
fellow-creature who crossed his path, but, where he saw in any
possible way help could be given, to give it.

Of the eager, great-hearted Leighton, not a few can echo Romola's
tribute to Savonarola--the last words of the great book whose pages he
vivified with his art: "Perhaps I should never have learned to love
him if he had not helped me when I was in great need."

    A light has passed that never shall pass away,
      A sun has set whose rays are unequalled of might;
    The loyal grace, the courtesy bright as day,
      The strong, sweet, radiant spirit of life and light,
      That shone and smiled and lightened in all men's sight,
    The kindly life whose tune was the tune of May,
      For us now dark, for love and for fame is bright.

                        ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE.[88]

    [Illustration: MONUMENT IN ST. PAUL'S CATHEDRAL, ERECTED AS A
    MEMORIAL TO LORD LEIGHTON BY HIS FRIENDS AND ADMIRERS
    Sculptured by Thomas Brock, R.A.]

    [Illustration: View of Inner Hall and Staircase of Leighton
    House, with reproduction of Mr. Thomas Brock's R.A. Diploma
    work, Bust of Lord Leighton, presented by Mr. Brock to the
    Leighton House Collection in 1898.
    By permission of Mr. J. Harris Stone.]


FOOTNOTES:

[83] "Life and Letters of Robert Browning."

[84] Professor Giovanni Costa.

[85] It was during this last visit to Malinmore Leighton made those
sketches of the sea thistle (see chapter iii. vol. i.), and also some
last sketches in oil.

[86] Leighton had visited Mr. Pepys Cockerell and his family at
Lindisfarne (Holy Island) more than once when going or returning from
Scotland.

[87] Mr. Percy Fitzgerald wrote the following:--

"Being in the same club with Lord Leighton, I could note many instances
of his good humour and sweetness of temper. I am happy to think, for it
was a high compliment from him, that he made my acquaintance, not I
his. He had always a pleasant word; as when, entering the writing-room
with his hasty tramp, he looked over at me, seated at the window pencil
in hand, and rushed over in his impetuous way: "Ah, one of _our_ trade,
I see!" He was particularly interested in a museum or institute at
Camberwell, and one day thanked me most warmly for having gone down to
lecture there, and that it was appreciated by the people, &c. This was
good-natured.

"The day he received his title, an old gentleman of the club, who did
not know him, congratulated him as he passed by in high-sounding
Italian. He was delighted, and poured out a reply in the same tongue,
adding some pleasant remark. This little incident quite illustrates his
_bonhomie_. It is just what Dickens would do. I gave him a copy of Sir
Joshua's Discourses, a presentation one to Burke. It was fitting that
the modern President should have it.

"How tragic were his last appearances at the Academy _soiree_! How
jaded, shrunk and haggard looked the once handsome painter! He must
have suffered cruelly, and at the end seemed worn out. There was
something of a likeness to the lamented Irving, the same sweetness of
manner, the same grace and romantic view of things. His dress was
characteristic, somewhat showy, yet not scrupulously neat like a dandy.
His clothes, like Irving's, seemed old friends, and lay about him in
roomy fashion. His somewhat unkempt beard left some traces on the
lapels of his favourite snuff-coloured coat with the flowing tails. The
blue or red silk, its ends flying free, was a note of colour. Three men
of mark, and on some points resembling each other, had each this fancy
for a somewhat theatrical attire.

"I noticed that a nervous guest innocently presented to the porter a
ticket for some artistic _soiree_, which was declined, to the
embarrassment of the visitor. But Leighton promptly stepped forward,
and kindly came to his rescue. It was curious that those three eminent
artistic beings, Dickens, Leighton, and Irving, should have perished
from outwearing their nervous systems, Leighton and Irving from
heart-failure, Dickens from an overtaxed brain."

[88] "A Reminiscence," Leighton, 1896.




APPENDIX




PRESIDENTIAL ADDRESS

_Delivered by_ SIR F. LEIGHTON, Bart., P.R.A., _at the Art Congress,
held at Liverpool, December 3rd, 1888_.


I cannot but feel that to some of my hearers, and to not a few of
those who do not hear me, but whom the words spoken in this place may
chance to reach through the Press, some brief explanation is, at the
outset, due as to my occupancy of this chair. To them it is known that
weighty reasons have for many years compelled me to decline all
requests--and those requests have been frequent, urgent, and most
gratifying to me in form and spirit--that I should publicly address
audiences, beyond the walls of Burlington House, on the subject which
is to occupy this Congress, the subject of Art. It is not without some
compunction that I have followed this course, but the exigencies, on
the one hand, of the duties of my office, and, on the other, a firm
purpose, which you will not, I hope, rebuke, to remain always and
before all things a working artist, have left to my too limited
strength and powers no alternative but that which I have adopted.
Nevertheless, I have felt justified in obeying the summons of the
founders of this Congress--and for this reason that, while the
far-reaching character of the effort here initiated, and my earnest
desire to contribute, in however small a measure, to whatever of good
may flow from it have seemed to make it incumbent on me to accept the
duty of saying a few words on this occasion, its comprehensive and
national character lifts it into a category wholly apart from and
outside the sphere of purely local interests such as those which I had
hitherto been invited to support.

I trust I shall be pardoned this short obtrusion of private
considerations, and that you will see in it not a movement of egotism
but the discharge of a simple debt of courtesy; which said, let me
address myself to the task imposed upon me--the task of showing cause
and need for the existence of the association which inaugurates to-day
its public work, and of arousing, if it is in my power, your efficient
sympathy in that work, that it may not remain barren and without
fruit. But here I am at once conscious of a perplexity lurking in your
minds. "Why," I hear you ask, "should an organisation have been called
into life for the sole purpose of considering in public matters
relating to the development and spread of art in this country? What
hitherto unfulfilled ends do you seek to achieve? Do you aim at the
wider extension of artistic education in this country? But vast sums
from the public purse are annually devoted to its promotion; schools
of art multiply, one might almost say swarm, over the face of the
land. Or do you tax the great municipal bodies of England with
remissness on this score? But day by day efforts in this direction
among the great provincial centres of trade and industry become more
marked and effectual. No announcement more frequently meets our eyes
than that of the opening, with due ceremony and circumstance, and
seemingly with full recognition that the event is an important one, of
spacious public galleries for the annual exhibition, or for the
permanent housing, of works of contemporary art. Or does art find
private individuals lacking in that noble spirit which so often
prompts Englishmen to devote to the enjoyment and profit of their
fellow-citizens a large share of the wealth gained by them in the
pursuit of their avocations? But a great gallery of art which rises
hard by across the road would shame and silence any such assertion.
Or, again, can it be denied that what encouragement to artists is
afforded by the purchase of innumerable pictures, at all events, was
never more liberally meted out to them than within our generation, and
does not the crowding of exhibitions, of which the name is legion,
evince abundantly the responsive attitude of the country, as far at
least as one of the arts is concerned? Are not statues multiplying in
our streets? Is not architecture, as an art, finding at this time
increasing, if tardy, acceptance at the hands of private individuals?
Is not a wholesome sense dawning among us that even a private dwelling
should not offend, nay, should conciliate, the eye of the passer-by in
our public thoroughfares? and lastly, has not a more than marked
improvement taken place within our day in the character of all those
intimate domestic surroundings which are the daily diet of our eyes,
and should be daily their delight? Are these not facts patent to all,
and do they not seem to cut from under your feet the ground on which
you seek to stand?" Yes, all this and more may be said; and I should
be blind as an observer--I should be ungrateful as one speaking in the
name of artists--did I not recognise the force of these words which I
have put into the mouth of an imaginary querist. I acknowledge with
joy that there is in all these facts, and still more in their
significance, much on which we may justly congratulate ourselves, much
that points to a quickening consciousness, a stirring of slumbering
aesthetic impulse, a receptive readiness, a growing malleability in the
general temper, which promise well; and it is precisely such a
condition of things which justifies our hope of good results from this
Congress, and in it we find our best encouragement.

Well, what then is our charge in respect to the present relation of
the country to art? What are the shortcomings for which we are here to
seek a remedy? Our charge is that with the great majority of
Englishmen the appreciation of art, as art, is blunt, is superficial,
is desultory, is spasmodic; that our countrymen have no adequate
perception of the place of art as an element of national greatness;
that they do not count its achievements among the sources of their
national pride; that they do not appreciate its vital importance in
the present day to certain branches of national prosperity; that while
what is excellent receives from them honour and recognition, what is
ignoble and hideous is not detested by them, is, indeed, accepted and
borne with a dull, indifferent acquiescence; that the aesthetic
consciousness is not with them a living force, impelling them towards
the beautiful, and rebelling against the unsightly. We charge that
while a desire to possess works of art, but especially pictures, is
very widespread, it is in a large number, perhaps in a majority of
cases, not the essential quality of art that has attracted the
purchaser to his acquisition; not the emanation of beauty in any one
of its innumerable forms, but something outside and wholly independent
of art. In a word, there is, we charge, among the many in our country,
little consciousness that every product of men's hands claiming to
rank as a work of art, be it lofty in its uses and monumental, or
lowly and dedicated to humble ends, be it a temple or a palace, the
sacred home of prayer or a Sovereign's boasted seat, be it a statue or
a picture, or any implement or utensil bearing the traces of an
artist's thought and the imprint of an artist's finger--there is, I
say, little adequate consciousness that each of these works is a work
of art only on condition that, is a work of art exactly in proportion
as, it contains within itself the precious spark from the Promethean
rod, the divine fire-germ of living beauty; and that the presence of
this divine germ ennobles and lifts into one and the same family every
creation which reveals it; for even as the life-sustaining fire which
streams out in splendour from the sun's molten heart is one with the
fire which lurks for our uses in the grey and homely flint, so the
vital flame of beauty is one and the same, though kindled now to
higher and now to humbler purpose, whether it be manifest in the
creations of a Phidias or of a Michael Angelo, of an Ictinus or of
some nameless builder of a sublime cathedral; in a jewel designed by
Holbein or a lamp from Pompeii, a sword-hilt from Toledo, a caprice in
ivory from Japan or the enamelled frontlet of an Egyptian queen. We
say, further, that the absence of this perception is fraught with
infinite mischief, direct and indirect, to the development of art
among us, tending, as it does, to divorce from it whole classes of
industrial production, and incalculably narrowing the field of the
influence of beauty in our lives. And with the absence of this true
aesthetic instinct, we find not unnaturally the absence of any national
consciousness that the sense of what is beautiful, and the
manifestation of that sense through the language of art, adorn and
exalt a people in the face of the world and before the tribunal of
history; a national consciousness which should become a national
conscience--a sense, that is, of public duty and of a collective
responsibility in regard to this loveliest flower of civilisation.

Well, it is in the belief that the consciousness of which I have
spoken is rather dormant with us than absent, waiting to be aroused
rather than wholly wanting, that the founders of this Association have
initiated the movement which has brought you together, and laid upon
me the ungracious task to which I am now addressing myself--a task I
have accepted in the hope that, at least, some good to others may come
out of the wreck and ruin of any character for courtesy which may
hitherto have been conceded to me.

But let us now look closer into my indictment; and let us, first, for
a moment, and by way of getting at a standard, turn our thoughts to
one or two of those races among which art has reached its highest
level and round whose memory art has shed an inextinguishable
splendour. Let us first consider the Greek race in the day of its
greatest achievements and the most perfect balance of its transcendent
gifts. What is it that impresses us most in the contemplation of the
artistic activity of this race? It is, first, that the stirring
aesthetic instinct, the impulse towards and absolute need of beauty,
was universal with it, and lay, a living force, at the root of its
emotional being; and, secondly, that the Greeks were conscious of this
impulse as of a just source of pride and a sign of their supremacy
among the nations. So saturated were they with it that whatever left
their hands bore its stamp. Whatever of Greek work has been preserved
to us, temple or statue, vessel or implement, is marked with the same
attributes of stately and rhythmic beauty; in all their creations,
from the highest to the lowest, one spirit lives, and whatever be the
rank of each of these creations in the hierarchy of works of art, in
one thing they are even-born and kin--in the spirit of loveliness. And
of the dignity of this artistic instinct, which they regarded as their
birthright, they were, as I have said, proudly conscious. Would you
have an instance of this high consciousness? Here is one. At the end
of the first year of the Peloponnesian war the Athenians having,
according to ancestral custom, decreed a public funeral to those who
had fallen in battle, Pericles, the son of Xanthippus, was chosen by
them to speak the praises of the dead. It is a famous speech, that in
which he obeyed their injunction, and it opens with a lofty eulogy of
the Republic for which the heroes whom they mourned had fallen. In
this magnificent song of praise he enumerates the virtues of the
Athenians; he shows them heroic, wise, just, tolerant, _lovers of
beauty_, philosophers--in all things foremost amongst men. Mark this!
At a celebration of the most moving solemnity--in a breathing space
between two acts of a gigantic international struggle for
hegemony--you have here a great statesman enumerating the titles of
his fellow-citizens to headship among the nations, and placing not at
the end of his panegyric and as an oratorical embellishment, but in
its very heart and centre, these words: "We love the beautiful."

But we may gain, perhaps, a yet more vivid sense of the extent to
which the artistic impulse possessed and filled this people in the
fascinating epitome of Grecian handicraft which is presented to us in
Pompeii, or rather in the Museo Nazionale at Naples. Here you have the
work, not of Athenian Greeks, of the Periclean or of the Alexandrian
age, but the work of provincial Greeks inhabiting a watering-place of
no very great importance, in the first century of our era; a period as
far removed from the days of the Parthenon sculptures as we are from
the days of the Canterbury Tales. And what a display it is! How full
of interest! Here we are admitted into the most intimate privacy of a
multitude of Pompeian houses--the kitchens, the pantries, the cellars
of the contemporaries of the Plinies have here no secret for us;
indeed, for aught we know, more than one of those dinners of which
that delicate _bon vivant_, the nephew of the naturalist, was so
appreciative a judge may have been cooked in one of these very ranges,
one of these ladles may have skimmed his soup, his quails may have
been roasted on yonder spit. Nothing is wanting that goes to make the
complete armament of a kitchen--stoves, cauldrons, vessels of every
kind, lamps of every shape, forks, spoons, ladles of every dimension.
And in all this mass of manifold material perhaps the most marked
characteristic is not the high level of executive merit it reveals,
high as that level is, but the amazing wealth of _idea_, the
marvellous intellectual activity brought to bear on what we now call
objects of industrial art--whatever that may mean--in this outpost of
Greek civilisation. These accumulated appliances of the kitchen and
the pantry form a museum of art--a museum of art of inexhaustible
fascination; and not only does this vast collection of necessary
things contain nothing ugly, but it displays, as I have just said, an
amazing wealth of ideas; each bowl, each lamp, each spoon almost, is
an individual work of art, a separate and distinct conception, a
special birth of the joy of creation in a genuine artist. But, above
all, let us bear this fact in mind--_the absence there of any ugly
thing_; for the instinct of what is beautiful not only delights and
seeks to express itself in lovely work, but forbids and banishes
whatever is graceless and unsightly.

As next to the Greeks, and as almost their equals in this craving for
the beautiful, the Italians will occur to you. And here it may be well
to note, in a parenthesis, that a vivid sense of abstract beauty in
line and form does not necessarily carry with it a keen perception of
shapliness in the human frame. This curious fact we see strikingly
illustrated in a race which possesses the artistic instinct in certain
of its developments in a greater degree than any other in our time--I
mean the Japanese. With them the sense of decorative distribution and
of subtle loveliness of form and colour is absolutely universal, and
expresses itself in every most ordinary appliance of daily life,
overflowing, indeed, into every toy or trifle that may amuse an idle
moment; and yet majesty and beauty in the human form are as absent
from their works as from their persons. Be this said without prejudice
to the fact that in the movement imparted by them to the figures in
their designs there is often much of daintiness and dignity, the
outcome of that keen perception of beauty of line in the abstract
which we have seen to be dominant in them. I need not follow further
this, I think, interesting train of thought, but the digression seemed
to me useful, not as illustrating the fact that beauty is not to be
regarded only in connection with the human form, which is a mere
truism, but as showing that the abstract sense of it, in certain
aspects, may possess and penetrate a race in which the perception of
comeliness in the human body is almost entirely absent; and I meet by
it also, in anticipation, certain objections that may suggest
themselves to you in connection with the Italians, as far, at least,
as the Tuscans are concerned; for in them, too, we find occasionally,
side by side with an unsurpassed sense of the expressiveness of line
and form, a defective perception of beauty in the human
frame--witness the ungainly angularities, for instance, of a
Verrocchio, a Gozzoli, a Signorelli.

The thirst for the artistically delightful was the mark in Italy of no
particular class; it was common to all, high and low, to the Pontiff
on his throne, to the trader behind his counter, to the people in the
market-place. And here, again, observe that this desire was not alone
for the adornment of walls and public places with painting and
statuary--though every wall in every church or public building was, in
fact, enriched by the hand of painters and of sculptors--but it
embraced every humbler form of artistic expression, and was, indeed,
especially directed to one which has in our time touched, here and
there, a melancholy depth--the craft of the goldsmith. I said "humbler
form" of art for lack of a better word; for a craft cannot fitly be
called humble which has occupied and delighted men of the very highest
gifts. Did not the mind that conceived the "Perseus" of the Loggia dei
Lanzi pour out some of its richest fancies in a jewelled salt-cellar
for the table of a Pope? Did not the sublimest genius that ever shone
upon the world of art receive its first guidance in the workshop of a
jeweller--a jeweller who was himself a painter also of high renown?
For was it not that painter-goldsmith whose hands adorned with noble
frescoes the famous choir of Sta. Maria Novella?

Now, to a cultured audience such as that which I am here addressing,
these facts are familiar and trite, so trite and so familiar that it
may, perhaps, be doubted whether their true significance has ever
stood quite clearly before your minds, and whether you have fully
grasped the solidarity of the arts--if I may use an outlandish
expression--which at one time prevailed. Let us in imagination
transfer the last quoted fact into contemporary life. Let us suppose
that the municipality of a great English city, proud of its annals and
of its culture, determined to decorate with paintings in some
comprehensive manner the walls of a great public building; and
suppose, further, that an artist, admittedly of the first rank, were
to answer to its call from the workshop--and I say advisedly from the
workshop, for it is there, and not on an armchair in the office, that
the head of the house would have been found in the old day--suppose, I
say, that such an artist came forth from some great firm of
jewellers, in Bond Street for instance, we should have, on the
artistic side, the exact parallel of the case of the Dominicans of
Sta. Maria Nuova and Domenico, the son of Thomas the garland-maker of
Florence. Meanwhile, striking as is this instance of the unity of art
in long past days, it is but just to add, and I rejoice to be able
here to do so, that signs are not wanting on the side of our own
artists of a strong tendency towards a return to closer bonds between
its various branches, in which direction, indeed, a movement has been
for some years increasingly marked and practical; and it is with a
glad outlook into the future, and with a sense of breathing a wider
air, that I place by the side of the cases which I have just
mentioned--cases which were, in their time, of natural and frequent
occurrence--one which is of yesterday. The chief magistrate of an
important provincial centre of English industry, the Mayor of Preston,
wears at this time a chain of office which is a beautiful work of art,
and this chain was not only designed but wrought throughout by the
sculptor who modelled the stately commemorative statue of the Queen
that adorns the County Square of Winchester, the artist who presides
over the section of sculpture in this Congress, my young friend and
colleague, Mr. Alfred Gilbert.

I have pointed to the Italians and the Greeks as culminating instances
of people filled with a love of beauty and achieving the highest
excellence in its embodiment, and I have named the Japanese as
manifesting the aesthetic temper in a high degree of sensitiveness, but
within certain limitations. It is not necessary to remind you that I
might extend this list, if with some qualification, and that the same
lesson--the lesson that the nations which love beauty seek it in the
humblest as well as the highest things--is taught us by others than
those I have mentioned. Whosoever, for instance, has wondered at the
work of Persian looms, or felt the fascination of the manuscripts
illuminated by the artists of Iran, or noted the unfailing grace of
subtle line revealed in their metal-work, will feel that for this race
also the merit of a work of art did not reside in its category, but in
the degree to which it manifested the spirit which alone could ennoble
it, the spirit of beauty. And if, further, this dominant instinct of
the beautiful is not in our own time found in any Western race in its
fullest force, and among one Eastern people, with, as we saw,
important limitations, there is yet one modern nation in our own
hemisphere in which the thirst for artistic excellence is widespread
to a degree unknown elsewhere in Europe; a people with whom the sense
of the dignity of artistic achievement, as an element of national
greatness, an element which it is the duty of its Government to foster
and to further, and to proclaim before the world, is keen and
constant; I mean, of course, your brilliant neighbours, the people of
France. Here, then, are standards to which we may appeal to see how
far, all allowance being made for many signs of improvement in things
concerning art, we yet fall short, as a nation, of the ideal which we
should have before us.

