The Life, Letters and Work of Frederic Leighton Volume I Part 23

FRIENDS

Leighton's friendships were very salient, vivid interests to him among the varied occupations of his life. In any complete picture of his personality these must take a prominence only secondary to his pa.s.sion for Art and Beauty,--and for "his second home,"--the land that had cast such a strange spell and charm over him from the early days of childhood,--to his love for his family, and his reverent devotion to his master, Steinle, and to Mrs. Sartoris. To these two inspiring friends and teachers he declared he owed what he prized most in life, namely, a development of those gifts and qualities which enabled him to be of service to his generation.

"I have always believed that his ruling pa.s.sion was _Duty_--the keenest possible sense of it," Mr. Briton Riviere writes. The influences which were the most precious to Leighton were a.s.suredly those which enabled him to extend his own influence in the highest and widest direction, and fulfil exhaustively his duty to his fellow-creatures. Every moment of his life was real and earnest to him. Every moment had a purpose--ever before him was the urgent imperative necessity he felt of being _faithful_: faithful in every detail as in decisive final aims. If an epithet had to be attached to his name, epitomising Leighton's salient characteristics, the most appropriate would surely be "Leighton the faithful."

Many among those who are dead,--also among the now living, found in him their best friend. The letters written to him by Mr. Henry Greville, and those that Leighton wrote to Mr. Hanson Walker are good examples, among the many that have been preserved, showing the very prominent place his friends took in Leighton's life. In the first we trace the tender affection he inspired in the hearts of his intimates,[56] and in the second the ardent manner in which Leighton would help artists younger than himself, and how with a parental solicitude he would do his best to forward their true interests.[57]

[Ill.u.s.tration: STUDY OF HEAD FOR "LIEDER OHNE WORTE." 1860 Leighton House Collection]

The following letters from Mr. Henry Greville were written on Leighton's return to Paris, after he had run over to London to place the "Romeo" picture which had been in the Paris International Exhibition with Colnaghi, and after "The Triumph of Music" had been sent in to the Academy.

LONDON, _April 25_.

DEAR FAY,--You are rather a bad boy not to have given either Ad. or me a _signe de vie_, but as I have not seen her to-day, she may have heard from you. We both want to do so _very_ much, so pray write ME a line directly. I only do so to-day to say that at my suggestion Ad. and I rushed off yesterday again to Colnaghi to find out if the Queen or Albert knew of your picture being at his shop; and if not, to ask him to let them know it, if he could do so with propriety. He said he would at once send the picture to B. Palace, as he was in the habit of doing other works; though he did not think that it was likely they would buy another picture of yours, he admitted that it might be advantageous to you that they should see it. He again praised the picture greatly, and told us that it was universally admired. My sister prefers it infinitely to "Cimabue" in all respects, but the fact is, the subject is more attractive to English people than the other. I have nothing else to tell you. I am _very_ seedy with an affection of the bronchial tubes, and very low, and would give anything to see you, my dear boy, but must have patience till the pleasant moment of having you under my roof arrives. You will be glad to hear that my mother is better. I have not seen Ellesmere, as he was at the Review, but you may depend on my not forgetting your interests. The said Review was a most glorious spectacle, and they had a splendid day for it. I am starved to death here, and Ad. and I do nothing but grumble.

She and I dined _tete-a-tete_ last night, and slept and coughed through the evening with the occasional intermission of talking of you--you old Fay! To-night I am going with her to Eli, though I ought to be in my bed. Theo is ill and can't come, and f.a.n.n.y reads. Oh! that you were to be with us! Tell me if you would object to a VERY slight gold frame to the drawings--merely a _line_, because, as my rooms are all white, and that everything in them has gilt, the drawings want a sort of background--which this slight frame would give them. Tell me what you think. I don't mean to hang up my Vintage, but keep it near me on an _easle_ (how do you spell it?). Charley, being highly coloured, looks lovely, and don't want any frame--nasty Charley! Now pray write and tell me all about yourself--and the _moddles_--and how you _are_--and how you get on--and what you do. Don't drag off to dull parties, but go to bed early.

