The life, letters and work of Frederic Leighton. Volume I

To his Father—Part of letter missing.]

1855.

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

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

February 18, 1855.

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

A. Leighton.

Rome, January 3, 1855.
(Recd. January 12.)

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

(Cover—Madame Leighton,
      9 Circus, Bath, England.)

Rome, Via Felice 123,
March 2, 1855.
(On cover—Recd. April 12.)

Dear Papa,—I received a day or two ago the kind letter in which you inform me of the disposition you have made to enable me to get the money I want, and for which I sincerely thank you; your letter reached me just as I was driving the last nail into the coffin of my large picture; the small had been disposed of in like manner the day before. Delighted as I am to have got them at last off my hands, yet I felt a kind of strange sorrow at seeing them nailed up in their narrow boxes; it was so painfully like shrouding and stowing away a corpse, with the exception, by-the-bye, that my pictures may possibly return to my bosom long before the Last Judgment. With regard to the success of my picture with its little Roman public, nearly all the praise that reached my ears was bestowed behind my back, so that whether intelligent or no, I have good reason to believe it was sincere; indeed, I should not else have said anything about it; Cornelius, I am sincerely sorry to say, did not see my daubs in their finished state; he was prevented by ill-health; however, all the advice he could give me I got out of him in the beginning, and indeed, as you know, altered about a dozen figures at his request; in points of material execution he is utterly incompetent; I am happy to say that he feels very kindly towards me, as indeed he told me in plain words, and added on one occasion, "Sie können für England etwas bedeutendes werden;" I need not tell you that as he is altogether without apprehension of the peculiar and very great merits of some of our artists, he considerably overvalues my (relative) value. You ask for my opinion of my pictures; you couldn't ask a more embarrassing and unsatisfactory question; I think, indeed, that they are very creditable works for my age, but I am anything but satisfied with them, and believe that I could paint both of them better now; I am particularly anxious that persons whom I love or esteem should think neither more nor less of my artistic capacity than I deserve; the plain truth; I am therefore very circumspect in passing a verdict on myself in addressing myself to such persons; I think, however, you may expect me to become eventually the best draughtsman in my country; Gibson and Miss Hosmer are, as you expect, amongst those who praise me, but I warn you that they are both utterly without an opinion in matters pictorial. Who is ——? He is, entre nous, the worst painter I ever saw, but also the greatest toady, in virtue of which quality he makes £5000 a year by portraying the nobility of Great Britain and Ireland; however, towards me he has been very pleasant and nice, and so long as there is no lord in the way he is a sufficiently companionable person. I certainly feel very little desire to have my "Cimabue" hung in the little room you speak of, but I fear that I must take my chance with the rest; the fact is that although I personally have taken no steps in the matter, still "ces messieurs" will not be unprepared for my picture, because I know that old Leitch for one will speak to them about it and will do everything that is friendly; he even offered to varnish it, but that another friend of mine has already undertaken. One thing is certain, they can't hang it out of sight—it's too large for that. I must leave myself room to write afterwards to Mamma....

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

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

Fred Leighton.

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

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

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

Fred Leighton.

Translation.]

Rome, Via Felice 123,
March 1, 1855.

My very dear Friend,—Although since my last letter I have had no news of you, I cannot pass by this moment, so important to me, without giving you intelligence of it. Yesterday I at last sent off both my pictures, the large one to London, the small one to Paris, with the consignment of the Roman Committee. Thank goodness, at last I have got them off my mind! And how sorry I am, dear Friend, that I could not put the finishing touches to them in your presence! Of the "Cimabue," I send you, in two pieces, a very bad photograph, but it is the best that could be made within four walls; from it you will only be able to judge generally of the grouping, for as regards the colour, which comes out so black in the photograph, in the picture it is altogether clear and light. You will certainly be glad to hear that this work has earned much praise here; I promised that you should not have to be ashamed of your pupil. The small picture is so dark in effect, that it would be impossible to photograph it; but as I suppose you, like all the rest of the world, will visit the great exhibition in Paris, you can avail yourself of the same opportunity to see my daub.

Gamba is, now as ever, industrious, tireless, conscientious; his picture also will be finished in a few weeks, and will be a great credit to him; I only wish he had a prospect of selling it, but at present the sale of pictures is stagnant, especially in Piedmont, where the art-loving Queen-Mother has died. He will have to fight hard against the gigantic pedantry of the Turin Academy and College of Painters (Malfacultät), for he paints things exactly as he sees them in nature; God be with him! Of course, he sends you heartfelt greetings. Of other artistic doings in Rome I cannot tell you much; I think I have already told you that I look upon Rome as the grave of art; for a young artist, I mean, for whom actively suggestive surroundings are necessary. As regards the so-called German historical art, that is not much of a joke to me; when men, out of pure impotence, throw themselves under the shield of noble tendencies, in order to make mistaken efforts to imitate the work of other painters, they are simply ridiculous; but when men are endowed with fine natural gifts, and nevertheless out of sheer queerness and pedantry go altogether astray, then I only feel angry. God forgive me if I am intolerant, but according to my view an artist must produce his art out of his own heart; or he is none.