Let me now revert to my indictment. I said that the sense of abstract
beauty with the mass of our countrymen--and once again I must be
understood not to ignore, but only to leave out of view for the
moment, the considerable and growing number of those in whom this
sense is astir and active--with the mass, I repeat, of our countrymen,
the perception of beauty is blunt, and the desire for it sluggish and
superficial; with them the beautiful is, indeed, sometimes a source of
vague, half-conscious satisfaction, especially when it appeals to them
conjointly with other incitements to emotion, but their perception of
it is passive, and does not pass into active desire; it accepts, it
does not demand; it is uncertain of itself, for it lacks definiteness
of intuition, and having no definite intuition, it is necessarily
uncritical. This weakness, among the many, of the critical faculty in
aesthetic matters, and the curious bluntness of their perceptions, is
seen not in connection with the plastic arts only, but over the whole
artistic field, in the domains of music and the drama, as in that of
painting and sculpture. Who, for instance, where a body of English men
and women has been gathered together in a concert room, has not, at
one moment, heard a storm of applause go up to meet some matchless
executant of noble music, and then, five minutes later, watched in
wonder and dismay the same crepitation of eager hands proclaiming an
equal satisfaction with the efforts of some feeblest servant of
Apollo? Or have you not often, in your theatres, blushed to see the
lowest buffoonery received with exuberant delight by an audience--and
a cultivated audience--which had just before not seemed insensible to
some fine piece of histrionic art? And what could proclaim the lack of
true, spontaneous instinct in more startling fashion than the
notorious fact that the most thrilling touch of pathos in the
performance of an actor reputed to be comic will be infallibly
received with a titter by a British audience, which has paid to laugh
and come to the play focussed for the funny?

Now this little glimpse into the attitude of the public in regard to
other arts than ours has its bearing upon our present subject. This
same feebleness of the critical sense which arises out of the
indefiniteness--to say the best of it--of the inner standard of
artistic excellence, is not unnaturally accompanied by and fosters an
apathy in regard to that excellence, and an attitude of callous
acquiescence in the unsightly, which are inexpressibly mischievous;
for you cannot too strongly print this on your minds, that what you
demand that will you get, and according to what you accept will be
that which is provided for you. Let an atmosphere be generated among
you in which the appetite for what is beautiful and noble is whetted
and becomes imperative, in which whatever is ugly and vulgar shall be
repugnant and hateful to the beholder, and assuredly what is beautiful
and noble will, in due time, be furnished to you, and in steadily
increasing excellence, satisfying your taste, and at the same time
further purifying it and heightening its sensitiveness.

The enemy, then, is this indifference in the presence of the ugly; it
is only by the victory over this apathy that you can rise to better
things, it is only by the rooting out and extermination of what is
ugly that you can bring about conditions in which beauty shall be a
power among you. Now, this callous tolerance of the unsightly,
although it is, I am grateful to think, yielding by degrees to a
healthier feeling, is still strangely prevalent and widespread among
us, and its deadening influence is seen in the too frequent absence of
any articulate protest of public opinion against the disfigurement of
our towns.

Let me give you an instance of this indifference. Our country is happy
in possessing a collection of paintings by the old masters of
exceptional interest and splendour, a collection which, thanks to the
taste and highly trained discernment of its present accomplished
head, Sir Frederick Burton, is, with what speed the short-sighted
policy of successive Governments permits, rising steadily to a
foremost place among the famous galleries in the world. Some years
ago, the building destined to receive it being found no longer
adequate, it became necessary to provide, by some means, ampler space
for the display of the national treasure. It was resolved that another
edifice should take the place of that designed by Wilkins, an edifice
which, be it said in passing, has been made the butt of curiously
unmerited ridicule in the world of connoisseurship, and which, apart
from certain very obvious blemishes, it has always seemed to me to be
much easier to deride than to better. A competition was opened, and
designs were demanded for a spacious building, equal to present and
future needs, and worthy of the magnificence of the collection it was
to house. It is hardly necessary to say that we have here no concern
whatever with the controversy which arose over these designs. My
concern is with its final outcome, which is this: the original
building has remained unaltered as to its exterior; but on the rear of
one of its flanks loom now into view, first, an appendage in an
entirely different style of architecture, and further on, an
excrescence of no style of architecture at all; the one an Italian
tower, the other a flat cone of glass, surmounted by a ventilator--a
structure of the warehouse type--the whole resulting in a jarring
jumble and an aspect of chaotic incongruity which would be ludicrous
if it were not distressing; and we enjoy, further, this instructive
phenomenon that a public opinion which sensitively shrank from the
blemishes of the original edifice has accepted its retention, with all
those blemishes unmodified, _plus_ an appendage which adds to the
whole the worst almost of all sins architectural--a lack of unity of
conception. Now, I have never to my knowledge heard one single word of
articulate public reprobation levelled at this now irremediable blot
on what we complacently call the finest site in the world; and yet I
cannot find it in me to believe that many have not, like myself,
groaned in spirit before a spectacle so deplorable--a spectacle which,
indeed, is only conceivable within these islands. I think that a good
deal is summed up in this episode, and I need not, for my present
purpose, seek another in the domain of architecture.

In regard to sculpture, the public apathy and blindness are yet more
depressing and complete, and illustrate the deadness of the many to
the perception of the essential qualities of art. To the overwhelming
majority of Englishmen sculpture means simply the perpetuation of the
form of Mr. So-and-So in marble, bronze, or terra-cotta--this, and no
more. That marble, bronze, or terra-cotta may, under cunning hands,
become vehicles, for those who have eyes to see, of emotions, aesthetic
and poetic, not less lofty than those which are stirred in us by the
verse of a Dante or a Milton, or by strains of noblest music, of this
the consciousness is for practical purposes non-existent. For
sculpture, for an art through which alone the name of Greece would
have been famous for all time, there is, outside portraiture, even
now, under conditions admittedly improved, little or no field in this
country. Portrait-statues galore bristle, indeed, within our streets;
but the notion of setting up in public places pieces of monumental
sculpture solely for adornment and dignity, or of monuments that shall
remind us of deeds in which our country or our town has earned fame
and deserved gratitude, and incite the young to emulation of those
deeds, or that shall be the allegorised expression of any great
idea--and yet our race has had great ideas, and clothed them in deeds
as great--hardly ever, it would seem, enters the heads of a people
whose aspirations are surely not less noble or less high than those of
other nations. Nay, even a monument commemorative of the great public
services of some individual man which shall be a monument _to_ him
rather than exclusively an image _of_ him, a monument of which his
effigy shall form a part, but of which the main feature shall be the
embodiment or illustration, in forms of art, of the virtues that have
earned for him the homage of his countrymen--even this is suggested in
vain.

And if we are tolerant of treason against fitness in architecture,
what shall we say of our tolerance in regard to its sculptural
adornments? What shall we say of the complacent acceptance, above and
about windows and doorways in clubs, offices, barracks, and the like
buildings, of carven wonders such as no other civilised community
would accept in silence? Though I fear I must here, with all
deference, add that my brethren, the architects, who suffer their
work to be so defaced, are themselves not wholly blameless; and
indeed, it is a truth in the assertion of which the most enlightened
workmen in every branch of art will stand by me, that among ourselves
also the sense of the kinship of the arts is too often a mere theory,
received, no doubt, with respect as an abstract proposition, but not
perceptibly colouring our practical activity.

In sculpture the inertness of demand and tolerance of inferior supply
is due mainly to the want, to which I have alluded, of a sense of and
a joy in the purely aesthetic quality in artistic production, an
insensibility to the power inherent in form, by its own virtue, of
producing the emotion and exciting the imagination, a power on which
the dignity of this pure and severe art does or should mainly rest.

In the appreciation of painting, which on various grounds appeals as
an art to a far wider public than either architecture or sculpture,
the same shortcomings are evident, though in a less degree, and with
less mischievous results; for the witchery of colour, at least, is
felt and appreciated, more or less consciously, by a very large number
of people. The inadequacy of the general standard of artistic insight
is here seen in the fact that to a great multitude of persons the
attractiveness of a painted canvas is in proportion to the amount of
literary element which it carries, not in proportion to the degree of
aesthetic emotion stirred by it, or of appeal to the imagination
contained in it--persons, those, who regard a picture as a compound of
anecdote and mechanism, and with whom looking at it would seem to mean
only another form of reading. Time after time, in listening to the
description--the enthusiastic description--of a picture, we become
aware that the points emphasised by the speaker are such as did not
specially call for treatment in art at all, were often not fitted for
expression through form or colour, their natural vehicle being not
paint but ink, which is the proper and appointed conveyor of abstract
thoughts and concrete narrative. I have heard pictures extolled as
works of genius simply because they expressed, not because they nobly
clothed in forms of art, ideas not beyond the reach of the average
penny-a-liner.

Now I know that in what I am here saying I skirt the burning ground
of controversy long and hotly waged--skirt it only, for that
controversy touches but the borders of my subject, and I shall of
course not pursue it here. I will, nevertheless, to avoid
misrepresentation in either sense, state, as briefly as I can, one or
two definite principles on which it appears to me safe to stand. It is
given to form and to colour to elicit in men powerful and exquisite
emotions, emotions covering a very wide range of sensibility, and to
which they alone have the key. The chords within us which vibrate to
these emotions are the instrument on which art plays, and a work of
art deserves that name, as I have said, in proportion as, and in the
extent to which, it sets those chords in motion. The power and
solemnity of a simple appeal of form as such is seen in a noble
building of imposing mass and stately outlines. When, however, form in
arts is connected with the human frame, and when combinations of human
forms are among the materials with which a beautiful design is built
up, then another element is added to the sum of our sensations--an
element due to the absorbing interest of man in all that belongs to
his kind; and the emotion primarily produced by the force of a purely
aesthetic appeal is enhanced and heightened by elements of a more
intimate and universal order, one more nearly touching our affections,
but not, therefore, necessarily of a higher order. Thus the episode,
for instance, of Paolo and Francesca, clothed in the rare, grave
melody of Dante's verse, entrances us with its pathos; but our
emotion, intensely human as it is, is not therefore of a higher kind
than that which holds us as we listen to sounds sublimely woven by
some great musician; nor are the impressions received in watching from
the floor of some great Christian church the gathering of the gloom
within a dome's receding curves of less noble order than those aroused
by a supreme work of sculpture or a painting--by, say, the "Notte" of
Michael Angelo or the "Monna Lisa" of Lionardo; and yet in both of
these last the chord of human sympathy is strongly swept, though in
different ways--in the "Notte" by the poetic and pathetic
suggestiveness of certain forms and movements of the human body; in
the "Monna Lisa" by a more definitely personal charm and feminine
sorcery which haunts about her shadowy eyes, and the subtle curling of
her mysterious lips.

I say, then, that in a work of art the elements of emotion based on
human sympathies are not of a loftier order than those arising out of
abstract sublimity or loveliness of form, but that the presence of
these elements in such a work, while not raising it as an artistic
creation, does impart to it an added power of appeal, and that,
therefore, a work in which these elements are combined will be with
the great majority of mankind a more potent engine of delight than one
which should rest exclusively on abstract qualities. And it follows,
therefore, that while a work of art earns its title to that name on
condition only, once again I say, of the purely aesthetic element being
present in it, and will rank as such in exact proportion to the degree
in which this element prevails in it; and while, further, this
element, carrying with it, as it does, imaginative suggestiveness of
the highest order and of the widest scope, is all-sufficient in those
branches of art in which the human form plays no part, the element
which is inseparable in a work of art from the introduction of human
beings is one which it is not possible for us to ignore in our
appreciation of that work as a source and vehicle of emotion.

Every attempt at succinct exposition of a complex question risks being
unsatisfactory and obscure, and I am painfully alive to the inadequacy
of what I have just said. I trust, however, that I have conveyed my
meaning, if roughly, yet sufficiently to shield me from misconception
in regard to the special emphasis I am laying on the importance of a
proper estimation of the essentially aesthetic quality in a work of
art, an importance which I urge upon you, not so much here on account
of the effect its absence may have exercised on the development of
painting, as on account of the significant fact that its want--the
lack of a perception that certain qualities are the very essence of
art, and link into one great family every work of the hands of men in
which they are found--has led with us to a disastrous divorce between
what is considered as art proper and the arts which are called
industrial. I say advisedly "disastrous," for the lowering among us in
the present day of the status of forms of art, in the service of which
such men as Albert Duerer, for example, and Holbein (men, by-the-by, of
kindred blood with ourselves), Cellini and Lionardo, were glad to
labour and create--and that not as a concession, but in the joyful
exercise of their fullest powers--is one of its results, and carrying
with it, as is natural, a lowering of standard in these arts, has
generated the marvellous notion, not expressed in words, but too
largely acted on, that art in any serious sense is not to be looked
for at all in certain places--where, in truth, alas! neither is it
often found--and led to the holding aloof to a great extent, until
comparatively recent years, of much of the best talent from very
delightful forms of artistic creation; and this notion has led further
to the virtual banishment from certain provinces of designing of the
human figure, or where it is not banished, to its defacement, too
often, in the hands of the untrained or the inept.

We are to a wonderful degree creatures of habit, our thoughts are
prone to run--or shall I say rather to stagnate?--within grooves; and
if we are a people of many and great endowments, a swift and free play
of thought is, as we have been forcibly told by a voice that we shall
hear no more, and can ill miss, not a distinguishing feature among us.
Is it not an amazing thing, for example, that human shapes, which in
clay or plaster would be ignominiously excluded from a second-rate
exhibition, are not only accepted, but displayed with a chuckle of
elated pride, when cast in the precious metals, flanked, say by a
palm-tree, borne aloft on a rock, and presented in the guise of a
piece of ornamental plate? But is this even rare? Is it not of
constant occurrence? Do you demur? Well, let me ask you a plain
question: Of all the nymphs and goddesses, the satyrs, and the
tritons, that disport themselves on the ceremonial goldsmithery of the
United Kingdom, how many if cast in vulgar plaster, and not in
glittering gold, would pass muster before the jury of an average
exhibition? And if few, I ask why is this so? In the name of
Cellini--nay, in the name of common sense, why? And is it on account
of the low ebb of figure modelling for decorative purposes that on our
carved furniture--what we mysteriously describe as "art
furniture"--the human form is hardly ever seen? Then why is the best
talent not enlisted in this work? Certain it is that the absence of
living forms imparts to much of the furniture now made in England,
unsurpassed as it is in regard to delicacy and finish of handiwork,
and frequently elegant in design, a certain look of slightness and
flimsy, faddy dilettantism which prevent it from taking that rank in
the province of applied art in which it might and should aspire.

But I have, I fear, already unduly drawn upon your patience, and I
must bring to a close these too disjointed prefatory words, leaving it
to the accomplished gentlemen who head the various sections of this
Congress to amplify and enrich as they will out of the wide fund of
their knowledge and experience the bald outline I have sketched before
you. They, in their turn, taking up, no doubt, our common parable,
will emphasise and press on you the fact that by cultivating its
aesthetic sense in a more comprehensive and harmoniously consistent
spirit than hitherto, and with a clearer vision of the nature of all
art and a more catholic receptiveness as to its charms, and by
stimulating in a right direction the abundant productive energy which
lies to its hand, this nation will not only be adding infinitely to
the adornment and dignity of its public and private life, not only
providing for itself an increasing and manifold source of delight and
renovating repose, mental and spiritual, in a day in which such
resting and regenerating elements are more and more called for by our
jaded nervous systems, and more and more needed for our intellectual
equilibrium, but will be dealing with a subject which is every day
becoming more and more important in relation to certain sides of the
waning material prosperity of the country. For, as they will no doubt
remind you, the industrial competition between this and other
countries--a competition, keen and eager, which means to certain
industries almost a race for life--runs, in many cases, no longer
exclusively or mainly on the lines of excellence of material and
solidity of workmanship, but greatly nowadays on the lines of artistic
charm and beauty of design. This, to you, vital fact is one which they
will, I am convinced, not suffer to fall into the background.

One last word in anticipation of certain objections not unlikely to be
raised against an assumption which may seem to be implied in the
existence of our Association--the assumption that the evils and
shortcomings of which I have spoken with such unsparing frankness can
be removed or remedied by the gathering together of a number of
persons to listen to a series of addresses. The causes of these evils,
we may be told, and their antidote, are not on the surface of things,
but rest on conditions of a complex character, and are fundamental.
"Who," I hear some one say, "is this dreamer of dreams, who hopes to
cure by talking such deep-seated evils? Who is this shallow and
unphilosophical thinker who does not see that the same primary
conditions are operative in making the purchaser indifferent what he
gets and the supplier indifferent to what he produces, and who
attributes the circumstance that good work is not generally produced
in certain forms of industry to the lack of demand, rather than to the
deeper-lying fact that suppliers and demanders are of the same stock,
having the same congenital failings; and satisfied with the same
standards?" My answer to this imaginary, or I ought, perhaps, to say
this foreseen objector would be, first, this--that I am not the
visionary for whom he takes me, and that I do not believe in the
efficacy of words either directly to remedy the state of things I have
been deploring, or to create a love of art and a delicate
sensitiveness to its charms in those to whom the responsive chords
have been refused; neither is the eloquence, trumpet-toned and
triumphant, conceivable by me before which the walls of the Jericho of
the Philistine shall crumble in abrupt ruin to the ground; least of
all do I believe in sudden developments of the human intellect. But it
has nevertheless seemed to me, as it has seemed to the framers of this
Association, that words, if they be judicious and sincere, may rally
and strengthen and prompt to action instincts and impulses which only
await a signal to assert themselves--instincts, sometimes, perhaps,
not fully conscious of themselves--and that a favouring temperature
may be thus created within which, by the operation of natural laws, in
due time, but by no stroke of the wand, a new and better order may
arise. Neither, indeed, do I ignore the force of my critic's
contention that the causes of mischief lie deep, and are not to be
touched by surface-tinkering, if they are to be removed at all;
although I demur to his pessimistic estimate of them as a final bar to
our hopes. It is true that certain specific attributes are, or seem to
be, feeble in our race; it is true, too true--I have it on the
repeated assurance of apologetic vendors--that with us the ugliest
objects--often, oh! how ugly--have the largest market; nevertheless,
the amount of good artistic production in connection with industry--I
purposely speak of this first--has grown within the last score or so
of years, and through the initiative, mind, of a mere handful of
enthusiastic and highly gifted men in an extraordinary degree; and in
a proportionate degree has the number increased, also, of those who
accept and desire it; and this growth has been steady and organic, and
is of the best augury. Now, the increase in the number of those who
desire good work, and the concurrent development of their critical
sensitiveness in matters of taste, stimulate, in their turn, the
energies, and sustain the upward efforts, of the producers, and thus,
through action and reaction, a condition of things should be slowly
but surely evolved which shall more nearly approach that general level
of artistic culture and artistic production so anxiously looked for by
us all. It is in the hastening of this desired result that we invoke,
not your sympathy alone, but your patient, strenuous aid. And if I am
further asked how, in my view, this association can best contribute to
the furtherance of our common end, I would say, not merely by seeking
to fan and kindle a more general interest in the things of art, but
mainly by seeking to awaken a clearer perception of the true _essence_
of a work of art, by insisting on the fundamental identity of all
manifestations of the artistic creative impulse through whatever
channels it may express itself, and by setting forth and establishing
this pregnant truth--that whatever degrees of dignity and rank may
exist in the scale of artistic productions, according to the order of
emotion to which they minister in us, they are in one kind; for the
various and many channels through which beauty is made manifest to us
in art are but the numerous several stops of one and the same divine
instrument.

And if in what I have said I have laid especial stress on that branch
of art which is called industrial, it is not solely to develop this
cardinal doctrine, neither only because of the pressing, practical,
paramount national importance of this part of our subject, but also
because I, in truth, believe that it is in a great measure through
these very forms of art that the improvement, to which I look with a
steadfast faith, will be mainly operated. The almost unlimited area
which they cover in itself constitutes them an engine of immense
power, and I believe that through them, if at all, the sense of beauty
and the love for it will be stimulated in, and communicated to,
constantly increasing numbers. I believe that the day may come when
public opinion, thus slowly but definitely moulded, will make itself
loudly heard; when men will insist that what they do for the gracing
and adornment of their homes shall be done also for the public
buildings and thoroughfares of their cities; when they will remind
their municipal representatives and the controllers of their guilds of
what similar bodies of men did for the cities of Italy in the days of
their proud prosperity in trade, and will ask why the walls of our
public edifices are blank and silent, instead of being adorned and
made delightful with things beautiful to see, or eloquent of whatever
great deeds or good work enrich and honour the annals of the places of
our birth. And lastly, I believe that an art desired by the whole
people and fostered by the whole people's desire would reflect--for
such art must be sincere--some of the best qualities of our race; its
love of Nature, its imaginative force, its healthfulness, its strong
simplicity.