G.o.d bless you. Amami, ne ho gran bisogno. Colnaghi said he had heard from one Cooper a very good report of "Orpheus."

H.

How have the photographs turned out? I like your portrait less now that you are away--but it can't be helped, it is better than none, but it looks so sad. I have hung you and Ad. up side by side in sweet companionship in my dressing-room, so that I may see you both the first thing on waking.

LONDON, _April 26th_.

DEAREST BIMBO,--You have made us pa.s.s some very anxious hours, as the telegraph which I sent off at seven this morning will have testified, though it will also have surprised and perhaps alarmed you until you read its contents. The fact is, _I_ thought it odd that we did not hear from you, yesterday at all events, as I felt sure you would have written immediately on getting our joint note from Boulogne, Wednesday, and certainly on the following day. However, I felt sanguine that on going to dine at 79, I should find that Ad. had heard from you, but, on the contrary, I found her full of anxiety at no letter, imagining every species of cause for your silence, which she said was so very unlike you, that I directly caught the same state of worry, and we determined that I should telegraph the first thing this morning to know if you were ill, or if anything had happened. I never slept all night, and of course had worked myself, with her a.s.sistance, into a wretched state of anxiety about you--when at nine your letter arrived, and a blessed relief it was. I should not probably have been in such a state, had Adelaide not been convinced that illness or some catastrophe had prevented your writing, because, she said, your _wont_ was to do so immediately on parting with her, and she could account for it in no other way. In short, dear Fay, we were very foolish; but I a.s.sure you our folly met its own punishment by the anxiety, and which spoilt our "Eli"

entirely. Poor Fay! I daresay you little thought that we were tormenting ourselves about you, and I, for one, shall try and not do so any more. Your letter is like yourself--dear and kind. With regard to the enclosure, my opinion is that you would not do wisely or handsomely by Colnaghi to withdraw your picture from his keeping, unless he _wished_ to get rid of it to make room for the supposed exhibition of drawings; moreover, my own opinion is that you would not do well to exhibit at the Crystal Palace. I have no faith in that inst.i.tution, and I think it will be a pity to rob your studio of the "Pan" and "Venus" for that purpose; but as I do not consider myself a good judge of these matters or competent to advise you, I think I should be very much guided by what other artists of the same standing as yourself think and do in the matter, and before deciding or answering Mr. Magwood, I should write to Buckner or any one else competent to advise you and ask their opinion. I don't know what Sister Adelaide will say, but I have sent her your letter and the enclosure, and she will probably write to you on the subject. You are _too_ dear and nice about my mother. I fear that before you come she will have left London, and I don't think you would like to paint her, because her sweet face is entirely hidden by the shade she is obliged to wear over her poor eyes; but _you_ know whether I should like her portrait painted by you! But, dear Fay, you are too lavish of your time on others, and do not think enough of yourself. Here I was interrupted by a visit from Adelaide, overjoyed at hearing all is well with you, and agreeing entirely with me _in re_ C. Palace, Colnaghi, &c. She says if C. wishes the picture to be removed, it is for him to express that wish and not you, that a better order of people go to him than those who frequent the C.P., that he is well-disposed towards you, and that it is advisable you should keep him as your friend.

We think Mogford's reference useless, being a foreigner, and we are certain that unless _Millais_ and others of the same cla.s.s exhibit at the C.P., you had best have nothing to do with it. I took Ad. up to your room, and she says you will be _comfy_ in it; and she saw your nice face, patted it, and said, "Dear Fay, but it looks so sad!" She thinks both drawings will be better for a slight gilt _rim_, but I won't put it on without your leave. I am so glad you are leading a wholesome life, and getting the b. who planted you, rather than dawdle proudly, and be without a good _moddle_. I have nothing to say, dear Bimbo, and you will have had enough of me. I am very bad with an ulcerated throat, cough, and inflamed bronchia, and altogether below par. I have seen hardly anybody since I came. Adelaide would have been pleased with "Eli," had she been in a vein where pleasure was possible. Pauline sang to perfection the lovely music allotted to her. And now, dearest Bimbo, G.o.d bless you. Write very often, if only a _line_, as it is comfortable to hear that all is well with you--that is always the news I most wish to get; and tell me how the pictures progress, and your real state of mind about them.--Your old and loving Babbo,

H.