Dear Master, I may perhaps pass through Frankfurt on my way back (in June); I should like beyond all things to see you again, you and your works that are so dear to me. Have you painted the "Death of Christ" which pleased me so much? Write to me if you have time, and tell me how things go with you. Keep a friendly recollection of your grateful, affectionate pupil,

Fred. Leighton.

Translation.]

Frankfurt am Main,
March 20, 1855.

Dear Friend,—My best thanks for your dear lines of the 1st and for the photographs, with which you afforded me the greatest pleasure. I had an idea that I should receive this friendly remembrance, and I hope that you have meanwhile received my letter of the 3rd March. I know the difference in a photograph of a painting, and the often quite contrary effect of the yellow and red, too well to be deceived by a dark impression; the masses, their distribution, alike in the groups and in the light and shade, the outline of the background, most of the single figures, all please me very well, and you could not believe how much I rejoice in every detail in which I recognise my Leighton, and when I see how all these have been achieved so thoroughly by industrious study and artistic culture. You have indeed prepared a real feast for me, my good wishes in my last letter were quite the right ones, and the recognition which you have obtained in Rome was certainly well earned. I am convinced that Overbeck was heartily pleased with your pictures. It was perhaps my imagination, dear friend, when I thought from your letter that there was a slight cloud between us, but I think it will be torn away when these lines reach you. The fond idea of being again able to share your life and artistic work, I must relinquish, for I am an exile, and besides cannot make myself familiar with your progress as an artist in the Fatherland. Shall, then, your stay in Italy be ended by the journey which you led me to hope would bring you to see me again? But I forget so easily that we live in a world of renunciations, and that often when we believe we are disposing, we are disposed. My spirit and my love will always, wherever you may be, be with you. It occurred to me that probably our excellent Gamba would not send his great picture to Paris, and yet I seem to have heard that he intended doing so; it appears to me that exhibition in Paris would give the picture more importance than in Turin; that Gamba would triumph over the academic formalities in Turin, I do not doubt in the least. His grandmother and all his friends await him here; on a journey to Paris?—Now, dear friend, one more request. Ihlée brought from Rome some photographic views, with which I and the friends who know Rome are truly delighted; the worthy Frau Rath Schlosser wishes very much to possess a selection of twelve, I myself would like to have at least three, will you be so good as to bring them with you in June, and also yourself take the trouble to make a really beautiful selection? You will oblige me thereby very greatly. I shall rejoice excessively to see you again, and wish much that your stay in Frankfurt need not be so short. Remember me cordially to Gamba, and give my kindest regards to Altmeister Cornelius. My wife thanks you for your kind remembrance, and sends many greetings. All friends here have bidden me send their best wishes to you and Gamba. Adieu, dear friend, always and altogether yours,

Edw. Steinle.

Translation.]

Rome, April 15, 1855.

My very dear Friend,—Only a day or two after I sent off my letter with the photograph, I received your dear lines, and now I have also the letter in which you acknowledge receipt of mine, so that I am well off for news of you. All the affection and kind sympathy which you express for me has affected me deeply, and I look forward with sincere pleasure to the moment when I shall be able personally to express my gratitude to you; I am also most eager to see the drawings of the completion of which you tell me; judging by the sketches, I expect great things from this composition, so rich in imagination; I saw the first beginnings of it. That you are pleased with my photograph rejoices me extremely, but I am sorry that you have not mingled some blame with the praise; you say that most of my figures please you well; ergo, some of them do not; which are they? why not tell me all? do you no longer regard me as your pupil? From one part of your letter I understand that you think I have had a great deal of intercourse with good old Overbeck; that is not so; he and his followers one does not see at all unless one belongs to their clique; Overbeck has never been within my four walls. Cornelius I see less seldom, but not very often; he is a very charming old man, so cheerful and friendly, and is of great strength; for the rest, he has some little queernesses; he said to me once, "Yes, Nature has also her style" (!). Does that not bespeak a curious mental development?

Gamba will not, as it happens, send his picture to Paris, it was not ready in time; meantime, it is being exhibited here in the Piazza del Popolo, and receives the applause it merits; he sends you most cordial greeting.