And now, ladies and gentlemen, my task is ended. My duties to-night
were purely prefatory; my words are but the prologue of the
proceedings which begin to-morrow--a prologue which I undertook to
speak less from any faith in its possible efficacy than in the belief
that the first word spoken at such a time should be heard from the
lips of one to whom, from the nature of the office he is privileged to
fill, as well as from the whole bent of his mind, everything that
concerns art, from end to end of its enchanting field, must be, and
is, a source of deep, of constant, and engrossing interest. The
curtain is now raised, the stage is spread before you, and I step
aside to make room for others, leaving with you the expression of my
fervent wish that the hopes which have brought us together in this
place may not have been entertained in vain.




LORD LEIGHTON'S HOUSE

AND WHAT IT CONTAINS[89]


PREFACE TO CATALOGUE

Two miles and a quarter from Hyde Park Corner, removed but a few steps
from the main thoroughfare between London and Hammersmith, and running
parallel to it, is Holland Park Road, facing which stands Lord
Leighton's House. "I live in a mews," he used to say. This meant more
than a figure of speech merely, though the "mews" in question is very
different from a London street mews. Low, odd-shaped, irregular
buildings, formerly stables (a few are still used as such), were in
Lord Leighton's life converted into studios by artists who wished to
cluster around the President of the Royal Academy. These stand in old
gardens and are studded at intervals along the road, bordered by trees
branching across it, and taking away all idea of its being a London
street. Screened by a hedge of closely-cut lime-trees, the Leighton
House stands back but a few yards from the pavement. Through a porch
and a small outer hall the House is entered. Monsieur Choisy, the
distinguished French architect, in his letter to the _Times_ of April
the 27th, 1896, written with the view of trying to induce the English
nation to rise to the value of preserving this House as a national
treasure, writes as follows:--

"Allow me also to point out the original beauty of the house where so
many masterpieces are grouped. The French public have been enabled to
admire this house through the excellent article of my friend and
fellow-member of the R.I.B.A., Mr. Charles Lucas.

"Nowhere have I found in an architectural monument a happier gradation
of effects nor a more complete knowledge of the play of light.

"The entrance to the house is by a plain hall that leads to a 'patio,'
lit from the sky, where enamels shine brilliantly in the full light;
from this 'patio' one passes into a twilight corridor, where enamel
and gold detach themselves from an architectural ground of a richness
somewhat severe; it is a transition which prepares the eye for a jewel
of Oriental art, where the most brilliant productions of the Persian
potter are set in an architectural frame inspired by Arab art, but
treated freely; the harmony is so perfect that one asks oneself if the
architecture has been conceived for the enamels or the enamels for the
hall. This gradation, perhaps unique in contemporary architecture, was
Leighton's idea; and the illustrious painter found in his old friend
Mr. G. Aitchison, who built his house, a worthy interpreter of his
fine conception. This hall where colour is triumphant, was dear to
Leighton, and even forms the background to some of his pictures.
Towards the end of his life he still meant to embellish it by
substituting marble for that small part that was only painted. The
generous employment of his fortune alone prevented him from realising
his intention.

"England has at all times given the example of honouring great men;
she will, I am sure, find the means of preserving for art a monument
of which she had such reason to be proud."

As is now well known, Lord Leighton's executrixes, his two sisters,
have assigned the lease of the property, which has sixty-six years yet
to run, to three gentlemen who are members of the committee formed to
preserve it for the use and education of the public, in memory of Lord
Leighton, and the committee are now tenants at will of the
proprietors. Works by Lord Leighton have been collected and placed in
the studios and other rooms of the House. A large collection of his
drawings and sketches and a few finished paintings have been secured
through the generosity of his sisters, Mrs. Sutherland Orr, Mrs.
Matthews, and his personal friends, the list of these being headed by
the Prince of Wales. This collection of original works numbers 1114,
594 being now framed and hung on the walls. The collection also
contains 28 proof engravings from Lord Leighton's principal pictures,
presented by those who own the copyrights, _i.e._ Mrs. James Watney
(who has also given an original drawing), the Fine Arts Society, the
Berlin Photographic Company, Messrs. Agnew, Graves, Colnaghi, and
Tooth. There are also 112 photographic reproductions by Mr. F. Hollyer
and Messrs. Dixon, these, with a few exceptions, having been taken for
Lord Leighton in his studio. The greater number of these photographs
were given to the House by Mr. Wilfred Meynell, Mr. F. Hollyer, and
Messrs. Dixon; the remainder by Lord Davey, Sir Henry Acland, Mr. A.
Henderson, Mr. Philipson, Mr. A.G. Temple, and Mr. George Smith. The
reproductions of completed pictures have been hung on the walls
together with the sketches executed for them, in order that the
student may realise how Leighton developed the designs he made into
finished pictures. When funds permit, the 520 remaining drawings and
sketches will be framed, and it is the desire of the committee that,
though the Leighton House should always remain the chief centre of the
collections, groups of sketches should be lent to exhibitors in the
provinces and in the poorer parts of London. In the middle of the
centre hall is now placed a reproduction presented by Mr. Brock, R.A.,
of the bust of Lord Leighton, executed by his sculptor friend--that
perfect likeness in bronze of the President placed among the Diploma
works in Burlington House. Surrounding this reproduction and lining
the walls and staircase are plaques of Oriental designs, pictures in
enamel, framed in by a background of Mr. William De Morgan's beautiful
blue tiles.[90] The same treatment is continued through the "twilight
corridor" leading to the great casket of treasures known as the Arab
Hall. In the summer of 1899 the Society of the Library Association was
received at the Leighton House, and at the meeting which preceded the
conversazione, Lord Crawford, President of the Association, ended the
speech he made on the merits and rare gifts of his friend, Lord
Leighton, by a reference to the unique value of this casket of
treasures. "We often," he said, "see Persian tiles in England. They
are chiefly made in England, but they are bought in Persia! A genuine
Persian tile is a very rare thing. When you meet it, cherish it!" In
this Arab Hall hundreds of these "rare" things are collected, each
individually of a quality of uncommon beauty and almost priceless,
owing to the fact that large spaces on the walls are filled with these
gorgeous tiles, fitted together as originally designed and intended by
the Persian artists who invented them. Travellers who went to the East
when there was still a chance of buying genuine Persian tiles know how
it came about that these could sometimes be procured. The owners of
the houses on the walls of which they were placed would become
impoverished and were easily induced to sell a single tile to a
traveller as a specimen. When the money paid for it was spent and more
was wanted, if a second traveller came by another single tile was
sold. The first purchaser might have been an Englishman, the second a
Frenchman, the third a German, and so on. In this way the several
tiles making one design got hopelessly dispersed. Lord Leighton, aided
by his friend, Sir C. Purdon Clarke, the Director of the Art Museum,
South Kensington, was extraordinarily lucky in obtaining large plaques
of tiles intact. "During his visits to Rhodes, to Cairo, and to
Damascus," writes Mr. George Aitchison, R.A., "he made a lovely
collection of Saracenic tiles, and had, besides, bought two
inscriptions, one of the most delicate colour and beautiful design,
and the other about sixteen feet long and strikingly magnificent;
besides getting some panels, stained glass, and lattice-work from
Damascus afterwards; these were fitted into an Arab Hall in 1877." The
enamelled tiles made the keynote of this beautiful creation, the Arab
Hall, which, to repeat Mr. Choisy's words, forms a harmony "so perfect
that one asks oneself if the architecture has been conceived for the
enamels or the enamels for the Hall." Round three sides (the fourth
being filled by the large inscription) runs a frieze in mosaics, the
designs of which are among the most beautiful of those invented by our
great English decorator, Walter Crane. Sir C. Purdon Clarke has
designated this creation of Lord Leighton's, in which he was so ably
assisted by his friend, Mr. George Aitchison, R.A., President of the
Royal Society of British Architects, and in which is to be traced that
generous delight which Leighton took in all that was good in the art
of his contemporaries, as "the most beautiful structure which has been
raised since the sixteenth century." It would, alone, make the
preservation of the House as an effective medium for education in the
beautiful a necessity to any truly art-loving people.

To turn to the collection of Leighton's own paintings, the most
complete work secured is the "Clytemnestra from the battlements of
Argos watches for the beacon fires that are to announce the return of
Agamemnon" (No. 212).

Mr. G.F. Watts, R.A., writes: "I am more pleased than I can say that
the picture is possible. It is very fine, a grand pictorial
realisation of Greek sculpture and Greek poetry, very noble in form
and expression, and singularly fine in the arrangement of drapery.
Certainly a better example of Leighton at his happiest could not, I
think, be found. It is also _especially_ Leighton."

Mr. Watts has himself presented a finished painting by Leighton--a
half-length figure of a man, which is an exquisite piece of work and
given to Mr. Watts many years ago by the artist. When presenting it to
the House Mr. Watts wrote that it was one of his possessions which he
prized the most. Though the collection in Lord Leighton's House is
mainly formed of his drawings, the few finished paintings and the
several oil sketches of landscape belonging to it are sufficient to
show how exquisite was his native sense of colour. The colour in
"Clytemnestra" (No. 212) is both true to nature as a presentiment of
the moonlight effect and to the dramatic feeling of the subject. The
study (No. 110), for one of the heads in "Summer Moon" (No. 272),
presented by Mr. Alfred Waterhouse, R.A., and executed actually by the
light of the moon in Rome, is notably fine in texture and gives us the
origin of that curiously happy note of colour in "Clytemnestra"--the
bar of dull red cooled by moonlight. The model wore a scarlet ribbon,
or might be, a row of coral beads round her neck while sitting to
Leighton for the study, and this evidently gave him what he wanted,
and suggested, when he was painting the "Clytemnestra" two years
later, the contrast to the greys and blues in the red bar in this
picture. Mr. A.G. Temple in his valuable work, "The Art of Painting in
the Queen's Reign," alludes to this effect: "A picture _low in key_,
but curiously strengthened by the massive bar of dark red that runs
from the bottom to the top of the picture." Very fine colour and
texture is seen in the sketch for a design of "St. George and the
Dragon" made for some arched space (No. 115), and also in the small
oil sketch for "Golden Hours" (No. 5-A), the study for the background
of the picture "David" (No. 111), "A pool, Findhorn River" (No. 120),
"Rocks in the Findhorn" (No. 123a), "Kynance Cove" (No. 125), "A View
in Spain" (No. 122), "Simaetha, the Sorceress" (No. 124), "Bay of
Naples by Moonlight" (No. 112), are rapid though eminently careful
sketches which prove, perhaps even more convincingly than
highly-finished works, that in the very grain of his native art
instinct was Leighton's delight in beauty of colour. In the sketch
(No. 109), "The Entrance of a House," is one of many examples among
his paintings which show what a master he was in the art of painting
white; really true white, such as we see in marble and whitewashed
walls in Greece, Sicily, and Italy. Surely no artist has ever painted
more truly or poetically the quality of Southern light as it falls on
white walls and columns. "Lieder ohne Worte" is one of several
examples of a successful treatment of white marble as a background
painted as Leighton could paint it.

It is indeed to be hoped that Leighton's friends who possess any of
those oil paintings of landscape, sea, and architecture which lined
the walls of the great studio during his life may help in aiding to
make his gifts as a colourist more adequately represented in this
permanent collection. The above-named works are, one and all, good
specimens for the purpose. Whatever key of colour was struck, each of
these studies from nature is a faithful and beautiful record of a
scene in some lovely part of the world; whether the scene was fair and
bathed in southern sunlight, or glowing in rich depths of shadow as in
the paintings of the golden-lined interior of St. Mark's, Venice,
further enriched by the scintillating texture of mosaic surface.

Leighton's early education, however, especially when he was in
Germany, tended more to the development of his gifts as a draughtsman
than to his gifts as a colourist; still it is evident that as soon as
he began working independently of any master, his love of colour at
once asserted itself. At the age of twenty-five his first picture,
"The Cimabue Procession" (No. 42), was exhibited at the Royal Academy
and purchased by the Queen. Mr. Ruskin criticised it at the time as
the work of a _colourist_. "This is a very important and very
beautiful picture," he writes. "It has both sincerity and grace, and
is painted on the purest principles of Venetian art.... The great
secret of the Venetians was their simplicity. They were great
colourists." (See Catalogue for full quotation.) A lengthy description
of Leighton's complete pictures would not find an appropriate place in
this preface. Those who had the good fortune to see the wonderful
collection of his works in 1897 will hardly need to be reminded of the
rich and glowing feast of colour enjoyed before such pictures as
"Helios and Rhodos," painted 1869 (studies in Collections No. 218),
nor the depth and beauty in "Weaving the Wreath"(No. 144), "Antique
Juggling Girl" (No. 359), "Moorish Garden: a Dream of Granada" (No.
280), not to mention the splendour and harmony in many of the larger
and more intricate compositions. No less beautiful, it will be
remembered, was the colouring of pictures in which the scheme was
light and fair rather than rich and glowing. In "Winding the Skein"
(No. 198), for instance, there is a feeling of morning freshness in
its lovely sea and mountain background and white-marble terrace
foreground. Though cool and pale the picture is full of colour. Again,
in the slightly-turning figure of Psyche, now in the Tate Gallery (No.
59), the exquisite, pearly fairness of flesh tint must ever make this
picture a standard of colour as well as of modelling. In its own line
it is an achievement in painting that has surely never been surpassed.
Almost equally beautiful is the passage in "Venus Disrobing for the
Bath" (No. 151), where the line of the figure comes against the sea
background. Leighton's native genius might perhaps be most truly
described as one allied closely to, and echoing, that of the Greeks in
Art, though trained, during a few important years of study, in
Germany. The work of his great contemporaries, Rossetti, Millais, and
Burne-Jones, might be described as revealing Italian, English, and
Celtic sentiment, influenced by the fervour of pre-Raphaelite feeling.
Leighton's genius as a colourist will probably be ever more and more
appreciated as a partial allegiance to those three great colourists
subsides as a fashion merely.

It is quite clear, from the evidence of the earliest studies, that the
extraordinary facility evinced in Lord Leighton's drawings was the
outcome of natural gifts. No one can study his art without realising
very conclusively that he spared neither time nor trouble in order to
make it as perfect as it was in his power to make it; but equally
evident is it to those who examine his work with artistic and
intelligent insight that the great power that he possessed for taking
pains was inspired by a joyous, sensitive delight in beauty. The
untiring industry which alone could have produced the unparalleled
amount of work which he has left was clearly never weighted by any
feeling that the toil of study was irksome. On the contrary there is,
in every stroke, evidence that a fine delicate sense of beauty, a
fervent, spontaneous "sincerity of emotion" (to use Leighton's own
expression) was ever present, instigating and propelling the
conscientious persistency of his efforts. Whether it be a flower, a
face, a figure, a landscape, or but a piece of drapery--there is in
every sketch in this collection that convincing stamp on the work
which proves that the doing of it interested and delighted the artist;
the test, in other words, that the work has in it the true fibre of
the most genuine art. It is well to draw attention to this fact,
because his abnormal industry has apparently been considered by some
to be a sign of his having been deficient in rare and native art
instincts. Some there are who hold that the most notable
characteristic in Leighton's nature was an extraordinary power of
will. That he exercised such a power is undoubtedly true. In no other
manner could he have achieved the main purposes of his life, but
surely those who knew him best, and who were in the position best to
appreciate his art, would say rather that such an exercise of will was
used in the service of a still more powerful ingredient, in the truly
leading passion of his life, the moving motive of all his labours,
_i.e._ a reverent worship of beauty. Much has been said and
written,--even, strange to say, with respect to the great exhibition
of his works exhibited at Burlington House in the winter of
1897,--which implies that the scholarly element outweighed the
qualities resulting from natural gifts. Happily, the unprejudiced mind
of the widest public was not deluded into sparing its praise by
unappreciative or unintelligent criticism. Those who had not the
opportunity at the Burlington House Exhibition of judging for
themselves of the very great qualities Lord Leighton's art possesses,
have but to study the collection of drawings in his house in order to
realise that his gifts as an artist were as rare and native as was the
intellect and splendour of nature which made his personality one of
the most striking of his era.

A strong dramatic power is shown in many of Leighton's early designs,
and the best examples of these have been secured for this national
collection. Of the "Plague in Florence" (project for a picture), a
notable example, there is a photograph by Mr. Fred Hollyer (No. 175),
taken for Lord Leighton, the original sketch being in South Kensington
Museum. The evidence of this power recurs at intervals in the later
work in such pictures as "Heracles struggling with Death for the Body
of Alcestis" (No. 54), "Electra at the Tomb of Agamemnon" (No. 7), (in
this picture the colour carries out the imaginative and truly-felt
dramatic instinct with singular power and beauty), "Orpheus and
Eurydice" (No. 236), "St. Jerome," "The Last Watch of Hero" (No. 28),
"Rizpah" (No. 193), and in the last work exhibited in the Royal
Academy after Lord Leighton's death, "Clytie" (No. 27), the sun-loving
soul bidding farewell to this world. But in many of the later works,
as the artist grew older, as the drama of real life became more
absorbing and intricate, as the struggle to sustain the interests of
the art of his country fell more and more directly on him
individually, he seemed to turn with a sense of relief to the more
serene, passive sentiment of such pictures as "Idyll," "Winding the
Skein" (No. 198), "Summer Slumber" (No. 94), "The Bath of Psyche," as
a contrast to the pressure and restless fever of his active life. The
tenderness of feeling, such as is invariably united with the highest
manly qualities, finds expression throughout every stage of Leighton's
art development, most notably in the drawing and painting of children.
(Children had the greatest fascination for him.) In "Elisha and the
Shunammite's Son" (No. 207), the tenderness is as touching as it is
unobtrusive. "Sister's Kiss" (No. 275), and "Return of Persephone"
(No. 53), are both examples in which wholesome, loving, human feeling
is depicted with exquisite tenderness. In "Captive Andromache" (No.
21), such feeling in the group of the caressing parents and child is
used as a contrast to enforce the loneliness of the captive widow. In
"Ariadne abandoned by Theseus: Artemis releases her by Death" (many
studies for which are in the collection still unframed), the whole
picture breathes a feeling of tenderness which is in a high sense
pathetic. In the sketches for "Michael Angelo nursing his Dying
Servant" (No. 192), even more than in the completed picture, is seen
evidence of the manly tender-heartedness which was a notable
characteristic in Leighton's nature.

The hundreds of sketches and drawings now hung on the walls of the
Leighton House form a diary of the artist's working life.

Here are records of the earliest student days in Florence in 1842.
When twelve years old he studied at the Academy there under Bezzuoli
and Servolini. Professor Costa writes of these two masters: "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."

There are also many records of the studies in Germany when Leighton
was working under Steinle, of all his masters the one for whom he felt
the greatest enthusiasm. The drawing in the collection which shows
most clearly the influence of Steinle's teaching, was made on the
journey from Frankfort to Rome in 1852. The subject is a monk leading
a man away from his enemy and teaching him a lesson in forgiveness. It
is signed, "_Ulm, F.L., /52_" (No. 251).

There is the sketch for the picture which Leighton and one of his
fellow-students, Signor Gamba, on that same journey, took it into
their heads to paint on the walls of an old ruined castle near
Darmstadt. "The schloss," writes Mrs. Andrew Lang, "where this piece
was painted is still in ruins, but the Grand Duke has lately erected a
wooden roof over the painting to preserve it from destruction." While
still at Frankfort, Leighton had begun the design for the "Cimabue's
Procession" (No. 42). In the collection we find the drawing of the
first design. For extraordinary precision of outline and graceful
arrangement of moving figures, this is one of the most remarkable on
the walls. We have also the study of the head in pencil for the figure
of Dante in the right-hand corner of the picture (No. 42-B), (given by
Canon Rawnsley), and a large study in water-colour and pencil of the
woman seated at the window (given by Mr. J.A. Fuller Maitland) (No.
42-C). Hanging near these is a very finely pencilled head of that boy
whom Leighton called "The prettiest and the wickedest boy in Rome." On
it is written "_Vincenzo--Roma, 1854, F.L._" Another, on which is
written "_Venezia, 1856, F.L._," is, for strength of character and
beauty combined, one of the most powerful in the collection (purchased
by a donation given by Lord Rosebery). These are a few out of fifty
drawings of heads in the House, executed for the main part, between
the years 1852 and 1856. There are many records in landscape and
street scenes of Leighton's journeying to Capri, Athens, Rhodes,
Damascus, and Algeria. Of the drawings made during his stay in Algeria
(presented to the House by Mr. Walter Derham) (Nos. 284 and 285), Mr.
Pepys Cockerell wrote in his interesting article which appeared in the
_Nineteenth Century_, "The finest of all, except the famous 'Lemon
Tree,' which is in silver point, and was done in 1859, are the
products of a visit to Algeria in 1857. I do not believe that more
perfect drawings, better defined or more entirely realised, than these
studies of Moors, of camels, &c., were ever executed by the hand of
man.... They are not particularly summary, nor do they look as if they
had been done in a moment, or without trouble. The drawings in
question are as complete as if they came from the hand of Lionardo or
Holbein."