I send back Mogford. Penelope B. (Bentinck) tells me that the great judge, George, condescends to approve "Romeo" mightily!!

LONDON, _Monday, April 28th_.

DEAR GOOD FAY,--Cartwright was wrong about the telegraph, but as our anxiety was removed by your letter, I did not expect you to send me one. Knowing how likely you were to write, supposing you to be well, you may imagine that we were not a little anxious at getting no sign of life from you, in return for our daily letters, and I never could have guessed that the Boulogne letter would only have reached you on Sat.u.r.day!

However, all is well that ends well, but we pa.s.sed a very disagreeable day and night, and it was _because_ we did _not_ think you capable of putting off writing that we fussed and worried ourselves about you--foolishly, dear Fay, no doubt. I am very seedy and confined to the house by throat, bronchia, unceasing cough, swelled glands, bad eyes--and should not inflict myself and ailments upon you, but that it is a solace and a comfort to _causer avec "mon pet.i.t dernier"_--a cognomen which smiles UPON me--and made _me_ smile. Sister Adelaide tea'd with me last night _en tete a tete_. f.a.n.n.y was grand, and would not come in, though she dropped her sister at my door, because (she said) I had not said _to_ her that I wished _for_ her! I was so little _en train_ that I was not sorry to have only Adelaide, and we _did_ more than once say how we wished Fay was eating the m.u.f.fin destined for the proud f.a.n.n.y. Adelaide has just been here, and brought me your dear letter. I don't see any _present_ prospect of the fire of my affliction being extinguished or allowed to grow dim, so you may make your mind easy on that score, excellent Fay. I feel for your loneliness, and know what a contrast it must present with the sweet fellowship we have held together so unceasingly for those last two months. The only thing you gain by the loss of your people is more time, and a later repast. I don't doubt poor Mamma being unhappy at leaving you, her true and only Benjamin, and for an indefinite time. I can judge by what I felt at parting with _mon pet.i.t dernier_, and _with_ the hope of so soon greeting him again. No, Fay, I won't have the Charley drawing, and I won't have you do anything more for any one but yourself, knowing as I do all the things you have on hand--and _a propos_ of _that_, I must tell you that I have endeavoured to put another iron in the fire _in re_ fresco. I asked Lady Abercorn, who is my dearest friend, to speak to Lord Aberdeen (her father-in-law) who is on the Committee of Taste, or whatever it is called, first about your picture at Colnaghi's and then of you generally as desirous of painting in fresco, and as of one whose studies have been that way directed, in whom I take a great interest; but I made her understand that it was no _job_ I wanted done, or that I asked any favour, but merely I wished it to be known that Leighton, a very rising artist, would like to be employed in that line, if an occasion presented itself. Lady A. understood me exactly and being very sympathetic immediately conceived an interest for my _pet.i.t dernier_ (I wish you were my son, Fay!) and said if she did not see Lord Aberdeen very soon she would write to him. Neither I nor Adelaide know where Windsor and Newton live, so you had best write straight to him to send the colours you want. I think I _must_ put just a _baguette d'or_ on the drawings, and when you see them on my walls I don't think you will disapprove. With regard to Cartwright, Adelaide says Jules Sartoris has got a place called Tusmore. I should advise him to lose no time in advertising it both in the newspaper and by different agents in town and country. I should think it was a place _sure_ to be let, from its convenient distance from London and other advantages. There is no news here.

LONDON, _May 6th_.

