The Life, Letters and Work of Frederic Leighton Volume I Part 7

"My child, your manners are very faulty, and I am consequently much disappointed. You take so much after me, and my nearest relations had such refined manners, that I made sure you must resemble my father and brothers. There is, however, nothing on earth to prevent your becoming the gentleman I wish to see you, and remember to write ineffaceably on the tablets of your memory, 'Too much familiarity breeds contempt.' You remember how seriously young ----'s forwardness has been commented on.

Well, it is true, you have never, as far as I know, spoken as he has done; but as I have seldom seen you in company, nor your father either, without observing some want of politeness, is it not probable that other people have their eyes open also?"

These admonitions received, Leighton started on his journey to Rome.

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

Leighton's utterances on paper in these early days display the same intense exuberance of vitality which, during the whole of his notable career, served to spur on his mental and emotional powers to perform with great completeness all the various kinds of work which he undertook; a vitality which conquered triumphantly the effects of indifferent health and troubled eyesight. In the diaries and letters is also to be traced the existence of that Greek-like combination of qualities so characteristic of Leighton--namely, explicit precision in his thought and expression, and a subtle power of a.n.a.lysis, united with great emotional sensitiveness and enthusiastic warmth of temperament. His feeling for beauty was an intoxicating joy to him.

Heartfelt and genuine joy engendered by beauty in nature and art is not a very common feeling among the moderns, though so much fuss is made by many in our day in their endeavours to become "_artistic_"; but, as a ruling guide, beauty has gone out of fashion. The accounts that Leighton gives of his ecstasies in the presence of beautiful scenes, enforce the belief entertained by those who knew him best, that it was the power which beauty exercised over him that developed his exceptional strength in all artistic directions. What force in the over-riding of difficulties does not pa.s.sion give to the lover! No less a force was engendered in Leighton by the inspiration of the beauty of nature.

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

Fun and humour abound in the family letters, and in the Diary.

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

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

DIARY

INNSBRUCK, _August 18, 1852_.

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

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

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

[Sidenote: and adopt one of his measures,]

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

"Be with me, oh Thumb!

[Sidenote: but make a reservation.]

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

PEBBLES

[Sidenote: Pebble I.]

"Kind, affectionate, earnest Steinle!

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

"In a record of whatever concerns me as an artist, _his_ name should be at the beginning, in the middle, and at the end. _Now_, at the beginning, for our parting is still painfully present to my mind; our parting, and the last few days we spent together: the sad face and moistened eye with which he watched the diligence in which I rolled off from Bregenz; his fitful way, when we travelled together--one moment jovial and facetious, another laying his hand affectionately on my shoulder and remaining silent; his saying to me before I started, 'I shall be all alone to-morrow, here, and yet I shall be with you all the day.'...

"_In the middle_, all through, and to the end--because if ever, hereafter, my works wear the mark of a pure taste, if ever I succeed in raising some portion of the public to the level of high art, rather than obsequiously acquiesce in the judgments of the tasteless and the ignorant, and if I keep alive, to the end, the active conviction that an artist, who deserves the name, never ceases to learn, the key of such success will be in one name: Steinle; in having constantly borne in mind his precept, and his example.

[Sidenote: I find on reflection that though I started a week ago, I am only just gone!]

[Sidenote: I look forward,]

"Although a week has already elapsed since I left Frankfurt, so long my home, it is only now that I have parted from Steinle that I really feel that I have taken the great step, that I have opened the introductory chapter of the second volume of my life, a volume on the t.i.tle-page of which is written "Artist." It seems to me that my wanderings began at _Bregenz_, and that in retracing, as I presently shall, my route until I got there, I am tearing open again leaves that were closed--to remain so. I seize the opportunity offered by this first day of repose to take breath, and, as I stand within the threshold, to look before me and reconnoitre. Italy rises before my mind. Sunny Italy! the land that I have so long yearned after with ardent longing, and that has dwelt in my memory since last I saw it as a never-fading, gentle-beckoning image of loveliness; I am about again to tread the soil of that beloved country, the day-dream of long years is to become a reality. I am enraptured!

[Sidenote: but don't feel quite _it_.]

"And yet--how is it that my pleasure is not unalloyed? that I involuntarily shrink from grasping the height of my wishes? It is because I feel a kind of sacred awe at breaking through the charm that has been so long gathering around the image that I have carried in my inward heart, as one who loves, at touching with cold _reality_ that which has so long been the far removed object of dreamy, sweetly melancholy longings!

"I cannot help thinking that an imaginative man must feel something similar when on the point of changing courtship for marriage.

[Sidenote: Get better.]

"Other thoughts, too, a.s.sail me, and sometimes make me uneasy. 'Do I fully feel....' No, 'Shall I _continue_ fully to feel the immense importance to me of the three or four years now before me? feel that they will be the corner-stone of my career, for good or for evil?