Yes, indeed, the years of my "Italian Journey" are now ended! It seems but yesterday that we first took leave of one another, and you encouraged me upon my setting forth; the remembrance makes me sad at heart; I cannot help asking myself whether my expectations for these three years have been fulfilled: and the question remains unanswered.

My stay in Italy will always remain a charming memory to me; a beautiful, irrecoverable time; the young, careless, independent time! I have also made some friends here who will always be dear to me, and to whom I particularly attribute my attachment to Rome.

From an artistic point of view I am quite glad to leave Rome, which I, for a beginner, regard as the grave of art. A young man needs before all things the emulation of his contemporaries; this I lack here in the highest degree; also here I cannot learn my trade, and, notwithstanding Cornelius, I am of opinion that the spirit cannot work effectively until the hand has attained complete pliancy, and I cannot see what right a painter has to evade the difficulties of painting; Cornelius always says, "Take care that the hand does not become master of the spirit," and that sounds well enough; however, I see that, in consequence of his scheme of development, he has not once succeeded in painting a head reasonably, not once in modelling as the form requires; and that, with all his magnificent talent! Judge the tree by the fruit. How are the frescoes of Raphael painted and modelled? and the Sixtine Chapel! the lower part of the "Day of Judgment" is in a high degree colouristic (Koloristisch). Those people took nature straight from God, and were not ashamed; therefore their art was no galvanised mummy.

I must close. Please remember me most kindly to your wife, and to my other friends. For yourself, keep in remembrance, your grateful and affectionate pupil,

Fred. Leighton.

Translation.]

Frankfurt am Main, May 6, 1855.

My very dear Friend,—Hearty thanks for your friendly note of April. The photograph of your picture quite pleases me as it is, and if I am particularly pleased with the details, that is to cast no discredit on the whole; for a general criticism the photograph does not give me sufficient certainty, and I must content myself, this time, with expressing the pleasure your always well-composed pictures give me. You know your picture, and can see more in the photograph than I. What you say about Overbeck, Cornelius, and Rome, I understand well, and I am in sympathy with much of it; but I am almost beginning to fear you, especially as I particularly feel how much I myself am wanting in ground-work, how much I myself belong to the same evolution as these two men. Custom, circumstances, and the tendencies of the times, are often mitigating facts in our judgment of these painters; they have fought against things of which we no longer know anything, and, as participators in their art, we stand, to a certain extent, shoulder to shoulder with them; their delicacies are proofs of their struggle, and the characteristic of youth becomes in old age principally a sign of weakness. Also experience has taught me not to let myself be deceived by what is called "cliquiness," I grant you that this is not an infallible judgment, which is often to be regretted, but people nowadays are weak, and I have found that cliques often have a greater tendency for good than those judgments which make more noise, a greater outcry than the fact warrants. Overbeck has always withdrawn himself too much; but now, dear friend, you must attack him on the subject before you leave Rome. Kindest regards to Gamba, to whom I wish a happy completion of his picture. My wife sends best greetings. Always and altogether yours,

Edw. Steinle.

Translation.]

Rome, 123 Via Felice,
May 18, 1855.

Dear and honoured Friend,—As with everything that I receive from you, I was delighted to get your dear lines of the 6th; one thing only in them grieved me a little, i.e. that what I said about the German historical painters here seems to have rather jarred upon you. Was I then so intolerant in my expressions? I hope not. You say that you are almost afraid of me. When I spoke to you so freely of the others, was that not a plain proof of how completely I except you? You assuredly know, dear Master, how and what I think of you, and that I ascribe entirely to you my whole æsthetic culture in art. Your commission to good old Overbeck I have executed as well as I could. I found him much more cheerful and less ailing than before. He received me with the greatest amiability; we spoke, amongst other things, of you, and I perceived that he had it in his mind to go soon to Germany and to spend a couple of weeks in Mainz; I should like to be the first to give you this good news.

As for myself, dear Friend, my plans are once more quite upset. My father has hastily recalled me to England, and I am sorry to say that I must consequently give up going to Frankfurt. However, I have not neglected your commission. I have chosen the photographs, and you will receive them in the beginning of next month, and that by a friend of mine who will be passing through Frankfurt, and whom I hereby introduce to you. Mrs. Sartoris is my dearest friend, and the noblest, cleverest woman I have ever met; I need not say more to secure her a cordial welcome from you. She is one of the celebrated theatrical family of Kemble. It is now ten or eleven years since she left the stage, but she is still the greatest living cantatrice.[36]

You will certainly be glad to hear that on the first day of the Exhibition my picture was bought by the Queen.

I am at this moment in the thick of packing; you must excuse, dear Friend, my ending so abruptly. I will write again from England.—Your grateful pupil,

Fred Leighton.