Among the most perfect drawings Lord Leighton has left, are also the
studies from flowers and foliage. Professor Aitchison writes: "One day
I found him (Leighton) drawing the flower of the pumpkin, and he said
flowers were quite as hard to draw as human heads, if you drew them
conscientiously, but doing that rested with yourself, for there could
be no critics. He said of drawing that the great thing was to
thoroughly understand the structure, and that then, by patience and
labour, you could express the outline and the modelling. In 1859,
while at Capri, he drew the celebrated 'Lemon Tree,' working from
daylight to dusk for a week or two, and giving large details in the
margin of the snails on the tree." Mr. Ruskin writes: "Two perfect
early drawings are of 'A Lemon Tree,' and another of the same date, of
'A Byzantine Well,' which determine for you without appeal the
question respecting necessity of delineation as the first skill of a
painter. Of all our present masters, Sir Frederic Leighton delights
most in softly-blended colours, and his ideal of beauty is more nearly
that of Correggio than any since Correggio's time. But you see by what
precision of terminal outline he at first restrained and exalted his
gift of beautiful _vaghezza_."

Of this drawing of "A Lemon Tree," now in the Oxford Museum, lent by
Mr. Ruskin, Sir Henry Acland has given a singularly fine photograph,
very nearly the size of the original. Lord Leighton gave Mr. Ruskin
for his life this wonderful drawing of "A Lemon Tree" to hang in his
Oxford Museum, that it might serve to impede, if possible, the
increasing wrong-headedness in study--the careless conceit, the
irreverent dash, the incompetent confidence of many modern students.

How Leighton's theories as to the manner in which flowers should be
drawn were carried out, is exemplified by two wonderful studies of the
said pumpkin flower (Nos. 97 and 104), and fifty other studies from
flowers and plants in this collection. This artist in his early
twenties, brilliant in society, full of intellectual and every other
kind of vitality, could nevertheless sit for hours perfecting the
study of a flower or a plant. One who knew him well in 1854 and 1855,
wrote in the _Times_ of 28th January 1896, three days after Leighton's
death: "I remember hearing a relative of his, a clergyman, deplore in
1854, the persistency with which Leighton was throwing away his
chances in life to become a mere artist." Five years previously,
Leighton had embodied in a design, now in his house, the longing, the
home sickness, the _Sehnsucht_ he felt for his own true much-loved
vocation. It is in the drawing of Giotto as a boy lying among his
sheep upon a bank (No. 227). Below the sketch, in Leighton's
handwriting, are the words "_Giotto, Sehnsucht_." The same writer
continues: "I enjoyed constant intercourse with him during the whole
of 1854 and to the middle of 1855. The summer of the former year we
passed at the Baths of Lucca, dining together every day for three
months. Finding the solitary splendour of the hotel at 'Villa'
irksome, he suggested that we should mess together in my lodgings,
which happened to be close to a little restaurant. In after years,
meeting in London houses, we always referred with pleasure to the
modest, but always wholesome and cleanly feasts that Lucrezia,
landlady, chef, and waitress, supplied us with at an almost nominal
cost. To me, at least, that period was one of great value and
interest, for it gave me the opportunity of studying the character of
one whose personality was attractive in no small degree. He was the
most brilliant man I ever met.... He 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.[91] I had not met him for years when, coming into contact
with him, I told him how keen the interest had been with which I had
watched his progress. 'I am not satisfied,' he answered; 'I alone know
how far I have fallen short of my ideal.'" In his House are two
records of this visit to the Bagni di Lucca. One has been presented by
Mr. J. MacWhirter, R.A. (No. 249). It is a highly finished drawing of
a wreath of leaves exquisitely executed. On the same sheet is a
drawing of a vine in fruit, and in Leighton's own writing
"_Pomegranate Lucca Bagni Villa_."

       *       *       *       *       *

No work in the collection evinces the precision and exact truthfulness
of Leighton's drawing better than the outline copies from pictures and
frescoes by V. Carpaccio, Giorgione, Simone Memmi and Signorelli made
in 1852-53. In the copy from the fresco in the Capella Spagnuola,
Sta. Maria Novella, Florence (No. 292), we have the portraits of
Cimabue, Giotto, Taddeo Gaddi and Simone Memmi whose work it is.[92]
The accuracy of the copy and the difficulty of making a copy at all,
can hardly fully be realised, save by one who has attempted also to
repeat the fading outlines of these dim frescoes in the only
half-lighted chapel. Slight and ineffective as Leighton's drawing may
appear at a first glance, it is, on further acquaintance, found to be
an exquisite piece of work. The absolute truth and precision with
which in pencil lines, on a small scale, he has unravelled the
outlines of the dim forms, and has depicted the quaint seriousness of
these old-world Italian countenances, makes this copy an extraordinary
feat of eye and hand. From this drawing he designed the dress of
Cimabue for the figure in his large picture, and also for the Cimabue
in the South Kensington Mosaic. Written by Leighton above the pencil
drawing are the words: "_Simone Memmi Capella Spagnoli (St. Maria
Novella, Florence), Taddeo Gaddi white and gold cap, Giotto gold and
sea green, Cimabue gold flowers on white ground, Sim. Memmi with grey
beard, head dress, yellow hood with black lining, Florence, 1853,
F.L._"

A study in brown (water-colour) (No. 91) signed "_Florence, 1854,
F.L._," was used by Leighton forty years after it was made in his
background for "Lachrymae" (No. 147), an engraving of which was given
to the collection by Messrs. A. Tooth. The same study was also used
for a charming design, highly finished in pencil and Chinese white,
apparently executed for a book illustration, which is now in the
House. One of the most beautiful of the foliage studies tells of a
happy day "_Near Bellosguardo, Sept./56._" (No. 171). It is a perfect
and highly-finished study of a vine. What joy Leighton must have had
while looking at this exquisite thing in the September sunshine on
that delicious Bellosguardo height! A butterfly and a bee were
minutely pencilled on the paper as they flew round the vine-leaves as
he drew them. "_Cyclamen Tivoli, Oct./56._" is written on another of
these tiny treasures. "_Aloes Pampl. Doria,_" "_Pyrte Roma_," "_Thistle
Rhodes_," "_Lindos/67 Asphodel_," "_Thistle Banks of Tiber, stalk
light warm brown, leaf dark cld. brown, flow. dsk. warm brown,
Roma/56_," are notes on some of these pages of studies, which can only
be said to compare with the work of a Leonardo or an Albert Duerer.
There is absolutely no mannerism traceable; there is Nature's own
quality of style. There is nothing slovenly in Nature, there is as
surely nothing slovenly in Lord Leighton's art. The gift which in
these modern days is perhaps most rare is a sense of style. Leighton's
feeling for style was as much a part of his individual and native
taste as was his delight in any other quality of beauty in Nature.
Indeed what we call style in art is but the reflection of the same
quality in Nature herself, the love which adds to the more oblivious
facts of Nature a further quality of truth, a completer insight into
her. Leighton possessed a sculptor's feeling for form. It was his
subtle grasp of truth in structure which gives a special value to his
outline drawings. The keen sensitiveness to the right character of the
form, to which his pencil outline was the limit, influenced the
quality of his touch as he portrayed that limit. He felt things "in
the round" as solid projections in various planes, advancing or
receding from the eye. As in the best sculpture, to every aspect of
the solid form you get a fine, subtle, absolutely clear outline; so in
Leighton's drawing of a contour, never is there any vague or undecided
passage. This insures to his work the quality of distinction. These
studies have, one and all, that quality. They are _distinguished_, as
are fragments of the best Greek sculpture. Every born artist falls in
love specially with one class of sentiment in Nature. Whether his
special gifts guide his passion, or his passion his gifts, who can
say? Probably each urges the other. The special note of beauty in
Nature which excited Leighton's deepest enthusiasm was the quality
which is most like that in a shell. In the pumpkin flowers in the
study given by Mr. Hamo Thornycroft of "_Kalmia Califolia_," and in
many others, is recalled notably the fine, pure, carved distinctness
of the forms in a shell--the shell that contains the form and colour
that at once delights the sense both of the painter and the sculptor.
In the oil sketches by Leighton, those poems of Southern sunlight and
colour, records of voyages in the AEgean seas, and off the coasts and
islands of Greece and Asia Minor, we again recall the special beauty
in the quality and colour of a shell, the rainbow tints in
mother-of-pearl, the faint translucence trembling in a sheen of light.

In gauging the exceptional quality of the gifts which all these studies
evince it will be well to remember that Leighton, at the time they were
made, was under no influence but that of his own high standard, and led
by no lights save those of his own exquisitely delicate perceptions.
For the last twenty or thirty years detail in Nature--vegetation and
Nature which is called "still life"--has been truthfully popularised by
photography, so that now all students have it in their power to study
from such detail treated on a flat surface. Beauty of natural structure
and grace of line rendered with right perspective on a sheet of paper
can be enjoyed and made use of by every artist. Many do avail
themselves of photographs to carry out and complete the details of
their pictures. But when Leighton made these wonderful drawings no such
standards of elaborate finish of detail had been diffused. Nor had he
joined, nor in any way come under the influence of the Pre-Raphaelite
Brotherhood, nor received any inspiration from the teaching of Mr.
Ruskin. Though we may truly liken these studies from "still life" to
those by Leonardo as regards the truthful perfection of copies from
Nature, there is no evidence in Leighton's drawings that the work, even
of the great, much-revered-by-him Italian masters had influenced him
when drawing from Nature. On the contrary, there is the strong stamp of
his own peculiar genius on all of them, the stamp that proves rather
that he saw and loved Nature as a Greek would have seen and loved her.
Essentially Greek-like was the attitude in which Leighton approached
Nature, _i.e._ with an emotion ever ardent in its intensity; but as
ever restrained by the rare gift--the sense of _style_ and of the right
balance and proportion necessary in treating worthily the beauties of
Nature in the language of art. Indeed, it may truly be affirmed that
Leighton was made more like a Greek than like an Englishman as regarded
his artistic powers, English though he was to the backbone in feeling
and sentiment. The effect produced by that collected exhibition of his
works in 1897 was, beyond all other effects, that of _achievement_; and
achievement which was the result of a perfect mastery and grasp of aims
meant to be achieved from the first to the last touch on the canvas.
Leighton was far too great an artist ever to be satisfied with the
results of his labour. Those who knew him best can testify to his
terrible depressions and disappointments. Still, there was no
"_muddling through_," to use Lord Rosebery's expression, such as so
many English artists confess to in reaching the final result.
Greek-like, Leighton saw everything in a definite, clearly outlined
view, and, from the beginning to the end, his work was one direct
forwarding of his purpose.

In 1860, Leighton migrated to his studio in Orme Square, Bayswater.
The collection possesses several drawings made about that time,
notably the studies for "Lieder ohne Worte" (No. 36). His young
friend, now the well-known portrait-painter, Mr. Hanson Walker, sat
for the head in the picture: "A Crowded Scene in Florence" (No. 198),
a design full of interest and movement, was the gift to the House of
this friend of Leighton's, who, at his instigation, took up art as a
profession. In 1866 Leighton moved from Orme Square to the House he
had built in Holland Park Road, and there we can now follow his yearly
labours by studying the sketches and drawings made for all the
well-known famous pictures of the last thirty years, till we come to
the last--to that passionate appealing figure of Clytie (No. 27),
drawn after the fatal warning had been given. The motive is the same
as that of the first design--the early design of the "Giotto" (No.
227), (made very nearly fifty years before), _i.e._ "Sehnsucht"--not
the dreamy half-conscious Sehnsucht of the awakening artist-nature as
is seen in the boy Giotto--but the passionate longing to remain in the
rich existence that rare gifts and noble affections had secured for
that artist-nature. After the studies for "Clytie" there but remain
those made for pictures never to be painted, till we reach at last the
drawings made on the 22nd of January 1896 (No. 268), the last day on
which Leighton worked. Three days after, on the following Saturday, he
died.

The object of the Committee is to make this House and its treasures a
centre for Art in the Parish of Kensington, where Lord Leighton lived
for thirty years. During seventeen of these years he was the President
of the Royal Academy, and, by common consent, the greatest President
that institution has ever had. The South Kensington Museum is not in
the parish, and, though this is one of the richest in London,
Kensington proper has no centre of Art, and is sufficiently far
removed from the centre of the metropolis to make it important that it
should possess such a centre. Since October 1898, the Committee has
arranged for Concerts, Lectures, and Readings to take place in the
Studios, and the public is now enlightened as to the exceptional
acoustic qualities the Studios possess, a fact for long recognised by
Leighton's personal friends at the yearly concerts he gave to them
when his pictures were ready for the Royal Academy. It is proposed to
add to the contents of the House an Art Library, and for this many
valuable volumes are waiting to be presented for the book-shelves to
contain them. The present proprietors are prepared to hand over the
house and all it contains to any public body who will engage to
maintain it and to meet the views of the Committee as to the use of
the House. As a memorial to Lord Leighton, the most suitable use will
be, they feel, to devote it to the furtherance of the interests of Art
of the best in all lines and among all classes; in fact to continue in
his own home the culture of that "sweetness and light" which emanated
so notably from his own nature. To conclude with words written by his
old and very intimate friend, Professor Costa, with whom he spent his
last holiday in the autumn before he died: "Leighton solved certain
problems which appeared insoluble. For instance, he combined a life at
high pressure with the most exquisite politeness--truth with poetry,
an iron will with the tenderness of a mother's heart, high aims with a
practical life and with the worship of beauty, the ardour of which was
only equalled by its purity."

                                                           E.I.B.


FOOTNOTES:

[89] The greater portion of this preface appeared as an article in the
_Magazine of Art_, October 1899. It is with the kind permission of the
proprietors that it is reprinted.

[90] Mr. De Morgan is at present engaged in making two jars in pottery,
which he intends to present to the House, to fill the niches in the
Arab Hall.

[91] "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."--_Letter from Mrs.
Browning to Mrs. Jameson, May 6th, 1856, Paris._

[92] Nineteen years later, I happened to copy the same group in
water-colour; but it was only after Leighton's death that I saw this
extraordinarily beautiful drawing.




LIST OF DIGNITIES AND HONOURS CONFERRED ON FREDERIC LEIGHTON


Knighted, 1878; created a Baronet, 1886; created Baron Leighton of
Stretton, 1896; elected Associate of the Royal Academy, 1864; Royal
Academician, 1869; President of the Royal Academy, 1878; Hon. Member,
Royal Scottish Academy, and Royal Hibernian Academy, Associate of the
Institute of France, President of the International Jury of Painting,
Paris Exhibition, 1878; Hon. Member, Berlin Academy, 1886; also Member
of the Royal Academy of Vienna, 1888; Belgium, 1886; of the Academy of
St. Luke, Rome, and the Academies of Florence (1882), Turin, Genoa,
Perugia, and Antwerp (1885); Hon. D.C.L., Oxford, 1879; Hon. LL.D.,
Cambridge, 1879; Hon. LL.D., Edinburgh, 1884; Hon. D. Lit., Dublin,
1892; Hon. D.C.L., Durham, 1894; Hon. Fellow of Trinity College,
London, 1876; Lieut.-Colonel of the 20th Middlesex (Artist's) Rifle
Volunteers, 1876 to 1883 (resigned); then Hon. Colonel and Holder of
the Volunteer Decoration; Commander of the Legion of Honour, 1889;
Commander of the Order of Leopold; Knight of the Prussian Order "pour
le Merite," and of the Coburg Order Dem Verdienste.




LIST OF PRINCIPAL WORKS

_With Date and Place of Exhibition.[93] Corrected and amplified from
"Frederic, Lord Leighton, His Life and Work," by Ernest Rhys._


  1850 (_circa_). *Cimabue finding Giotto in the fields of
        Florence. (49-1/2 x 37 inches.) Steinle Institute
        (Frankfort).

  1850. The Duel between Romeo and Tybalt. (37 x 50 inches.)

  1851 (_circa_). The Death of Brunelleschi. Steinle Institute.

  1851. [Early Portrait of Leighton by Himself.]

  1852. *A Persian Pedlar.

  1852. [Buffalmacco, the Painter. A humorous subject, from Vasari,
        was undertaken about this date.] See Sketch in water-colour,
        Leighton House Collection.

  1853. Portrait of Miss Laing (Lady Nias).

  1855. Cimabue's celebrated Madonna is carried in procession
        through the streets of Florence. In front of the Madonna,
        and crowned with laurels, walks Cimabue himself, with his
        pupil Giotto; behind it, Arnolfo di Lappo, Taddeo Gaddi,
        Andrea Tafi, Niccola Pisano, Buffalmacco, and Simone Memmi;
        in the corner, Dante. (87-1/2 x 205 inches.) R.A.[94]
        Purchased by H.M. Queen Victoria, Buckingham Palace. See
        Sketches, Leighton House Collection.

  1855. The Reconciliation of the Montagues and Capulets over the
        dead bodies of Romeo and Juliet. Paris International
        Exhibition.[95]

  1856. The Triumph of Music. (80 x 110 inches.) R.A. Painted in
        Paris.

        "Orpheus, by the power of his art, redeems his wife from
        Hades."

  1856. Pan. [A subject from Keats' _Hymn to Pan_, in the first book
        of "Endymion."] Painted in Paris. A figure of Pan under a
        fig-tree, with this inscription:--

                          "O thou, to whom
            Broad-leaved fig-trees even now foredoom
                Their ripen'd fruitage."

  1856. Venus. [A pendant to the Pan.] The figure of a nude nymph
        about to bathe, with a little Cupid loosening her sandal.
        Exhibited at the Manchester Exhibition and sent to America
        after. Painted in Paris.

  1857. *Salome, the daughter of Herodias. (44-1/2 x 25 inches.) See
        Sketch, Leighton House Collection.

  1858. *The Mermaid (the fisherman and the syren). (From a ballad
        by Goethe.) (26-1/2 x 18-1/2 inches.) R.A.

            "Half drew she him,
              Half sunk he in,
            And never more was seen."

  1858. "Count Paris, accompanied by Friar Lawrence and a band of
        musicians, comes to the house of the Capulets to claim his
        bride: he finds Juliet stretched apparently lifeless on the
        bed."--_Romeo and Juliet_, Act iv. sc. 5. (26-1/2 x 18-1/2
        inches.) R.A.

  1858. Reminiscence of Algiers: A Negro Dance. (Water-colour.)
        Suffolk Street Gallery.

  1859. Sunny Hours. R.A.

  1859. *Roman Lady (La Nanna). R.A.

  1859. *Nanna (Pavonia). R.A.

  1859. Samson and Delilah. S.S. See Sketches, Leighton House
        Collection.

  1860. Capri--Sunrise. R.A.

  1861. *Portrait of Mrs. Sutherland Orr [Mrs. S.O., a Portrait].
        (28 x 18 inches.) R.A.

  1861. *Portrait of John Hanson Walker, Esq. (23 x 17 inches.)
        Owner, H.M. The King. R.A.

  1861. Paolo e Francesca. See Sketch, Leighton House Collection.

            "Ma solo un punto fu quel che ci vinse
            Quando legemmo il disiato riso
            Esser baciato da cotanto amante,
            Questi, che mai da me non fia diviso,
            La bocca mi bacio tutto tremante:
            Galeotto fu 'l libro e chi lo scrisse:
            Quel giorno piu non vi legemmo avante."

  1861. A Dream.

                            "...Not yet--not yet--
            Still there is trial for thee, still the lot
            To bear (the Father wills it) strife and care;
            With this sweet consciousness in balance set
            Against the world, to soothe thy suffering there
                The Lord rejects thee not.
            Such tender words awoke me hopeful, shriven
            To life on earth again from dream of heaven."

  1861. Lieder ohne Worte. R.A. See Sketches, Leighton House
        Collection.

  1861. J.A. A Study. R.A.

  1861. Capri--Paganos. R.A.

  1862. Odalisque. R.A.

  1862. *The Star of Bethlehem. (60 x 23-1/2 inches.) One of the
        Magi, from the terrace of his house, stands looking at the
        star in the East; the lower part of the picture indicates a
        road, which he may be supposed just to have left. R.A. See
        Sketches, Leighton House Collection.

  1862. Sisters. R.A.

  1862. *Michael Angelo Nursing his Dying Servant. (43 x 36 inches.)
        R.A. See Sketches, Leighton House Collection.

  1862. Duett. R.A.

  1862. Sea Echoes. R.A.

  1862. Rustic Music. R.A.

  1863. Jezebel and Ahab, having caused Naboth to be put to death,
        go down to take possession of his vineyard; they are met at
        the entrance by Elijah the Tishbite. R.A. See Sketches,
        Leighton House Collection.

            "Hast thou killed, and also taken possession?"

  1863. *Eucharis. (A Girl with a Basket of Fruit.) (32-1/2 x 22
        inches.) R.A.