DEAREST FAY,--Your letter is a relief and a comfort. It is both to me to see you take this disagreeable business so manfully, so wisely, and to think that instead of being cast down, your energies will only be aroused by this stupid and unjust criticism. In this case it may, then, well be said, "Sweet are the uses of adversity." As to all the other papers, I can't pretend to say what they may have written, but the _Leader_ is one of no repute, and, as Ruskin said to Adelaide this morning, it don't REALLY signify _what_ they write; in the long run talent and genius must prevail, as yours will, dear Fay, if it please G.o.d to grant you, as I fervently pray, health and strength. She is going to write to you, and will tell you all Ruskin said, and also what she thinks of the Exhibition in general and your picture in particular, which, I hear, is infamously placed--that is, in so bad a light that only _Orpheus_ is visible. Pa.s.sing, I must tell you that Edward (Sartoris) came to see me yesterday, and the _first_ thing he said on entering the room was, "Well, I don't think Leighton's picture looks bad. Orpheus's drapery is too yellow, but it don't look amiss at all." This was rather much for him, eh? He likes "Autumn Leaves," and he praised the "Leslie"

(which Adelaide says is all very well, but "slaty"). Landseer is beautiful--but E. (Edward Sartoris) was _sous le charme_, having sat next him at dinner at Marochetti's, when he told me L. was as much _aux pet.i.ts soins_ for him as if he had been the loveliest of females. I am so glad about the models, and if I don't hear from you as often shall know why. I am also glad you dine with Cartwright and Co., but _how_ you _can_ dandle a nasty, doughy, puffy, bread-and-b.u.t.ter smelling thing called a baby! Pah! a baby is my horror and aversion. Never do it again--not even by your own. I could not have dandled even my Bimbo without a grimace. Well done! old hideous ----; if she promise not to act herself, I'll take a box for her next benefit. She is the _ame d.a.m.nee_ of Macready, so that her verdict surprises me. I expect she will begin imitating her, and have Medea translated--horrible idea! Read Ellesmere's speech; it is very pretty, and the whole debate is interesting, but Derby and Co. don't cut a good figure at all.

I am getting better now, and dined with my parent yesterday, but can't go out in daytime for fear of eyes and throat, the wind is so cold. Of course I read your letter to Ad. (Adelaide Sartoris). (I think you had best now write straight to her, because as I am soon hoping to be out, and have no one to send so far, your letters will get to her quicker and more surely by post.)

You must be very careful, and take time to weigh well and consider the subjects of your future pictures. I think the Mermaid might be both interesting and effective well carried out, and you might also perhaps paint some subject from some one of the Italian poets--Ta.s.so, Ariosto, Boccaccio--for your own satisfaction. G.o.d bless you! my dear boy. I am longing to see you again already. Tell me how the models answer and how you get on. _Don't_ call Brackley _de_. They are removed to the Meurice. If you don't find them, write to her and offer to go with her (saying at my suggestion) to the Louvre.--Love your old Babbo,

H.

Later in the summer Mr. Greville wrote:--

1856, HATCHFORD, _Thursday_.

MY DEAR BOY,--I do sympathise with your disgust at the same time that I think you have acted very _legerement_ about your pictures, and, in fact, taken no trouble or heed about them.

_You should have seen to it all yourself before you left London_, or have given directions to Watts, to which he would have attended, instead of leaving him in total ignorance as to what you meant or wished, and which picture or if both were to go. I kept perpetually telling you to see after this business and to be more _exact_ in it, but you see now the consequence of not attending to things more carefully. You had better write a curt letter to Greene, reminding him that you _had_ given written directions (as you say) that it was your "_Pan_"

that was to be removed, and that you made no mention of the "Venus" (what has he done with her?), and again asking him (since he had not replied to the query) whether he had got the "Romeo." I shan't be in London until to-morrow night late, and as you are to be there on Monday there will be no use in my going to Greene, but I can do so on Sat.u.r.day if you wish it.

I have had an answer from Ellesmere's secretary, to whom I wrote to go and see if your pictures were well hung, to say that the Exhibition only opens in first week of September,[58]

but that he has a friend who is an influential member of the hanging committee, and that he will speak to him in favour of yours being put into a good light. I heard from Adelaide yesterday that she will be in town on Monday and will dine us.

I hoped you would have stayed (and she too) all Tuesday and gone away on Wednesday morning, so that we might have spent two evenings together, and I am disappointed. I shall go to Scotland on Wednesday, and am sorry to have settled to do so.

I suppose you know Alfred Sartoris marries Miss Barrington--an alliance which will enchant Aunt ----, as the young lady is "The Honourable," and allied to several marquesses and earls.--Addio, caro, your ever affectionate H.