  1863. A Girl Feeding Peacocks. R.A. See Sketch, Leighton House
        Collection.

  1863. An Italian Crossbowman. (51 x 24-1/2 inches.) R.A.

  1864. Dante at Verona. R.A. See Sketches, Leighton House
        Collection.

  1864. *Orpheus and Eurydice. (49 x 42 inches.) R.A. See Sketches,
        Leighton House Collection.

            "But give them--the mouth, the eyes,--the brow--
            Let them once more absorb me! One look now
            Will lap me round for ever, not to pass
            Out of its light, though darkness lie beyond!
            Hold me but safe again within the bond
            Of one immortal look! All woe that was,
            Forgotten, and all terror that may be,
            Defied--no past is mine, no future! look at me!"

                     --ROBERT BROWNING: _A Fragment._

  1864. *Golden Hours. (36 x 48 inches.) R.A. See Sketches in oil
        and chalk, Leighton House Collection.

  1864. *Portrait of the late Miss Lavinia I'Anson. (Circular,
        12-1/2 inches.)

  1865. *David. (37 x 47 inches.) R.A. See Sketches, Leighton House
        Collection.

            "Oh that I had wings like a dove! for then would I fly
            away, and be at rest."--_Psalm_ lv.

  1865. Mother and Child. R.A.

  1865. Widow's Prayer. R.A.

  1865. Helen of Troy. R.A.

            "Thus as she spoke, in Helen's breast arose
            Fond recollections of her former lord,
            Her home, and parents; o'er her head she threw
            A snowy veil; and shedding tender tears
            She issued forth not unaccompanied;
            For with her went fair AEthra, Pittheus' child,
            And stag-eyed Clymene, her maidens twain.
            They quickly at the Scaean gate arrived."

  1865. In St. Mark's. R.A.

  1866. Painter's Honeymoon. R.A. See Sketch, Leighton House
        Collection.

  1866. Portrait of Mrs. James Guthrie. R.A.

  1866. Syracusan Bride leading wild beasts in procession to the
        Temple of Diana. (Suggested by a passage in the second Idyll
        of Theocritus.) R.A. See Sketches, Leighton House
        Collection.

            "And for her, then, many other wild beasts were going
            in procession round about, and among them a lioness."

  1866. A Noble Lady of Venice. (Not exhibited till 1897.)

  1866. The Wise and Foolish Virgins. (Fresco in Lyndhurst Church,
        finished 1864.) See Sketches, Leighton House Collection.

  1867. *Pastoral. (51-1/2 x 26 inches.) R.A. See Sketch, Leighton
        House Collection.

  1867. *Greek Girl Dancing. (Spanish Dancing Girl; Cadiz in the old
        times.) (34 x 45 inches.) R.A.

  1867. Knuckle-Bone Player. R.A.

  1867. *Roman Mother. (24 x 19 inches.) R.A.

  1867. *Venus disrobing for the Bath. (79 x 35-1/2 inches.) R.A.

  1867. *Portrait of Mrs. John Hanson Walker. (18 x 16 inches.)

  1868. Jonathan's Token to David. R.A.

            "And it came to pass in the morning, that Jonathan went
            out into the field at the time appointed by David, and
            a little lad with him."

  1868. *Portrait of Mrs. Frederick P. Cockerell. (23-1/2 x 19-1/2
        inches.) R.A.

  1868. *Portrait of John Martineau, Esq. (23-1/2 x 19-1/2 inches.)
        R.A.

  1868. *Ariadne abandoned by Theseus; Ariadne watches for his
        return; Artemis releases her by death. (45 x 62 inches.)
        R.A. See Sketches, Leighton House Collection.

  1868. *Acme and Septimius. (Circular, 37-1/2 inches.) R.A.

            "Then bending gently back her head
            With that sweet mouth, so rosy red,
            Upon his eyes she dropped a kiss,
            Intoxicating him with bliss."

                     --CATULLUS (Theodore Martin's translation).

  1868. *Actaea, the Nymph of the Shore. (22 x 40 inches.) R.A. See
        Sketches, Leighton House Collection.

  1869. *S. Jerome. (Diploma work, deposited in the Academy on his
        election as an Academician.) (72 x 55 inches.) R.A.

  1869. *Daedalus and Icarus. (53-1/2 x 40-1/2 inches.) R.A. See
        Sketches, Leighton House Collection.

  1869. *Electra at the Tomb of Agamemnon. (59-1/2 x 29 inches.)
        R.A.

  1869. *Helios and Rhodos. (65-1/2 x 42 inches) R.A. See Sketches,
        Leighton House Collection.

  1870. A Nile Woman. (21-1/2 x 11-1/2 inches.) R.A.

  1870. Study. S.S.

  1871. *Hercules Wrestling with Death for the Body of Alcestis. (54
        x 104-1/2 inches.) R.A. See Sketches, Leighton House
        Collection.

  1871. Greek Girls picking up Pebbles by the shore of the Sea. R.A.
        See Sketch, Leighton House Collection.

  1871. *Cleoboulos instructing his daughter Cleobouline. (24 x
        37-1/2 inches.) R.A.

  1871. View of Assiout (?). (A sketch.) S.S.

  1871. Sunrise at Lougsor. (A sketch.) S.S.

  1871. View of the Red Mountains near Cairo. (A sketch) S.S.

  1872. *After Vespers. (43 x 27-1/2 inches.) R.A. See Sketch,
        Leighton House Collection.

  1872. *Summer Moon. (Guildhall, 1890.) (39-1/2 x 50-1/2 inches.)
        R.A. See Sketches, Leighton House Collection.

  1872. Portrait of the Right Hon. Edward Ryan, Secretary of the
        Dilettante Society, for which the picture was painted.
        (S.P.P., 1893.) R.A.

  1872. A Condottiere. R.A. See Sketch, Leighton House Collection.

  1872. *The Industrial Arts of War, at the International Exhibition
        at South Kensington. (Monochrome, 76 x 177 inches.) Carried
        out in fresco on the wall of the Victoria and Albert Museum.
        R.A. See Sketches, Leighton House Collection.

  1872. The Captive. S.S.

  1872. An Arab Cafe, Algiers. S.S.

  1873. *Weaving the Wreath. (Guildhall, 1895.) R.A.

  1873. Moretta. (Guildhall, 1894.) (20-1/2 x 14-1/2 inches.) R.A.

  1873. The Industrial Arts of Peace. (Monochrome, 76 x 177 inches.)
        Carried out in fresco on the wall of the Victoria and Albert
        Museum. R.A. See Sketches, Leighton House Collection.

  1873. A Roman. S.S.

  1873. Vittoria. S.S.

  1874. *Moorish Garden: A Dream of Granada. (Guildhall 1895.) (41 x
        40 inches.) R.A.

  1874. Old Damascus: Jews' Quarter. R.A.

  1874. *Antique Juggling Girl. (Guildhall, 1892.) (41-1/2 x 24
        inches.) R.A. See Sketch, Leighton House Collection.

  1874. Clytemnestra from the battlements of Argos watches for the
        Beacon Fires which are to announce the return of Agamemnon.
        R.A. Leighton House Collection. See also Sketches, Leighton
        House Collection.

  1874. Annarella, Ana Capri. D.G.

  1874. Rubinella, Capri. D.G.

  1874. Lemon Tree, Capri. D.G.

  1874. West Court of Palazzo, Venice. D.G.

  1875. *Portion of the Interior of the Grand Mosque of Damascus.
        (62 x 47 inches.) R.A.

  1875. *Portrait of Mrs. H.E. Gordon. (35-1/2 x 37 inches.) R.A.

  1875. *Little Fatima. (15-1/2 x 9-1/4 inches.) R.A.

  1875. Venetian Girl. R.A.

  1875. *Egyptian Slinger. (Eastern slinger scaring birds in harvest
        time: Moonrise.) (Guildhall, 1890.) R.A. See Sketches,
        Leighton House Collection.

  1875. Florentine Youth. S.S.

  1875. Ruined Mosque in Damascus. S.S.

  1876. *Portrait of Sir Richard Francis Burton, K.C.M.G. (Portrait
        of Captain Richard Burton, H.M. Consul at Trieste.) (23-1/2
        x 19-1/2 inches.) (Paris, 1878; Melbourne, 1888; S.P.P.,
        1892.) R.A. National Portrait Gallery.

  1876. *The Daphnephoria. (89 x 204 inches.) A triumphal procession
        held every ninth year at Thebes, in honour of Apollo and to
        commemorate a victory of the Thebans over the Aeolians of
        Arne. (See Proclus, "Chrestomath," p. 11.) R.A. See
        Sketches, Leighton House Collection.

  1876. Teresina. R.A.

  1876. Paolo. R.A.

  1877. *Music Lesson. (36-1/2 x 37-1/8 inches.) (Paris, 1878.) R.A.

  1877. *Portrait of Miss Mabel Mills (The Hon. Mrs. Grenfell). (23
        x 19 inches.) R.A.

  1877. *An Athlete Strangling a Python.[96] Bronze. (Paris, 1878.)
        R.A. See Sketch in plaster, Leighton House Collection,
        presented by G.F. Watts, O.M.

  1877. *Portrait of H.E. Gordon. (23-1/2 x 19 inches.) G.G.

  1877. An Italian Girl. G.G.

  1877. *Study. (A little girl with fair hair, in a pink robe.) (24
        x 28 inches.) R.A.

  1877. A Study. G.G.

  1878. *Nausicaa. (57-1/2 x 26-1/2 inches.) (Guildhall, 1896.) R.A.
        See Sketches, Leighton House Collection.

  1878. Serafina. R.A.

  1878. *Winding the Skein. (39-1/2 x 63-1/2 inches.) R.A. See
        Sketch, Leighton House Collection.

  1878. A Study. R.A.

  1878. *Portrait of Miss Ruth Stewart Hodgson. (50-1/2 x 35-1/2
        inches.) G.G.

  1878. Study of a Girl's Head. G.G.

  1878. Sierra: Elviza in the distance, Granada. S.S.

  1878. The Sierra Alhama, Granada. S.S.

  1879. Biondina. R.A.

  1879. Catarina. R.A.

  1879. *Elijah in the Wilderness. (91 x 81-1/2 inches.) R.A.
        (Paris, 1878.) Corporation of Liverpool. See Sketches,
        Leighton House Collection.

  1879. Portrait of Signor G. Costa. R.A.

  1879. Amarilla. R.A.

  1879. A Study. R.A.

  1879. Portrait of the Countess Brownlow. R.A.

  1879. *Neruccia. (19 x 16 inches.) R.A.

  1879. A Study. S.S.

  1879. The Carrara Hills. S.S.

  1879. A Street in Lerici. S.S.

  1879. Via Bianca, Capri. G.G.

  1879. Archway in Algiers. G.G.

  1879. Ruins of a Mosque, Damascus. G.G.

  1879. Study of a Donkey. G.G.

  1879. On the Terrace, Capri. G.G.

  1879. Sketch near Damascus. G.G.

  1879. View in Granada. G.G.

  1879. Study of a Donkey, Egypt. G.G.

  1879. Study of a Head. G.G.

  1879. Nicandra. G.G.

  1880. *Sister's Kiss. (48 x 21-1/2 inches.) R.A. See Sketch,
        Leighton House Collection.

  1880. *Iostephane. (37 x 19 inches.) R.A.

  1880. The Light of the Harem. (60 x 33 inches.) R.A.

  1880. Psamathe. (36 x 24 inches.) R.A.

  1880. *The Nymph of the Dargle (Crenaia). (29-1/2 x 10 inches.)
        R.A.

  1880. Rubinella. G.G.

  1880. The Pozzo Corner, Venice. Winter Exhibition. G.G.

  1880. Jack and his Cider Can. Winter Exhibition. G.G.

  1880. The Painter's Honeymoon. Winter Exhibition. G.G.

  1880. Winding of the Skein (with sketch). Winter Exhibition. G.G.

  1880. Head of Urbino. Winter Exhibition. G.G.

  1880. Steps of the Bargello, Florence. Winter Exhibition. G.G.

  1880. A Contrast. Winter Exhibition. G.G.

  1880. Garden at Capri. Winter Exhibition. G.G.

  1880. Twenty-nine Studies of Heads, Flowers, and Draperies. Winter
        Exhibition. G.G.

  1881. Elisha raising the son of the Shunammite. (32 x 54 inches.)
        (Guildhall, 1895.) R.A. See Sketches, Leighton House
        Collection.

  1881. Portrait of the Painter.[97] R.A.

  1881. *Idyll. (41-1/2 x 84 inches.) R.A. See Sketches in oil and
        chalk, Leighton House Collection.

  1881. *Portrait of Mrs. Stephen Ralli. (48 x 33 inches.) R.A.

  1881. *Whispers. (48 x 30 inches.) R.A. See Sketch, Leighton House
        Collection.

  1881. Viola. R.A.

  1881. *Bianca. (18 x 12-1/2 inches.) R.A.

  1881. Portrait of Mrs. Algernon Sartoris. G.G.

  1882. *Day-Dreams. (47-1/2 x 35-1/2 inches.) R.A.

  1882. Wedded. R.A. See Sketches, Leighton House Collection.

  1882. Phryne at Eleusis. (86 x 48 inches.) (Melbourne, 1888.) R.A.
        See Sketches, Leighton House Collection.

  1882. Antigone. R.A.

  1882. "And the sea gave up the dead which were in it"--Rev. xx.
        13. (Design for a portion of a decoration in St. Paul's.)
        R.A. The Tate Gallery. See Sketches, Leighton House
        Collection.

  1882. Melittion. R.A.

  1882. *Portrait of Mrs. Mocatta. (23-1/2 x 19-1/2 inches.)

  1882. Zeyra. G.G.

  1883. The Dance: decorative frieze for a drawing-room in a private
        house. R.A. See Sketches, Leighton House Collection.

  1883. *Vestal. (24-1/2 x 17 inches.) R.A.

  1883. *Kittens. (48 x 31-1/2 inches.) R.A.

  1883. Memories. R.A.

  1883. Portrait of Miss Nina Joachim. (16 x 13 inches.)

  1884. *Letty. (18 x 15-1/2 inches.) R.A.

  1884. *Cymon and Iphigenia. (64 x 129 inches.) (Berlin, 1885.)
        R.A. See Sketches, Leighton House Collection.

  1884. A Nap. R.A.

  1884. Sun Gleams. R.A.

  1885. ..."Serenely wandering in a trance of sober thought." ...
        (46 x 27 inches.) R.A.

  1885. Portrait of the Lady Sybil Primrose. R.A.

  1885. *Portrait of Mrs. A. Hichens. (26-1/2 x 20-1/2 inches.) R.A.

  1885. Music: a frieze. R.A. See Sketches, Leighton House
        Collection.

  1885. Phoebe. (Manchester, 1887.) R.A.

  1885. A Study. G.G.

  1885. Tombs of Muslim Saints. S.S.

  1885. Mountains near Ronda Puerta de los Vientos. S.S.

  1886. Painted decoration for the ceiling of a music-room.[98] (7 x
        20 feet.) R.A. See Sketches, Leighton House Collection.

  1886. Gulnihal. R.A.

  1886. *The Sluggard. Statue, bronze. R.A. Presented to the Tate
        Gallery by Sir Henry Tate. See Statuette, Leighton House
        Collection.

  1886. *Needless Alarms. Statuette. R.A. See Bronze, Leighton House
        Collection.

  1887. *The Jealousy of Simoetha, the Sorceress. (35 x 55-1/2
        inches.) R.A. See Sketch, Leighton House Collection.

  1887. *The Last Watch of Hero. (62-1/2 x 35-1/2 inches, with
        predella 12-1/2 x 29-1/2 inches.) R.A. Corporation of
        Manchester. See Sketch, Leighton House Collection.

            "With aching heart she scanned the sea-face dim.
            .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .
            Lo! at the turret's foot his body lay,
            Rolled on the stones, and washed with breaking spray."

            --_Hero and Leander: Musaeus_ (translated by Edwin Arnold).

  1887. [Picture of a little girl with golden hair, and pale blue
        eyes.]

            "Yellow and pale as ripened corn
            Which Autumn's kiss frees--grain from sheath--
            Such was her hair, while her eyes beneath,
            Showed Spring's faint violets freshly born."

                       --ROBERT BROWNING.

  1887. *Design for the reverse of the Jubilee Medallion. (Executed
        for Her Majesty Queen Victoria's Government.) R.A. See
        Sketches, Leighton House Collection.

        Empire, enthroned in the centre, rests her right hand on the
        sword of Justice, and holds in her left the symbol of
        victorious rule. At her feet, on one side, Commerce proffers
        wealth; on the other, a winged figure holds emblems of
        Electricity and Steam-power. Flanking the throne to the right
        of the spectator are Agriculture and Industry; on the opposite
        side, Science, Literature, and the Arts. Above, interlocking
        wreaths, held by winged genii representing respectively the
        years 1837 and 1887, inclose the initials V.R.I.

  1888. *Captive Andromache. (77 x 160 inches.) R.A. Corporation of
        Manchester. See Sketches, Leighton House Collection.

                            ..."Some standing by,
            Marking thy tears fall, shall say, 'This is she,
            The wife of that same Hector that fought best
            Of all the Trojans, when all fought for Troy.'"

                   --_Iliad_, vi. (E.B. Browning's translation).

  1888. *Portrait of Amy, Lady Coleridge. (42 x 39-1/2 inches.)
        (S.P.P., 1891.) R.A.

  1888. *Portraits of the Misses Stewart Hodgson. (47 x 39-1/2
        inches.)

  1888. Four Studies. R.W.S.

  1888. Five Studies. S.S.

  1889. *Sibyl. (59 x 34 inches.) R.A. See Sketches, Leighton House
        Collection.

  1889. *Invocation. (54 x 33-1/2 inches.) R.A.

  1889. Elegy. R.A.

  1889. Greek Girls playing at Ball. (45 x 78 inches.) R.A. See
        Sketches, Leighton House Collection.

  1889. *Portrait of Mrs. Francis A. Lucas. (23-1/2 x 19-1/2
        inches.) R.A.

  1890. Solitude. R.A.

  1890. *The Bath of Psyche.[99] (75 x 24-1/2 inches.) R.A. See
        Sketches, Leighton House Collection.

  1890. *Tragic Poetess. (63 x 34 inches.) R.A. See Sketches,
        Leighton House Collection.

  1890. *The Arab Hall. (33 x 16 inches.) (Guildhall, 1890.) R.A.

  1891. *Perseus and Andromeda. (91-1/2 x 50 inches.) R.A. See
        Sketches, Leighton House Collection.

  1891. *Portrait of A.B. Freeman-Mitford, Esq., C.B. (46-1/4 x
        38-1/2 inches.) R.A.

  1891. *Return of Persephone. (79 x 59-1/2 inches.) R.A.
        Corporation of Leeds. See Sketches, Leighton House
        Collection.

  1891. Athlete Struggling with a Python. Group, marble. R.A.

  1892. *"And the sea gave up the dead which were in it." (Circular,
        93 inches.) R.A. See Sketches, Leighton House Collection.

  1892. At the Fountain. (49 x 37 inches.) R.A.

  1891. *The Garden of the Hesperides. (Circular, 66 inches.)
        (Chicago, 1893; Guildhall, 1895.) R.A. See Sketches,
        Leighton House Collection.

  1892. Bacchante. R.A. See Sketches, Leighton House Collection.

  1892. *Clytie. (32-1/2 x 53-1/2 inches.) R.A.

  1892. Phryne at the Bath. (24 x 12 inches.) S.S. See Sketches,
        Leighton House Collection.

  1892. Malin Head, Donegal. S.S.

  1892. St. Mark's, Venice. S.S.

  1892. Interior of St. Mark's, Venice. S.S.

  1892. The Doorway, North Aisle, Venice. S.S.

  1892. Rizpah (the small study in oils). (7 x 7 inches.) S.S.

  1893. *Farewell! (63 x 26-1/2 inches.) R.A.

  1893. *Hit! (29 x 22 inches.) R.A. See Sketches, Leighton House
        Collection.

  1893. Atalanta. (26-1/2 x 19 inches.) R.A.

  1893. Rizpah. (36 x 52 inches.) R.A. See Sketches, Leighton House
        Collection.

  1893. Corinna of Tanagra. (47-1/2 x 21 inches.) R.A.

  1894. *The Spirit of the Summit. (77-1/2 x 39-1/2 inches.) R.A.
        See Sketches, Leighton House Collection.

  1894. *The Bracelet. (59-1/2 x 23 inches.) R.A. See Sketches,
        Leighton House Collection.

  1894. *Fatidica. (59-1/2 x 43 inches.) R.A. See Sketches, Leighton
        House Collection.

  1894. *Summer Slumber. (45-1/2 x 62 inches.) R.A. See Sketches,
        Leighton House Collection, one presented by H.M. The King.

  1894. At the Window. R.A.

  1894. Wide, Wondering Eyes. (20 x 15-1/2 inches.) Manchester.

  1894. The Roman Campagna, Monte Soracte in the distance. S.S.

  1894. The Acropolis of Lindos. S.S.

  1894. Fiume Morto, Gombo, Pisa. S.S.

  1894. Gibraltar from San Rocque. S.S.

  1895. Lachrymae. (60 x 24 inches.) R.A. See Sketches, Leighton
        House Collection.

  1895. The Maid with the Yellow Hair. R.A.

  1895. *'Twixt Hope and Fear. (43-1/2 x 38-1/2 inches.) R.A.

  1895. *Flaming June. (46 x 46 inches.) R.A. See Sketches, Leighton
        House Collection.

  1895. Listener. R.A.

  1895. A Study. R.A.

  1895. Phoenicians bartering with Britons. Presented to the Royal
        Exchange by Lord Leighton. See Sketches, Leighton House
        Collection.

  1895. Boy with Pomegranate. Grafton Gallery.

  1895. Miss Dene.

  1895. Aqua Certosa, Rome. S.S.

  1895. Chain of Hills seen from Ronda. S.S.

  1895. Rocks, Malin Head, Donegal. S.S.

  1895. Tlemcen, Algeria. S.S.

  1896. *Clytie. (61-1/2 x 53-1/2 inches.) R.A. See Sketches,
        Leighton House Collection.

  1896. Candida. (21 x 41-1/2 inches.) Antwerp, 1896.

  1896. *The Vestal. (27 x 20-1/2 inches.) Unfinished.

  1896. *A Bacchante. (26-1/2 x 21 inches.)

  1896. *The Fair Persian. (25-1/2 x 19-1/2 inches.) Unfinished.


FOOTNOTES:

[93] The asterisk denotes works exhibited at the Winter Exhibition of
the Royal Academy of Arts, 1897.

[94] R.A., Royal Academy; G.G., Grosvenor Gallery; R.W.S., Royal
Society of Painters in Water-Colours; S.S., Royal Society of British
Artists, Suffolk Street; D.G., Dudley Gallery; S.P.P., Society of
Portrait Painters.

[95] Exhibited in the Roman section by some blunder of the Committee,
the picture having been painted in Rome.

[96] Purchased for L2000 by the President and Council of the Royal
Academy, under the terms of the Chantrey Bequest.

[97] Painted by invitation for the collection of Portraits of Artists
painted by themselves, in the Uffizi Gallery, Florence.

[98] Painted for the house of Mr. Marquand, New York.

[99] Purchased for 1000 guineas by the President and Council of the
Royal Academy, under the terms of the Chantrey Bequest.




INDEX


  Abercorn, Lady, i. 256; ii. 338

  Aberdeen, Lord, i. 256

  Abydos, ii. 180

  Academy, _see_ Royal Academy

  Acland, Sir Henry, ii. 364, 373

  Acton, Lord, quoted, ii. 33-34

  AEsthetics, i. 103-104

  Afreet, ii. 168

  Agnew, ii. 286

  Aide, Hamilton, i. 195; ii. 60, 105, 110, 111;
    letter from, ii. 126 _note_ [40];
    quoted, i. 154 _note_ [28]

  Aitchison, George, i. 164; ii. 7, 116, 117, 221, 363;
    letter from, to Prof. Church, ii. 222 _note_ [57];
    quoted, ii. 118-119, 217 _note_ [55], 365, 372

  Albert, Prince Consort, i. 1, 261, 262; ii. 202;
    death of, ii. 85

  Alexandra, Queen (Princess of Wales), lines by, on Leighton, i. 33;
      ii. 336

  Algiers (1857), i. 18, 293-294, 297-304;
    (1895), ii. 318;
    Drawings of Moorish subjects, ii. 372

  Allen, Robin, letters from, ii. 59 _note_ [18], 102, 230;
    poem by, 102

  America--
    Hospitality in, i. 277
    Slave crisis (1862), ii. 77-78, 82-85

  Ampere, Mr., i. 146

  Arab Hall, ii. 7-8, 217-222 _and notes_ [55-57], 365

  Arabic, ii. 154

  Architecture--
    Athenian, ii. 128, 130-131, 145, 166
    Ecclesiastical, i. 74
    Egyptian, ii. 164-165, 185-186
    Leighton's presidential address on, ii. 239 _and note_ [63]
    Scottish, ii. 262
    Westminster, in, i. 87

  Armstrong, T., ii. 287

  Arnold, Matthew, letters from, ii. 226, 231

  Art--
    Academic, i. 209; ii. 5
    "Barbarians'" view as to, i. 41
    Breadth-of-treatment school, i. 70-71
    Catholicity in, ii. 264-265
    Classification in, ii. 16
    Detail, scrupulous care in, i. 202
    Florentine, ii. 117-118
    Form, importance of, i. 293; ii. 11, 263
    Foundation-laying in, i. 155-156
    Function of, i. 25-26; ii. 23, 278, 282, 283
    Greek, i. 228
    Impressionist, ii. 33
    Industry, need for, i. 206-208
    Influence of, Leighton's views as to, ii. 33-35
    Inspiration, moments of, ii. 4
    Inward source of, i. 92, 188, 212 _note_ [45]; ii. 15
    Italian, Leighton's love for, ii. 5
    Nature-study in, i. 174-175, 191, 199, 213; ii. 17-18
    Practical nature of, i. 238
    Protestant inconsistency as to, i. 74
    Roman Catholic influence on, i. 66, 73
    Roman influence on, i. 147, 188, 191
    Spontaneity of, in the young, i. 217-218
    Suggestion _v._ definition, ii. 26-28
    White, painting of, ii. 367

  _Art of Painting in the Queen's Reign, The_, cited, ii. 366

  Artist Benevolent Fund, ii. 213

  Artist Volunteer Corps, Leighton's membership of, i. 11-14;
      ii. 107, 111;
    resignation of commission (1883), ii. 243-245;
    at Leighton's funeral, ii. 337

  Ashburton, Lord, portrait of, ii. 123 _and note_ [37]

  Assouan, ii. 148-150, 152

  Athens, ii. 128, 130-131, 229 _note_ [60]

  Austin, Mrs., ii. 86

  Avignon, i. 298


  Ballater, ii. 309

  Barrington, Mrs. Russell, letters to, ii. 328, 332, 333

  Bayreuth, ii. 316, 326

  Beards, i. 170

  Beauty--
    Leighton's passion for, i. 59; ii. 2, 30, 328, 369
    Puritanical attitude towards, i. 60

  Becker, i. 56, 89

  Beechey, Sir William, i. 269

  Benedetto Bonfiglio, ii. 19

  Beni Hassan, ii. 185-187

  Benson, Ralph A., ii. 206-207;
    letter from, 58 _note_ [18]

  Bentinck, Count, i. 49, 52

  Bentinck, Gen., i. 63

  Bentinck, Penelope, i. 255, 262

  Bergheim, i. 49-53

  Berlin, i. 158-160

  Bettino, i. 39

  Bezzuoli, i. 38, 39

  Bideford, ii. 66-67

  Bileith, Mr., ii. 129

  Birrell, Augustine, ii. 304-305

  Boehm, Sir Edgar, letter from, ii. 200

  Boughton, George H., letters from, ii. 199

  Boxall, ii. 119, 227

  Brackley, Lord, i. 264, 284

  Brandes, Miss, ii. 217

  British Institution, ii. 39, 44

  British Museum, Leighton a trustee of, ii. 256

  Brock, Mr., ii. 241, 259-260 _and note_ [73]

  Brown, Madox, ii. 299

  Browning, Mrs., ii. 51-52, 64, 374 _note_ [91];
    letter from, 93

  Browning, Robert, estimate of Leighton by, ii. 29 _note_ [6];
    conversational powers of, i. 146 _and note_ [27], 149;
    lines by, on the Heracles picture, ii. 190;
    Leighton's estimate of, ii. 304-305;
    letter to, ii. 51;
    letters from, ii. 65, 225;
    quoted, i. 164;
    otherwise mentioned, i. 28, 149, 243, 280, 285; ii. 121

  Bruce, Col. and Mrs., ii. 39

  Bruckmann, Herr, ii. 113

  Brunton, Sir Lauder, ii. 316, 323, 329-330

  Buckner, i. 171

  Bull-fights, ii. 210

  Bulteel, Lady E., ii. 66

  Burne-Jones, Sir E., ii. 3, 8, 199, 288, 368;
    inaccuracies of, i. 219 _note_-220 [47];
    estimate of, ii. 25

  Burton, Sir Richard, portrait of, ii. 195-196;
    letters from, 218-219


  Calderon, ii. 196-197, 255

  Cambridge, H.R.H. Duke of, ii. 262

  Cameron, Mrs., cited, ii. 269 _note_ [76]

  Campagna, Roman, i. 22 _and notes_ [8 and 9], 162, 164

  Capri, ii. 18, 41

  Carlisle, Earl of, ii. 6

  Cartwright, W.C., politics of, i. 307-308;
    letters from, ii. 126 _note_ [40], 152, 286;
    otherwise mentioned, i. 124, 243, 255-257, 278; ii. 38, 46, 52

  Casts, gallery of, ii. 287-288 _and note_ [79]

  Chamberlayne, Kate, i. 126

  Change of scene, importance of, i. 92-95

  Chantrey Bequest, terms of, ii. 249-253

  _Chemistry of Paints and Painting_ (Church), cited, ii. 290 _notes_ [80]

  Choisy, M., quoted, ii. 221, 362-363

  Chorley, Henry J., ii. 43 _and note_ [13];
    letter from, 127 _note_ [40]

  Church, Prof., cited, ii. 290 _notes_ [80 and 81];
    letters to, 290-302

  Churche, ii. 70

  Cimabue, i. 227

  Clarke, Sir C.P., ii. 365;
    quoted, 218 _note_ [55]

  Cleopatra, ii. 163, 172

  Cleopatra's Needle, ii. 284

  Cleveland, Duke of, ii. 286

  Cliquiness, i. 192

  Cockerell, F. Pepys, i. 285; ii. 58 _note_ [18], 87, 325 _note_ [86];
    quoted, i. 294; ii. 372

  Cole, Sir Henry, ii. 212;
    letter from, 202;
    letter to, 204

  Coleridge, Lord, letter from, ii. 227

  Colfax, Mr., ii. 165

  Colnaghi, i. 252, 254; ii. 364;
    cited 246

  Colonna, i. 229 _note_ [50]

  Colour, Leighton's feeling for, ii. 188, 189, 366, 367

  Colours, &c., letters to Prof. Church regarding, ii. 290-302

  Commissioned subjects, Leighton's views on, ii. 277-278

  Conture, i. 154, 296

  Copies, Leighton's views on, ii. 277

  Cornelius, i. 56, 66, 141, 149, 151, 173;
    Leighton's estimate of, 180, 190-191, 291, 295;
    Steinle's estimate of, i. 280

  _Cornhill Magazine_, Leighton's illustrations for, ii. 91, 92,
      95, 103

  Corot, i. 241

  Correggio, ii. 41, 256

  Costa, Prof. Giovanni, Leighton's first meeting with, i. 162-164;
    portrait of, ii. 256;
    estimate of Leighton by, ii. 379;
    letter from, on Leighton, ii. 285 _note_ [78];
    quoted--
      on Leighton in Florence, i. 39; ii. 371;
      on Leighton in Siena, ii. 242 _note_ [64];
      on Leighton's methods, ii. 256;
      on Leighton's last visit, ii. 327-328;
    otherwise mentioned, ii. 7, 223, 297, 314

  Cowley, Lady, i. 240, 309; ii. 88;
    letter from, i. 48

  Cowley, Lord, letters from, i. 53-54;
    portrait of, ii. 88

  Cowper, Lady, ii. 66

  Cowper, Lord, portrait of, ii. 88

  Crane, Walter, ii. 365;
    estimate of Leighton by, 6-9

  Craven, Augustus, ii. 41

  Crawford, Lord, quoted, ii. 364

  Criticism--
    Leighton's appraisement of, i. 179
    Ruskin on, ii. 122

  Currie, Sir Donald, i. 4


  Dalou, i. 241;
    letter from, ii. 198

  Dalziel's Bible, Leighton's illustrations for, ii. 94-95

  Damascus, ii. 206-209

  Davey, Lord, ii. 364

  De l'Aigle, Madame, ii. 191

  De l'Aigle, Marquis, ii. 103

  De Morgan, Wm., ii. 364 _and note_ [90]

  De Savelege, Emile, ii. 214

  Delaroche, Paul, i. 249, 290

  Denderah, ii. 172

  Dene, Dorothy (Miss Pullen), ii. 267-274

  Detail, perfection of, i. 202

  Dickens, Charles, letters from, ii. 89;
    Leighton compared with, 330-331 _note_ [87]

  Dilettanti, Society of, ii. 212-213

  Disneh, ii. 141

  Dixon, Messrs., ii. 364

  Dolby, Miss, ii. 43-44

  Domestic decoration, ii. 220

  Doyle, Richard, letter from, ii. 124 _note_ [38]

  Drawings by Leighton--
    "Cervara," i. 163 _note_ [32]
    Comparison of, with finished paintings, ii. 93
    "Drifting," ii. 103
    Estimate of, i. 197, 205; ii. 368, 376
    "Evening in a French Country House, An," ii. 103
    Florentine fresco, copy of, ii. 374-375
    "Lemon Tree," i. 201 _and note_ [42]-202; ii. 41 _and note_ [11]
    "Monk Dividing Enemies, A," i. 65 _note_ [18]; ii. 371
    Moorish subjects, of, ii. 372
    "Plague in Florence in 1850," ii. 93
    "Samson Wrestling with the Lion," ii. 94
    "Vincenzo's Head," i. 151-152, 154-155
    "Well-Head, The," i. 110 _note_ [24]

  Du Maurier, i. 20 _note_ [7]

  Duccio, i. 227

  Dudley, Lord, ii. 53 _note_ [14]

  Duff, Sir M. Grant, quoted, ii. 33

  Duerer, Albert, i. 220; ii. 239-240

  Dyer, Sir W. Thistelton, estimate of Leighton by, i. 219-221 _note_ [47]


  East, Alfred, estimate of Leighton by, ii. 266

  Eastlake, Sir Ch., i. 48, 94, 265

  Edfou, ii. 162

  Edis, Col., ii. 244-245

  Edward VII., King (Prince of Wales), "Cimabue's Madonna" lent by,
      for exhibition, i. 185;
    Leighton's studio visited by, ii. 37, 39, 40;
    tribute to Leighton by, i. 7; ii. 37;
    otherwise mentioned, i. 265; ii. 41 _and note_ [9], 56, 60,
      131, 213, 323, 363

  Egypt, Leighton's visit to, ii. 131-187

  Egyptian tombs, ii. 144-145

  Elephantina, ii. 150

  Elgin Cathedral, ii. 262

  Eliot, George, _see_ Lewes

  Ellesmere, Earl of, i. 252, 257, 265

  Ellesmere, Lady, i. 268

  Ellis, Maj.-Gen., ii. 338

  Elmore, ii. 118

  Ely, Lady, ii. 178

  Erskine, Mr., ii. 130

  Esne, ii. 147-148

  Etty, i. 216


  Farquhar, Miss, i. 152

  Farrer, Lady (Miss Wedgwood), ii. 217

  Fatma, ii. 167

  Fenzi, M., i. 100, 285

  Ferronay, Pauline la (Mrs. A. Craven), ii. 41 _note_ [10]

  Ffrench, i. 260, 262

  Findhorn River, ii. 261-262

  Finlay, Mr., ii. 130, 131

  FitzGerald, Percy, quoted, ii. 330 _note_ [87]

  Flatz, i. 133

  Fleury, Robert, i. 27, 154, 245, 248, 249, 290; ii. 214, 294;
    letter from, ii. 37;
    cited, ii. 46

  Florence--
    Leighton's early studies in, i. 38-40;
    his stay at (1853), 136;
      (1856), 284
    List by Steinle of works to be studied in, i. 225-226

  Florentine art, ii. 117-118

  Flowers, Leighton's feeling for, i. 69, 75, 198;
    studies, i. 200, 218-219; ii. 263, 325 _note_ [85], 372-373, 375-376

  Form and matter, divergence between, ii. 184

  Forres, ii. 261-262

  Frankfort, Leighton at school at, i. 42

  Frederick, Empress, ii. 337

  French, i. 243

  Fresco, Gambier Parry's medium for, ii. 105-106, 108-110, 301

  Fresco _v._ oils, i. 296-297, 305; ii. 20

  Freshfield, Mrs. Douglas, ii. 217

  Frith, W.P., letter from, ii. 119 _note_ [35]

  Fuehrich, i. 174

  Fuller-Maitland, J.A., ii. 328, 372


  Gamba, Count, i. 75, 85, 87, 90, 96, 98, 116-118, 120, 122, 123,
    125, 132, 149, 151, 152, 164, 174, 188, 189, 191, 237; ii. 371

  Gambart, ii. 114, 123

  Garcia, Senor, ii. 239 _note_ [62]

  Gebel Silsily, ii. 161

  Genius, i. 206

  German aesthetics, i. 103-104

  Germany, Leighton's journey through (1852), i. 63-68

  Gerome, ii. 147, 155

  Gibson, i. 181, 261; ii. 39, 56;
    Leighton's estimate of, i. 114

  Gilbert, Alfred, quoted, i. 7

  Gilbert, Sir J., ii. 286

  Gilchrist, Connie, ii. 268

  Giotto, i. 128, 226 _note_ [49], 228; ii. 374

  Gladstone, W.E., ii. 57;
    letters from, 243, 289

  Glyn, Mrs., ii. 269, 270

  Goethe's _Sprueche_, Leighton's criticism of, ii. 305-306

  Gondolas, i. 78

  Goodall, J., i. 48;
    quoted, ii. 284

  Gooderson, T., i. 171

  Gordon, Lady Duff, ii. 132, 177, 181

  Gortschakoff, Prince, i. 56

  Gozze, Count, i. 169

  Graefe, i. 157

  Granada, ii. 210

  Grant, Gen., ii. 165

  Greek language, ii. 130-131

  Greene, i. 258, 259

  Greg, W.R., ii. 269 _note_ [76]

  Grenfell, Hon. Mrs. (Miss Mabel Mills), portrait of, ii. 197

  Greville, Charles, ii. 108

  Greville, Henry, Leighton's friendship with, i. 28, 164, 251 _and
      note_ [56], 282;
    extracts from diaries of, i. 242-244, 246, 278;
    death of, i. 268-269;
    letters from, i. 252-268;
    otherwise mentioned, i. 241, 247; ii. 43, 44, 46, 86, 92, 216

  Grey, Countess, i. 270

  Grove, Sir George, letter from, ii. 243 _note_ [65]

  Grueber, H.A., quoted, ii. 255-256

  Guaita, Mr., i. 281

  Guthrie, Mrs. James, portrait of, ii. 10 _note_ [1], 114


  Habit, deadening effect of, i. 93, 95

  Hague, The, i. 54-55

  Hale, Mr., ii. 163, 165

  Halle, i. 234

  Handel Festival (1859), ii. 43-44

  Hardy, Thomas, ii. 320

  Harrison, Mr., i. 260, 267, 282; ii. 46

  Hassan Effendi, ii. 143

  Haydon, i. 143-144

  Hebert, i. 236, 237

  Heidelberg, i. 63-64

  Heilbronn, i. 64

  Henderson, A., ii. 364

  Hendschel, i. 150

  Herkomer, Hubert, letter from, ii. 226

  Hickey, Miss Emily, sonnet by, ii. 261 _note_ [74]

  Hildesheim, ii. 315

  Hills, Mr., ii. 291

  Hoare, Lady, ii. 38, 40, 48

  Hodgson, J.G., i. 275;
    letter from, ii. 205 _note_ [74]

  Holland, Leighton's visit to (1852), i. 54-55

  Holland, Lord and Lady, i. 309; ii. 41, 67, 92

  Hollyer, Fred, ii. 364, 370;
    quoted, 288-289

  Hommel, i. 150

  Hooker, Sir Joseph, cited, i. 220

  Hope, J.K. Kempton, letter from, ii. 213

  Horsfall, T.C., correspondence with, ii. 274, 276-283

  Horsley, Mr., ii. 223

  Hosmer, Miss Harriet, i. 146, 181, 195; ii. 72, 76

  Hosseyn, ii. 137-138, 140-142, 144, 146, 148, 153, 157, 158, 160,
    165, 167, 170, 172, 174, 176-180, 187

  Hughes, Mrs. Watts, ii. 332;
    letter from, 217

  Human form, Leighton's treatment of, ii. 29

  Hunt, Holman, i. 187 _note_ [34], 220, 278; ii. 118, 148, 219

  Hunter, Colin, i. 4


  I'Anson, Mr. (great-uncle), i. 45-46

  Impressionists, ii. 33

  Ingres, i. 245

  Innsbruck statues, i. 69-70, 88-89

  Irish scenery, ii. 311

  Irving, Sir H., ii. 270 _note_ [77];
    Leighton compared with, 330-331 _note_ [87]