_P.S._--Write again by all means to Greene asking _what has become of the "Venus,"_ and also whether the "Romeo" has or _not_ been sent to Manchester--whether you employ him or not, you have a right to know what he has done with your property.

Write a line to Queen Street to-morrow to say at what time you will be there on Monday that I may not be out of the way.

Rain has come, but it is still deliciously warm and fine in the intervals.

Later in the same year Mr. Greville wrote:--

LONDON, _August 26, 1856_.

MY DEAREST FAY,--I have just got your letter of Sat.u.r.day 23rd from Frankfort, and as you state therein that you were to leave that place on Monday, and that the letters which I sent to Malet for you could only reach him on that morning, it is next to certain that they will not have reached you. I requested him, in the event of your having left Frankfort, or in his failing to find you out, to send them on to the _p.

restante_ at Venice, and you will probably find them there together with this letter, but I think it best also to send you the originals for fear of accident, as it is desirable that you should write to Mr. Harrison yourself.[59] In the meanwhile, I have told him that when I knew your address I would apprize him of it, and in a few days I shall write and say that you are at Venice; but I don't think he will write to you any more, but that he will expect to know _when you are likely to return_. Having got so far, it of course is out of the question that you should think of, or for a moment be expected to return on purpose, and I think it most likely you will be able to get Watts to go and look at the picture, in case the matter should be pressing; but I think it will be best that you offer to return to England before you settle at Paris, and whenever your present tour (which I told Mr.

Harrison was one for artistic purposes) shall be ended. It will be a great bore having to come back even then, on purpose. I am sorry you did not get the letters at Frankfort; on the whole though, perhaps they would only have worried you and have made you _hesitate_ as to _returning_, and which perhaps you might have thought _shorter_ and less troublesome than having to come back by-and-bye. However, it is very probable you may get Watts to do what is necessary, and that you may be saved the expense and bore of another journey here in the autumn. Adelaide and I contemplated the possibility of your coming over at once from Frankfort, and we both deprecated the idea, though we privately said how intensely glad we should be to see you--selfish as it might be; and it was arranged that I was to telegraph to her to Tunbridge where she is gone to-day. Thanks, you dear boy, for your letter just received. I can understand your pleasure at finding yourself in your old haunts again, with your old friend and master to whom you owe so much. It is a great comfort to me to find that he likes your drawings, though I never doubted his doing so. I was amused by your account of the Pimp and Ballerina, whose modesty seems to have attracted you more than that of the Russian Princess. Since writing to you last I have done but little. I am come into town this morning expecting to find Ffrench, but he has not turned up. I saw Sister A.[60]

yesterday on her way through, but my visit was spoilt by the ---- Girls and Cigala, who (as he never made love to me) appears to me merely a _bon sabreur_ and horse fancier. You know my opinion of the young ladies, who, _par parenthese_, adore you. I am still at H. (Holland) House, and shall remain there until Friday, when I come to dine with Adelaide, and shall then go to Hatchford until I repair to Worsley--my sister will be established there before long. Yesterday, Ellesmere's secretary sent me a letter to say that the gent.

of the hanging committee "would take care that Mr. Leighton's pictures were placed in the most favourable position."[61] So let us hope for the best. I must tell you that Vic. is come home, and is now opposite to me, and that she looks admirably well. We have had heaps of people at H. House at dinner almost every day. Marochetti came yesterday. He is full of the subject of colouring statues, and has just taken to Osborne two busts which the Queen was to present to-day to P. Albert for his birthday. Marochetti _traite d'imbeciles_ all the English sculptors who cannot yet take in this "undoubted fact." He says Gibson is the only one who admits it, but even he will not go Marochetti's lengths. Watts is (you know) at Malvern, and the doctor thought him decidedly better before he went, and that he may get into tolerable health. I think he is to be at Malvern three weeks. John Leslie's wedding is at this moment proceeding; he has almost settled to buy Lady C.

Lascelles' house at Campden Hill, which will be a capital position for his studio, and another Sunday lounge for you next year. Next year! (_eheu fugaces!_) a long time to wait to see you again under my roof, you very dear boy. I always think this dispersing time so melancholy. I wonder if I shall hear from you before Venice. Oh yes, of course, you will write wherever you stop. Mind and tell me about your studies, and what you see and do--above all things take care of your health, and don't catch fever by working in the sun, &c.