  Italian art, ii. 5, 19, 117

  Italy (_for districts, towns, &c., see their names_)--
    Leighton's affection for, i. 19-24, 56, 62, 67-68, 72, 135, 137,
      158, 302-303; ii. 51
    Music of, i. 167
    Street cries in, i. 72-73


  Jameson, Mrs., i. 280

  Janauschek, i. 55

  Janotha, Miss, ii. 228

  Joachim, Dr. Joseph, ii. 216, 223, 228, 316;
    Leighton's speech at jubilee presentation to, ii. 245-247


  Kalergi, Madame, i. 242

  Karnak, ii. 165-167

  Kaye, Miss, i. 264

  Kemble, Adelaide, _see_ Sartoris

  Kemble, Mrs. (Fanny), on "Pan" and "Venus," ii. 45;
    reading of, i. 184;
    estimate of Leighton by, i. 264;
    letter to, i. 165;
    letters from, i. 165 _note_ [33]; ii. 68-83, 126 _note_ [40];
    otherwise mentioned, i. 146, 147, 149, 178, 181, 245, 255, 300

  Kew gardens, i. 219-221 _note_ [47]

  Kimberley, S.A., art exhibition at, i. 4

  Kom Ombo, ii. 160, 161

  Koorveh, ii. 145

  Kuppelwieser, i. 174

  Kyrle Society, ii. 274-275


  Laing, Isabel (Lady Nias), i. 108, 122 _note_ [25], 125;
    portrait of, 122-123, 177

  Land, W.C., ii. 225

  Landseer, Sir Edwin, ii. 59, 61

  Lang, Mrs. Andrew, quoted, ii. 372

  Lansdowne, Lord, ii. 41, 43

  Lanteri, Edouard, ii. 288

  Lascelles, E., ii. 92

  Lawrence, Sir Thos., i. 269

  Lecky, Prof., ii. 338

  Leech, John, ii. 68

  Lehmann, ii. 287

  Leighton, Dr. (father), career of, i. 36-37;
    attitude towards art as a profession, 16-17;
    severity towards his son, 37;
    anatomy studies, 38;
    move to Bath, 56;
    illness, ii. 309-310;
    death, 314;
    letters to, i. 44, 110, 171, 177, 180, 212, 236, 237, 244, 248,
      269, 283, 307; ii. 58, 62, 86, 95, 114-116, 129, 131, 206, 209,
      211, 213, 238 _note_ [62], 261, 313;
    letter from, i. 101;
    letter regarding, i. 135-136;
    otherwise mentioned, i. 76, 84

  Leighton, Lady (grandmother), i. 47, 56, 86

  Leighton, Mrs. (mother), delicate health of, i. 36-38;
    tenderness of, 37;
    death of, ii. 126;
    letters to, i. 18, 42, 46, 49, 51, 59, 84, 92, 104, 122, 137,
      139, 142, 147, 166, 167, 176, 178, 212, 224, 234, 236, 240,
      245, 247, 281, 287, 289, 290, 297, 308; ii. 14 _note_ [2], 38,
      43-48, 55, 57, 60, 64-68, 88, 91, 107, 108, 110, 111, 119, 122,
      191;
    letters from, i. 57, 98, 133, 139, 144, 177, 226 _note_ [49], 232;
    letter from, to younger daughter, ii. 56

  Leighton, Alexandra (sister), _see_ Orr

  Leighton, Augusta (sister), _see_ Matthews

  Leighton, Sir Baldwyn, letter from, i. 34

  Leighton, Frederic, Lord--
    Ancestry of, i. 34-36
    Career, chronological sequence of--
      birth, i. 36;
      early travels, 37, 38;
      education, 37-39, 41-42;
      under Steinle's influence, 40-42;
      first picture, 44;
      studies in Brussels, Paris and Frankfort, 44;
      visit to London, 45-48;
      portrait painting, 46, 48, 51-53;
      back to Frankfort, 48;
      at Bergheim, 49;
      in Holland, 54-55;
      Italy, 72-83;
      Rome, 95-96, 106 _et seq._, 161;
      at Bad Gleisweiler, 134;
      at Frankfort and Florence, 136;
      return to Rome, 139;
      at Lucca, 154 _note_ [28];
      Frankfort, Venice, Florence and Rome, 154;
      consultation with Graefe, 157;
      success of "Cimabue's Madonna," 193;
      in London, 222, 233;
      in Paris, 235-237, 239 _et seq._;
      to Frankfort and Italy, 281-285;
      back to Rome, 289;
      in Algiers, 18, 293-294, 297-304;
      in Rome (1858), ii. 37;
      in London, 43;
      at 2 Orme Square, 47, 49;
      volunteering activities, i. 11-14; ii. 55, 107, 111;
      in Devonshire, 66;
      visit to Mason, 89-90;
      at Compiegne, 103-104;
      the Lyndhurst fresco, 104-108, 110-112;
      building of Leighton House, 114-117;
      A.R.A., 118;
      visit to Spain (1866), 128;
      examiner at Victoria and Albert Museum (1866-1875), 212;
      at Vichy (1869), 218 _note_ [56];
      up the Nile, 131-187;
      R.A. (1869), 123, 188;
      visit to Damascus (1873), 205-209;
      to Spain (1877), 209;
      P.R.A. (1878), 223;
      trustee of British Museum (1881), 256;
      resigns volunteer commission (1883), 243-245;
      made a baronet (1886), 289;
      waning health, 241, 313, 318, 323, 324, 328;
      visit to Spain (1889), ii. 238 _note_ [62];
      foreign travel, 313-316;
      Algiers, 318;
      made a peer, 331;
      fatal illness, 333-334;
      death, 334
    Characteristics of--
      Actuality, sense of, i. 280; ii. 5, 26-27, 30
      Art, passionate attachment to, i. 2, 16, 17; ii. 338-339
      Beauty, love of, i. 59; ii. 2, 30, 328, 369
      _Bonhomie_, ii. 330
      Boyishness, ii. 317
      Children, love of, ii. 192, 328, 370
      Consistency, ii. 3, 21
      Courage, ii. 317
      Critical faculty, i. 217
      Criticism, attitude towards, i. 179
      Depression, liability to, i. 10
      Duty, sense of, i. 250; ii. 21
      Enthusiasm, i. 18, 41
      Fastidiousness, ii. 5
      Gratitude, ii. 266
      Greek-like combination of qualities, i. 24-25, 59;
        ii. 368, 377-378
      Impartiality, i. 5
      Industry and strenuousness, ii. 4, 207-208, 223, 369
      Insight, rapidity of, i. 24
      Intellectual brilliancy, i. 4, 23, 24, 210; ii. 2, 242
      Kindness, i. 269; ii. 7, 90, 104, 242 _note_ [64]
      Loyalty, i. 19; ii. 3, 8
      Mastery of others, ii. 242-243 _and note_ [64]
      Modesty, i. 8, 206, 280; ii. 16, 233, 265, 266
      Music, love of, i. 108, 126
      Oratorical powers, i. 5, 6, 29; ii. 233-234
      Originality, ii. 5, 16
      Selective faculty, predominant, i. 219 _note_ [47]; ii. 2
      Sensitiveness, i. 31
      Simplicity, i. 9
      Sincerity, i. 8, 60, 92, 216
      Smell and hearing, keen senses of, i. 72
      Social charm, i. 8, 30
      Society, general, distaste for, i. 166, 168, 222-223
      Spontaneity, lack of, i. 246; ii. 1, 20, 233-234
      Sympathy, i. 4-6, 9 _and note_ [4], 216
      Thoroughness, ii. 20, 31, 208, 233
      Unselfishness, ii. 266
      Vitality, exuberance of, i. 59, 224
      Will power, ii. 369
    Diary ("Pebbles"), extracts from, i. 61-87, 198
    Diary of Egyptian visit, ii. 133-187
    Dignities and honours conferred on, ii. 380
    Drawings by, _see that title_
    Estimates of, by--
      Anonymous, i. 60; ii. 29-30, 374
      Browning, Robert, ii. 29 _note_ [6]
      Costa, Prof. G., ii. 379
      Crane, W., ii. 6-9
      Dyer, Sir W.T., i. 219-221 _note_ [47]
      East, A., ii. 266
      Greville, H., i. 243
      Kemble, Mrs., i. 264
      Powers, Hiram, i. 39
      Poynter, Sir E., ii. 242 _note_ [64]
      Richmond, Sir W., i. 209; ii. 1-6
      Riviere, Briton, i. 5, 129, 207, 250; ii. 21-22
      Ruskin, J., i. 212
      Thornycroft, H., i. 5-6, 13-14
      Watts, G.F., i. 4, 7, 210; ii. 22
    Frescoes by, ii. 104-108, 110-112, 203-204
    Funeral of, i. 31-33; ii. 335-338
    Health difficulties, i. 42, 59, 130, 169, 240, 241; ii. 22, 68;
      eyesight trouble, i. 101, 111, 113, 123-124, 130, 131, 142, 157,
        247, 309; ii. 22;
      waning health, 313, 318, 323, 324, 328;
      fatal disease, ii. 241, 302, 316, 333-334
    Limitations in his art, i. 211-215
    Methods of, ii. 12-15, 256, 293
    Pictures by, _see that title_
    Portrait of, ii. 259;
      bust by Brock, 260 _and note_ [73], 364
    Portraits by, _see that title_
    Presidential addresses by, ii. 229-233, 235-241
    Sketches by, ii. 257-259 _and note_ [71], 366-367, 371-372
    Speeches by, ii. 241-247
    Statuary by, ii. 198-200, 259-260

  Leighton, Sir James (grandfather), i. 36

  Leighton, Rev. Wm., i. 35

  Leighton House--
    Aims of committee of, ii. 378-379
    Arab Hall, ii. 217-222, 365
    Contents of, ii. 363-378
    Preface to Catalogue of, ii. 362-379
    Preliminaries to building of, ii. 115-116
    Site of, ii. 114 _and note_ [32]
    Style of, ii. 362-363

  Leitch, i. 181

  "Les Natchez," ii. 184

  Leslie, Lady Constance, ii. 92;
    quoted, i. 193

  Leslie, Sir John, i. 164, 261, 262

  Lewes, Mr., ii. 95, 100

  Lewes, Marian E. (George Eliot), ii. 95;
    letters from, 96-100

  Lewis, Arthur, ii. 55, 92

  Lindos, ii. 129, 148

  Lindsay, Sir Coutts, ii. 286

  Linton, ii. 286

  Lister, Sir Joseph, ii. 338

  Lister, Villers, i. 285

  Listowel, Lord, ii. 92

  Liszt, ii. 43 _note_ [13]

  Liverpool, Leighton's speech at Art Congress at (1888), ii. 247,
    341-361

  Loch, Lady, quoted, i. 3-4; ii. 334

  Lockhart, i. 176

  Lougsor, ii. 143, 174, 175

  Lucas, Charles, cited, ii. 362

  Lugano, Lake of, i. 283

  Lynn of Dee, ii. 261 _and note_ [74], 309

  Lyon, Lord, ii. 76

  Lyons, Bickerton, i. 146, 243


  Mackail, ii. 333

  Mackenzie, Sir A., ii. 338

  MacWhirter, J., ii. 374

  Maeterlinck, ii. 25, 27

  _Magazine of Art_, reprint from, ii. 362 _and note_ [89], 379

  Mahometans, ii. 146, 169-170

  Malet, Sir E., ii. 316

  Malinmore (Co. Donegal), ii. 311, 324-325 _and note_ [85]

  Man, Isle of, art exhibition in, i. 3

  Manchester Art Museum and Galleries, ii. 274-281

  _Manchester Courier_, extract from, ii. 275-280

  Maquay, Mrs., i. 134, 285

  Mariani, ii. 294-295

  Mario, i. 309; ii. 43

  Marochetti, i. 176, 261

  Marquand, Mr., i. 277; ii. 259 _note_ [72]

  Marriage, Leighton's views on, ii. 56

  Massarani, Sig. Tullio, ii. 214

  Mason, George, i. 32, 164, 286; ii. 66, 118;
    Leighton's relations with, i. 193; ii. 89-90, 266

  Matthews, Mrs. (Augusta N. Leighton), birth of, i. 36;
    Leighton's advice to, on musical studies, 91-92, 97-98;
    extracts from diary of, 233, 241;
    in Leighton's last illness, ii. 333-334;
    at the funeral, ii. 338;
    letters to, i. 97, 182;
      ii. 52, 64, 85, 90, 117, 216, 223, 309, 313, 315;
    letter from Mrs. Leighton to, ii. 56;
    otherwise mentioned, i. 76, 87, 99, 105, 145, 169, 181;
      ii. 65, 95, 304, 316, 326, 363

  May, Phil, ii. 32

  Medinet Haboo, ii. 164

  Meissonier, ii. 214

  Melbourne, art exhibition in, i. 3-4

  Meli, Signor, i. 37

  Mendelssohn, Frau, i. 56

  Meran, i. 71, 89, 282

  Meynell, Wilfrid, ii. 321, 364

  Middleburgh, i. 63

  Millais, Sir J., Leighton's estimate of, ii. 67, 68;
    flower painting by, i. 220;
    "Needless Alarms" given to, ii. 260;
    letter from, 230;
    otherwise mentioned, i. 187 _note_ [34], 221, 234, 254;
      ii. 60, 87, 118, 319, 322, 338, 368

  Millet, Jean Francois, i. 241

  Mills, Sir Charles, i. 4

  Mills, Miss Mabel (Hon. Mrs. Grenfell), portrait of, ii. 197

  Minyeh, ii. 135-136

  Monbrison, George de, ii. 41

  Monson, Lady, i. 244

  Montfort, i. 243, 249; ii. 39;
    cited, 46

  Moor scenery, ii. 308-309, 311

  Moorish interior, i. 301;
    music, 303

  Morants, ii. 66

  Morlaix, ii. 324

  Morley, Rt. Hon. John, letter from, ii. 331

  Morny, i. 243

  Morris, William, ii. 220

  Mortlake, M.C., ii. 120 _note_ [35]

  Music--
    Italian, i. 167
    Leighton's feeling for, i. 100, 182; ii. 6;
      his singing, i. 140-141, 169-170;
      his yearly gatherings, ii. 216-217;
      his speech at the Joachim celebration, ii. 245-247
    Monday popular concerts, ii. 216
    Moorish, i. 303

  Mustafa Aga, ii. 143-144, 165, 172


  Napier, Lord, ii. 325

  Naples, Leighton's visit to (1859), ii. 41

  Nash, Mr. and Mrs., i. 224

  Neville, Lady Dorothy, ii. 111, 114

  Nettleship, ii. 114

  Nias, Lady, _see_ Laing, Isabel

  Nicholson, ii. 55

  Nordau, Leighton's estimate of, ii. 326-327

  North, Miss, i. 220

  Norton, Hon. Mrs., letter from, ii. 10 _note_ [1]

  Novello, Clara, ii. 43

  Nubians, ii. 150


  Oakes, i. 96, 108

  _Obiter Dicta_ (Birrell), ii. 304-305

  O'Conor, ii. 226

  Ogle, Miss, ii. 38

  Old Masters--
    Leighton's attitude towards, i. 230
    Winter Exhibitions of, ii. 214

  Oppenheim, i. 56

  Orcagna, i. 225

  Ordway, Mr., ii. 69, 71, 74, 75, 83

  Orr, Col. Sutherland, i. 3 _note_ [2], 300, 309

  Orr, Mrs. Sutherland (Alexandra Leighton), birth of, i. 36;
    marriage of, 3 _note_ [2];
    in India, 300 _and note_ [70], 306, 309;
    widowed, ii. 50;
    portrait of, 54, 57, 61;
    in Leighton's last illness, 333-334;
    at the funeral, 338;
    work on Browning by, 314 _and note_ [83];
    letters to, i. 18, 19, 22 _note_ [8], 302;
      ii. 240, 304, 307, 310, 311, 319, 322, 325, 326;
    otherwise mentioned, i. 42, 44, 46, 99, 126, 183;
      ii. 45, 211, 273, 315, 363

  "Orphee," ii. 52-53 _and note_ [14]

  Ouless, W.W., i. 4

  Overbeck, i. 96, 116, 132-133, 189, 190, 192;
    Leighton's estimate of, 113-114;
    Steinle's, 121


  Paestum, ii. 50

  Paget, Sir James, ii. 313

  Palmer, ii. 55

  Panshanger, ii. 92

  Pantaleone, Dr., i. 169; ii. 52

  Paris, Comtesse de, telegram from, ii. 321

  Parry, Gambier, ii. 105, 299-301;
    letter from, 108

  Pasta, i. 267-268

  Pasteur, W., letter from, ii. 244 _note_ [66]

  Pattison, Mrs. Mark, letters to, i. 16, 27, 302; ii. 118, 128, 209,
    303

  "Pebbles," _see under_ Leighton--Diary

  Perry, Walter Copland, ii. 287-288 _and note_ [79]

  Persian tiles, ii. 364-365

  Perugia, ii. 19

  Perugini, Carlo, i. 236, 237, 241; ii. 55

  Petre, i. 290

  Pheidias, i. 224

  Philipson, Mr., ii. 364

  Phipps, Hon. Col., i. 265, 267, 282, 290

  Phipps, Hon. Mrs., ii. 40

  Photography, i. 202-206;
    of masterpieces, ii. 277

  Phylae, ii. 150-151, 154-155, 167

  Piatti, ii. 228

  Pictures by Leighton--
    "And the Sea gave up ...," ii. 193
    "Antique Juggling Girl, The," ii. 194-195, 205 _note_ [53]
    "Ariadne abandoned by Theseus," ii. 370
    "Atalanta," ii. 262-263
    "Bath of Psyche, The," ii. 257
    "Byzantine Well," ii. 42 _and note_ [12]
    "Captive Andromache," ii. 370
    "Cimabue finding Giotto in the Fields of Florence," i. 56
    "Cimabue's Madonna"--
      Description of, i. 173
      Estimate of, i. 185-186;
        by Richmond, 186;
        by Ruskin, 186 _note_ [34]; ii. 367;
        by Rossetti, i. 187 _note_ [34]
      Exhibition of, in Rome, i. 177, 180;
        at Leighton House (1900), i. 185
      Holes in, i. 260 _and note_ [59], 282-283, 290
      Success of, i. 32, 193; ii. 367
      Work on, i. 128-130, 135-136, 141, 145, 148-151, 155, 175, 179,
        184-186
    "Cleoboulos Instructing his Daughter Cleobouline," ii. 192
    "Clytemnestra Watching from the Battlements of Argos," ii. 195
      _and note_ 46, 205 _note_ [53], 366
    "Clytie," ii. 96, 263, 327
    "Condottiere, A," ii. 193
    "Crossbowman, The," ii. 119
    "Cymon and Iphegenia," i. 25; ii. 258 _and note_ [70], 259
    "Daedalus and Icarus," ii. 188, 189
    "Dante at Verona," ii. 114, 123 _and note_ [38]
    "Daphnephoria, The," ii. 195-197
    "Death of Brunelleschi, The," i. 55-56
    "Duel between Romeo and Tybalt, The," i. 56
    "Duet" (small "Johnnie"), ii. 85 _note_, 88, 123
    "Eastern King, The," ii. 86-88, 107
    "Egyptian Slinger," ii. 370
    "Electra at the Tomb of Agamemnon," ii. 188, 189, 370
    "Elijah in the Wilderness," ii. 188, 256
    "Eucharis," ii. 9, 108, 119 _and note_ [34]
    "Fisherman and the Syren, The," ii. 36 _and note_ [8], 62
    "Flaming June," ii. 262-263
    "Francesca," ii. 57, 59 _note_ [18]
    "Girl feeding Peacocks," ii. 119 _and note_ [33]
    "Golden Hours," ii. 9, 114
    "Greek Girl Dancing," ii. 193
    "Greek Girls Picking up Pebbles," ii. 192
    "Helen of Troy," ii. 125 _and note_ [39]
    "Helios and Rhodos," ii. 188
    "Heracles Wrestling with Death for the Body of Alcestis,"
      ii. 189-191, 370
    "Honeymoon, The," ii. 114, 123
    Improvement in, by keeping, ii. 258 _note_ [70]
    "In a Moorish Garden," ii. 194, 205 _note_ [53]
    "Industrial Arts of Peace, The," ii. 193-194, 202
    "Industrial Arts of War, The," ii. 193-194, 224
    Landscapes in Oil, i. 208
    "Lieder ohne Worte," ii. 17 _and note_ [3], 57, 58 _note_ [16], 60
      _note_ [19], 61-63, 65, 367
    List of, ii. 381-392
    "Michael Angelo Nursing his Dying Servant," ii. 86-88, 93,
       105-107, 370
    "Music Lesson," ii. 197
    "Nanna, La," ii. 39-41, 48
    "Nausicaa," ii. 200-201
    "Negro Festival, A," i. 302; ii. 44-47
    "Neruccia," ii. 256, 257
    "Nile Woman, A," ii. 189
    "Noble Lady of Venice, A," ii. 10
    "Plague in Florence," ii. 370
    "Psyche," ii. 368
    Number of, during Presidency, ii. 257
    "Odalisque," ii. 87, 88
    "Old Damascus," ii. 205 _and note_ [53]
    "Orpheus," _see subheading_ "Triumph of Music"
    "Othello and Desdemona," i. 44
    "Pan," i. 249, 258, 278;
      in America, i. 300; ii. 45-46
    "Paolo and Francesca," ii. 63, 76-77
    "Persephone," i. 220
    "Perseus and Andromeda," ii. 198
    Perugini, Carlo, head of, i. 237
    Poetry in, i. 211; ii. 29 _and note_ [6]
    "Reconciliation of the Montagues and Capulets"--
      America, in, i. 300; ii. 46
      Criticism of, i. 287 _note_ [68]
      France, in, i. 235
      Sale of, i. 289
      mentioned, i. 141, 176
    "Romeo," _see subheading_ "Reconciliation"
    "Romeo and Juliet," ii. 36 _and note_ [8]
    "Rustic Music" (large "Johnnie"), ii. 85 _note_ [22], 86, 88
    "S. Jerome," ii. 188
    "Salome, the Daughter of Herodias," i. 308; ii. 119 _and note_ [35]
    "Samson and Delilah," ii. 39, 47, 74
    "Sea Echoes," ii. 87 _and note_ [24], 88
    "Solitude," ii. 260-261 _and note_ [74]
    "Spirit of the Summit, The," i. 10
    "Study," ii. 197
    "Summer Moon," ii. 192-193, 366
    "Sunrise--Capri," ii. 53
    "Syracusan Bride ..., A," ii. 10 _and note_ [1], 124
    Texture of, ii. 93
    "Triumph of Music, The"--
      Failure of, i. 246-249
      "Sketches of Orpheus," i. 278
      Subject of, i. 244-245
      mentioned, i. 236, 238, 257; ii. 46, 114
    "Venus," i. 249, 258-259, 278, 287 _note_ [68];
      in America, i. 300; ii. 45-46
    "Venus disrobing for the Bath," ii. 368
    Vision of Mrs. Sandbach, ii. 54 _and note_ [15], 56, 57, 58 _note_
    "Weaving the Wreath," ii. 194
    "Wedded," ii. 29 _note_ [6]
    "Winding the Skein," ii. 201, 368

  Pisano, Nicolo, i. 227

  Pocock, ii. 87

  Pollington, Lady, i. 115;
    portrait of, 54

  Portraits by Leighton--
    Ashburton, Lord, ii. 123 _and note_ [37]
    Bentinck, Count, family of, i. 49, 52
    Burton, Sir R., ii. 195, 196
    Costa, Giovanni, ii. 256
    Cowley, Lady, and family, i. 48-49, 53
    Cowper, Lord, ii. 88
    Guthrie, Mrs. James, ii. 10 _note_ [1], 114
    I'Anson, Mr., i. 46
    Mills, Miss Mabel, ii. 197
    Pollington, Lady, i. 54
    Walker, Mrs. Hanson, i. 251 _note_ [57]

  Powers, Hiram, i. 114;
    estimate of Leighton by, i. 39

  Poynter, Sir E., i. 164;
    estimate of Leighton by, ii. 242 _note_ [64]

  Prange, Mr., i. 4

  Pre-Raphaelites--
    Burne-Jones distinguished from, ii. 25;
    Leighton's estimate of, i. 289;
    his relations with, ii. 52

  Pullen, Miss (Dorothy Dene), ii. 267-274

  Pullen, Lina, ii. 268


  Quilter, Sir Cuthbert, ii. 258 _note_ [70]


  Rafaello, i. 162 _and note_ [31], 163

  Ravaschieri, Duchessa, i. 167

  Rawnsley, Canon, ii. 372

  Redesdale, Lord, i. 121

  Reeves, Sims, ii. 44

  Reston, i. 268

  Rhapsodist performance, i. 303-304

  Rhoden, i. 133

  Rhodes Island, ii. 129-130, 148

  Rhys, Ernest, cited, ii. 232 _note_ [61]

  Ricardo, Puliza, ii. 46

  Richmond, George, ii. 255;
    letter from, 312

  Richmond, Sir Wm. B., i. 186, 220; ii. 55;
    estimate of Leighton by, i. 209; ii. 1-6

  Ristori, i. 242-243

  Ritchie, Miss, ii. 217

  Ritchie, Mrs. Richard, quoted, i. 194 _note_ [36]; ii. 43 _note_ [13]

  Riviere, Briton, estimate of Leighton by, i. 5, 129, 207, 250;
      ii. 21-22;
    quoted, i. 216; ii. 233-234, 317;
    letter from, ii. 230;
    letters to, ii. 318, 324

  Roberts, Dr., ii. 241, 315, 316, 329

  Roman Catholic faith, i. 66

  Rome--
    Art, influence on, i. 147, 188, 191
    Cafe Greco, i. 162 _note_ [31]
    Leighton's early studies in, i. 37
    Steinle's estimate of, i. 280-281

  _Romola_, Leighton's illustrations for, ii. 95-102, 121

  Rosebery, Lord, ii. 372

  Ross, Mr., ii. 132

  Ross, Mrs., ii. 8

  Rossetti, D.G., i. 278; ii. 118, 288;
    quoted, i. 187 _note_ [34]; ii. 60 _note_ [19], 191, 368

  Rossetti, Wm., ii. 45-46, 58

  Rossini, i. 166-167

  Royal Academy--
    Attacks on, ii. 8
    Chantry Bequest, terms of, ii. 251-253
    Codification Committee, ii. 254-255
    Constitution of, ii. 248-251 _note_ [67]
    Exhibitions of--
      Burlington House, at, ii. 201
      Colour, as test of, ii. 88
      Winter, of Old Masters, ii. 214
    Leighton an Associate of, ii. 118;
      member, 123, 188;
      President, ii. 223;
      his speeches at banquets of, ii. 241-243 _and notes_ [64 and 65];
      his bequest to, ii. 333
    Pension question, ii. 252-253, 255
    Presidency of, ii. 231 _note_ [61]
    Treasurership of, ii. 249 _note_ [67]
    Tresham case, ii. 248-250 _note_ [67]
    Women, question of admission of, to membership, ii. 247-248
      _and note_ [67]

  Ruskin, John, estimate by, of "Cimabue's Madonna," i. 186 _note_ [34];
      ii. 367;
    of Leighton, i. 212; ii. 373;
    on "A Lemon Tree," ii. 41;
    on the Lyndhurst fresco, ii. 112;
    letters from, ii. 42, 120-121;
    otherwise mentioned, i. 201 _note_ [42], 220, 234, 245, 247, 257;
      ii. 59, 377

  Russell, Odo (Lord Ampthill), ii. 38, 40, 52

  Russell, Lady William, letters from, ii. 215, 216


  S. Francis of Assisi, quoted, i. 22 _note_ [10]

  Salisbury, ii. 67

  Salisbury, Lord, ii. 338

  Samuelson, Right Hon. Sir Bernard, ii. 190 _note_ [42]

  Sandbach, Mrs., ii. 54 _and note_ [15], 56

  Sartoris, Hon. Mrs. Alfred, letter from, ii. 88 _and note_ [25];
    quoted, 104

  Sartoris, Edward, Leighton's friendship with, i. 124, 126;
    illness of, i. 263, 266, 267;
    otherwise mentioned, i. 28, 147, 240, 241, 245, 257, 310;
      ii. 46, 52, 66, 68

  Sartoris, Mrs. (Adelaide Kemble), Leighton's friendship with,
      i. 27-28, 124, 126-128, 149, 166, 168, 176, 181, 183, 194, 250,
      289;
    estimates of, i. 126-128;
    portrait of, i. 172, 184, 232;
    intimates of, i. 183;
    personal appearance of, i. 183;
    Mrs. Ritchie's account of, i. 194 _note_ [36];
    extract from early diary of, 195-196 _note_ [36];
    Leighton's family's appreciation of, i. 232-233;
    "A Week in a French Country House" by, ii. 103;
    illness of, ii. 191-192;
    letter from, to Greville, i. 266;
      to Mrs. Leighton, ii. 61;
    otherwise mentioned, i. 146, 147, 182, 234, 240-245, 247, 251
      _note_ [56], 258, 260-265, 278; ii. 43 _and note_ [13], 52, 57,
      66, 68, 81, 217, 218, 239 _note_ [62]

  Saunders, Mr. Bailey, letter to, ii. 305

  Scarborough Borough Council, messages from, ii. 225, 331

  Schaeffer, i. 116

  Scheffer, Ary, i. 245 _and note_ [55], 249; ii. 46

  Schlemmer, Dr., i. 56

  Schlosser, Frau Rath, i. 64, 190

  Schwind, i. 293

  Scottish rivers and scenery, ii. 261-262, 308-309

  Sculpture, Leighton's view on, i. 6, 69, 88-89;
    his work in, ii. 198-200, 259-260

  Selim, Sheykh, ii. 141-143, 179

  Sermoneta, Duke, i. 169

  Servolini, i. 38, 39

  Seville, ii. 210

  Shakespear, illustration of, ii. 113

  Shaw, Norman, letter from, ii. 239

  Sheik Boran Bukh, letter to, i. 306;
    letter from, 307

  Shelley, ii. 307

  Shields, Frederick, ii. 299

  Si Achmet, Syed, ii. 173, 174, 176, 177

  Siddons, Mrs., i. 268

  Siena, Leighton at the Duomo fire in, ii. 242 _note_ [64]

  Simon, John, ii. 42

  Smith, George, ii. 364

  Society, i. 166, 222-223

  Sohag, ii. 140, 159

  Somers, Lord, ii. 213

  "Souls," the, ii. 25

  South London Fine Art Gallery, ii. 8

  Spain, Leighton's visit to (1866), ii. 128;
    (1887), ii. 209;
    (1889), 238 _note_ [62]

  Spanish language, Leighton's mastery of, ii. 238 _note_ [62]

  Speke, ii. 172

  Spencer, Lord and Lady, ii. 92

  Sphinx, ii. 146

  Spielmann, M., letter to, ii. 12

  Spottiswoode, Wm., letter from, ii. 216 _note_ [54]

  Stanton, Col., ii. 131-132

  Statuary, _see_ Sculpture

  Steinle, Eduard von, influence of, on Leighton, i. 27, 92, 215, 250;
      ii. 303;
    Leighton's tribute to, i. 61;
    list of Florentine paintings recommended by, for study,
      i. 225-226;
    with Leighton (1856), i. 281-282;
    water-colour by, i. 291 _note_ [69];
    portrait of (_Der Winter_), ii. 303-304;
    estimate of, i. 40-42;
    death of, ii. 303;
    letters to, i. 22 _note_ [9], 87, 118, 119, 130, 134, 150,
      154, 157, 172, 187, 190, 193, 215, 233, 237, 238, 279, 284,
      291-296, 304, 305; ii. 11, 49, 50, 53, 63, 64, 91, 105, 106,
      112, 188, 201;
    letters from, i. 116, 120, 151, 189, 280; ii. 127, 224, 302;
    otherwise mentioned, i. 24, 56, 64-65, 86, 113, 129, 136

  Stephens, ii. 59, 87

  Sterlings, ii. 133, 135, 182

  Stevens, Alfred, Wellington monument by, ii. 286-287

  Storey, W.W., ii. 7

  Strafford, Alice, Countess of, i. 251 _note_ [56]

  Strangford, Lady, ii. 222 _note_ [57]

  Stratford de Redcliffe, Lady, ii. 40

  Strauch, i. 238

  Stretton, i. 34

  Style, ii. 4, 376

  Sunrise, i. 79

  Sunset, i. 170

  Swinburne, A.C., letter from, ii. 307;
    tribute of, ii. 339;
    quoted, ii. 218 _note_ [56]

  Symons, Arthur, quoted, ii. 23-24

  Syoot, ii. 137-140


  Tadema, Alma, i. 220

  Talfourd, ii. 55

  Tangiers, ii. 209-210

  Tate, Sir Henry, ii. 259

  Tate Gallery, founding of, ii. 284-286

  Taylor, Tom, i. 300; ii. 58

  Temple, A.G., ii. 364;
    quoted, 366

  Tennyson, ii. 66

  Terry, Ellen, ii. 271 _note_ [77]

  Thackeray, Miss, ii. 43, 92

  Thackeray, W.M., i. 176

  Thompson, Sir E., ii. 338

  Thorley, Mrs. Anne, quoted, i. 36

  Thornycroft, Hamo, ii. 376;
    estimate of Leighton by, i. 5-6, 13-14

  Titian, i. 225; ii. 11

  Tintoretto, ii. 26

  Tree, Beerbohm, ii. 271

  Troyon, i. 245

  Turkish children, ii. 168

  Tunnicliffe, Dr., ii. 319

  Tupper, Martin F., letters from, ii. 125 _note_ [39]

  Turner, ii. 121

  Tyrolese scenery and peasantry, i. 66-69, 71, 198


  Ulm, i. 65

  Underhill, Mr., quoted, ii. 231 _note_ [61]


  Valletort, Lady Katharine, ii. 92

  Valletort, Lord, ii. 92

  Van Eycke, ii. 32

  Van Haanen, cited, ii. 301

  Vandyke, i. 54

  Vaughan, Kate, ii. 25

  Velasquez, ii. 235-238

  Venetians, i. 82-83

  Venice (1852), i. 77-82, 88;
    (1856), 283, 285;
    after Athens, ii. 131

  Verdi, i. 268

  Verona, i. 72, 73, 75

  Viardot, Madame, ii. 52-53 _and note_ [14], 217

  Vibert, ii. 301, 302

  Vichy, ii. 218 _note_ [56]

  Victoria, Queen, "Cimabue's Madonna" bought by, i. 187 _note_ [34],
      193, 195, 222;
    on Prince Consort's death, ii. 85, 86;
    medallion for Jubilee of, ii. 288;
    otherwise mentioned, i. 261, 263, 265, 276

  Victoria and Albert Museum--
    Decoration of, ii. 202-204;
    Leighton examiner at, ii. 212

  Volunteering, Leighton's activities in, i. 11-14; ii. 86, 107, 111;
    his retirement (1883), ii. 243-245

  Vyner, Mr. Clare, ii. 92


  Walker, John Hanson ("Johnny"), Leighton's friendship with, i. 251
      _and note_ [57];
    paintings from, ii. 85 _and note_ [22];
    letters to, i. 269-277

  Walker, Mrs. J.H., portrait of, i. 251 _note_ [57], 273 _and note_ [66]

  Wall-painting, i. 296-297, 305

  Walpole, Mr. and Mrs. Henry, i. 115

  Walton, Frank, i. 4

  Wantage, Lady, ii. 18 _note_ [4]

  Ward, J., cited, ii. 201 _note_ [52]

  Waterhouse, A., ii. 366

  Watney, Mrs. James, ii. 364

  Watson, Wm., letters from, ii. 321

  Watts, G.F., estimate of Leighton by, i. 4, 7, 210; ii. 22;
    Leighton's estimate of, ii. 18;
    views on the province of art, 23-24;
    theory on rendering of truth, 31;
    Leighton's friendship with, i. 224 _and note_ [48];
    compared with Leighton, 230-231;
    portraits of "Dorothy Dene," ii. 269 _note_ [75];
    Hollyer's photographs from, 288;
    baronetcy declined by, 289;
    picture presented by, to Leighton House, 366;
    letter from, i. 231;
    quoted, 208; ii. 198 _note_ [49], 259, 366;
    cited, ii. 192, 194 _note_ [45];
    otherwise mentioned, i. 144, 258, 260-262;
      ii. 57, 119, 258-259, 264, 298

  Wellington, Duke of, i. 168-169;
    Stevens' monument of, ii. 286-287

  Wells, Henry, letters from, ii. 248 _note_ [67], 250 _note_ [67];
    letters to, 249-255 _and note_ [67], 286, 287, 318, 322, 329

  Westbury, ii. 74

  Westminster, architecture in, i. 87

  Whistler, i. 241; ii. 32

  Wilkinson, Gardiner, cited, ii. 160

  Willig, i. 291

  Wilson, Herbert, i. 237, 240

  Wonista, Mrs., ii. 181

  Woolfe, Henry, ii. 114

  Woeredle, i. 295

  Wright, Dr. William, quoted, ii. 206


  Yeames' "Arthur and Hubert," ii. 283


  Zanetti, i. 39

  Zermatt, ii. 315


THE END




    Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON & CO.
          Edinburgh & London




ERRATA


  Page 41, note 2, _for_ "soeuer," _read_ "soeur."
  Page 148, line 21, _for_ "Lindas," _read_ "Lindos."
  Page 260, line 16, _for_ "Rispah," _read_ "Rizpah."
  Page 316, line 1, _for_ "altmodish," _read_ "altmodisch."
  Page 320, line 34, _for_ "men-schlich," _read_ "mensch-lich."
  Page 301, line 10, _for_ "Gambia Parry," _read_ "Gambier Parry."

       *       *       *       *       *

    +------------------------------------------------------------+
    | Typographical errors corrected in text:                    |
    |                                                            |
    | Page  14: "This arrangement, if effected" replaced with    |
    |           "This arrangement, is effected"                  |
    | Page  46: "a quarelle" replaced with "aquarelle"           |
    | Page  69: RIVERE HOUSE replaced with REVERE HOUSE          |
    | Page  69: Mr. Caleot  replaced with Mr. Cabot              |
    | Page 129: Mr. Bileith replaced with Mr. Biliotti           |
    | Page 131: 1878 replaced with 1868. (Grant and Colfax,      |
    |           mentioned later in the diary, were elected in    |
    |           1868, not 1878.)                                 |
    | Page 133: 1878 replaced with 1868. (see above)             |
    | Page 145: Koorveh replaced with Koorneh                    |
    | Page 183: fastastic replaced with fantastic                |
    | Page 192: "Cleaboulos Instructing his Daughter Cleabouline"|
    |           replaced with                                    |
    |           "Cleoboulos Instructing his Daughter Cleobouline"|
    | Page 194: Cleabouline replaced with Cleobouline            |
    | Page 197: Cleabouline replaced with Cleobouline            |
    | Page 201: Cleabouline replaced with Cleobouline            |
    | Page 207: delighful replaced with delightful               |
    | Page 209: aficimado replaced with aficionado               |
    | Page 233: spontanteous replaced with spontaneous           |
    | Page 236: sociel replaced with social                      |
    | Page 241: Gussey replaced with Gussy                       |
    | Page 294: 'Are there differents kinds' replaced with       |
    |           'Are there different kinds'                      |
    | Page 320: mensch-lich replaced with menschlich (the errata |
    |           includes the hyphen because it spans two lines)  |
    | Page 345: heirarchy replaced with hierarchy                |
    | Page 347: "a vivid scene of abstract beauty" replaced with |
    |           "a vivid sense of abstract beauty"               |
    | Page 382: Keat's replaced with Keats'                      |
    | Page 384: OEthra replaced with AEthra                       |
    | Page 385: Longsor replaced with Lougsor                    |
    | Page 386: 1886. *The Daphnephoria. replaced with           |
    |           1876. *The Daphnephoria.                         |
    | Page 386: Oeolians replaced with Aeolians                  |
    | Page 387: 1889. Catarina. replaced with 1879. Catarina.    |
    | Page 389: Hichins replaced with Hichens                    |
    | Page 391: Mont replaced with Moute                         |
    | Page 396: 'Garcia, Senor' replaced with 'Garcia, Senor'    |
    | Page 402: Phylae replaced with Phylae                       |
    |                                                            |
    | Note that the date "Friday, 28th" on page 147 is out of    |
    | order. By checking the dates it clearly should be the 23rd,|
    | which is confirmed with the date Wednesday, 28th on page   |
    | 153. This has been corrected to "Friday, 23rd" in the text.|
    | "Friday Evening" on page 152 has been corrected to         |
    | "Tuesday Evening" by the same logic.                       |
    |                                                            |
    | Words that are not errors:                                 |
    |                                                            |
    | Page   9: distrest.                                        |
    | Page  27: subtile.                                         |
    | Page  31: scumble.                                         |
    | Page  32: subtilty.                                        |
    | Page  47: the phrase 'tol-lol!' is 19th century slang for  |
    |           pretty good.                                     |
    | Page 198: tres.                                            |
    | Page 236: euphuism.                                        |
    | Page 320: fribbled.                                        |
    | Page 347: shapliness.                                      |
    |                                                            |
    +------------------------------------------------------------+

       *       *       *       *       *





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