Charles says he can't think where your hat box can be--he is in ecstasies with your old trousers, which have come out brand new and a capital fit! You would be quite envious if you could see them.

Good-bye, best of Fays. I shall send this letter off and write another in a few days. I will mark _outside_ the dates of my letters (and PRAY, mind and always date yours--you never do) so that you will know which to open first. G.o.d bless you, you dear _good_ fellow.--Love your fond old,

BABBO.

LONDON, _Thursday, August 28_.

DEAREST FAY,--One line to say that this afternoon your letter of Sunday with the enclosed for Harrison reached me. It is a relief to me that you _got_ the letters, and I think your answer does very well, but as it had no cover, and that I was obliged to send it in my own name to Harrison, I added, what _you_ had better have done, that if necessary you could easily come over the beginning of November, and I rather hope they will accept that offer, as by that time the Court will have returned from Scotland (perhaps to Windsor though), and you might have a chance of being brought into contact with Albert, and you would jabber good German to him and win his heart, which _may_ be valuable to you. With regard to Watts, he said he should be too happy to do _anything_ for you, but he wished you to be thrown with Albert. He (Watts) is better and has left Malvern. I got yesterday the _Manchester Guardian_, with a sort of preliminary list of the pictures which are to be opened to the private view to-morrow. They were not then all hung, but they mention the "Romeo" as in a conspicuous place--a sombre picture, but the Romeo and Juliet finely conceived--or something to that effect. You shall hear all about it. I have got little Ffrench till Sat.u.r.day, when I go to Hatchford and he home. I expect Adelaide to-morrow--we dine with her, and I _fear_ shall have ----, which will be a potent bore. There is of course no other news. Penelope Bentinck has produced a huge boy, and is quite well. John Leslie's marriage went off without any tears, and he made a very good "neat and appropriate."

G.o.d bless you, my very dear boy--you are not so fond of me as I am of you--be sure of it. Take care of yourself, and write to and love your old

BABBINO.

Tell me all about your studies, as they interest me, and don't forget to put me up to some pretty cheap gilt-moulding for my frame.

Adelaide was pleased and touched at your seeing about her pictures. Fay, she is devotedly attached to you--you may be sure of it.

HATCHFORD, _September 9_.

MY DEAREST FAY,--I am going to begin a letter to you which I can only send when I know where to direct to you, for after Venice (from whence I have not heard from you yet) you have given me no address. I hope to hear that you got all mine sent to that place, and particularly the one enclosing a copy of Phipps' letter to me in which he tells me it is the Queen's wish that you come over here on your return to Paris. I got your letter from Meran on Thursday last, and I sent it off to Adelaide by that post, enjoining her to let me have it back by the next, since which I have never had a line from her, and at last grew so alarmed that I wrote to Anne to ask what had happened, and that I could not but fear Ad. had been sent for to Edward[62] in Ireland. To this letter I got _no_ reply, and I have been in great suspense and anxiety till this morning, when sure enough my surmise proved correct, and I got a few lines from Adelaide herself from Muckross, whither she arrived on Sat.u.r.day, having left Warnford the day before, they having sent for her. She has, I do not doubt, written to you and told you that she found him neither dead or dying, but in a low, bilious fever, having been in bed a week, and the doctor not giving much hope of a speedy recovery. She, however, intends to move him as soon as it is possible, but it may be some time first, and of course their plans are more or less uncertain, and mine of meeting them in London at an end, as I shall be gone to Worsley before they can be in town. It is, however, a mercy that this illness is not even more serious than it is.

When I heard his account of himself as I pa.s.sed through London, I wondered that she was not more alarmed, but I did not tell her how serious the case appeared to me, and as it has proved; and when I did not hear from her, I immediately guessed what had occurred. She found Fordwich there, and says the place appeared a Paradise, and now that she is easy about Edward, perhaps she won't mind spending the time there instead of Warnford. Only, the boy was to go to Eton on the 11th, and I don't know how they will manage that. I have written to Ad.