Shall I have the energy to carry out all my resolutions? Shall I fulfil what I have promised?'... Then I think of Steinle, and I feel rea.s.sured.

[Sidenote: Pebble II.]

"Let me come to the point, to the description of my journey; but before I begin, let me remember that, whilst of all my friends and companions only _three_ were present at my departure,--one of them was there in order to give me a commission, and another to acknowledge a service,--old General Bentinck did not think it too great an exertion to see off, at eight in the morning, one, three times younger than himself.

[Sidenote: Middelburgh, August 11.]

"My first day's journey took me to Middelburgh, along the Bergstra.s.se, which we all know, and of which I therefore say nothing, and yet I enjoyed it more than I ever had done before; it was one of those cool, clear, _opalescent_ mornings, in which all nature looks as if it was teeming with health and freshness; there was something exhilarating, too, in the atmosphere, which very much increased my enjoyment; I looked upon familiar scenes, but I saw them in a new light; it seemed to me as if I was reading nature in a new book.

[Sidenote: Stift Neuburg.]

"On arriving at Heidelberg, I hurried at once, by appointment with Steinle, to a place in the neighbourhood called 'Stift Neuburg,' the property and residence of Frau Rath Schlosser, the widow of his old and intimate friend, Rath Schlosser.

[Sidenote: I enjoy myself.]

[Sidenote: Heilbronn, August 12.]

"Picture to yourself, just where the Neckar makes a graceful curve, about a mile above Heidelberg, half-way up a rich and sunny slope, chequered with cl.u.s.tering vineyards and luxuriant meadows, an old, picturesque convent, with its adjoining chapel and appurtenant dairies and farmhouses, the whole group raised up on a lofty, timeworn, weather-beaten terrace--and you will form some idea of _the Stift_.

There I spent the afternoon in the most charming possible manner, whether in wandering with Steinle along the solitary, shady walks of the convent garden, or in snuffing about in the vaulted, mildew old library (which, by the by, contains six or seven thousand valuable and curious books), or the silent chapel, with its stained-gla.s.s windows, or in looking through Frau Rath's magnificent collection of drawings by German artists, or, finally, in enjoying the conversation of the Frau Rath herself, who is a most clever and amiable old lady. The next morning (for I spent the night there) after all breakfasting together, we went down by a postern gate to the river-side, and awaited the arrival of the Heilbronn steamer; general leave-taking, shaking of hands, grat.i.tude and thanks on the one side, on the other reiterated invitations for the future, which I sincerely hope I may one day be able to meet. The valley of the Neckar as far as Heilbronn, where we arrived on the evening of the same day, is dull enough in all conscience; indeed, had it not been for the company and always interesting conversation of Steinle, I really do not know what I should have done with myself; such a contrast with the preceding day!

"Between Heilbronn and the Lake of Constance, however, a new scene opens out; I see Germany under a totally new aspect, I understand at last what German poets mean when they rave about the lovely 'Schwabenland' and call it the 'Perle deutscher Gauen'; I can now imagine the existence of _landed patriotism_ (if I may be allowed the expression) among the Germans coming from that part of the country. It is, indeed, an enchanting panorama; a never-ceasing variety of rich, profusely fertile valleys, studded with cheerful, bright-looking, home-inviting villages, and enclosed by chains of gently undulating hills. The corn was ripe, and waved in golden stripes across the variegated plains; the peasants, a picturesque, good-humoured set, were scattered over the fields, some mowing down the heavy laden wheat, others binding it into graceful sheaves; in one respect the scene reminded me of my own dear country: it looked as if a blessing were on it.

[Sidenote: Ulm: its cathedral]

"On our road we pa.s.sed through Ulm,[18] and visited the cathedral, some parts of which (especially the portico) are very beautiful and elegant; the interior contains a magnificent and highly elaborate tabernacle, and some wood-carving by Syrlin of exquisite workmanship; the whole, however, left a melancholy impression on both of us, especially on Steinle, who is an ardent Catholic. It stands neglected and half-finished, in the midst of a miserable, rambling town-village, a thing of olden times, for whose presence one can hardly account. It was built, or rather, begun, as a monument of Catholicism; the country round it has become Protestant; itself has been protestantized; it has been disfigured by an incongruous heap of business-like pews; it is no longer accessible at every hour of the day, from Sunday to Sunday its walls re-echo no sound but the occasional tread of the pew-opener, as he dusts the seats of those who pay him for it; the soul has left the grey old pile; it is a stately corpse. What artist, however uncatholic in his belief, can contemplate those old Gothic churches, with their glorious tabernacles and other ornaments equally beautiful and equally disused, without painfully feeling what an almost deadly blow the Reformation was to High Art, what a powerful incentive it removed, irrecoverably? Who, in his heart of hearts, can but dwell with melancholy regret on the times when art was coupled with belief, and so many divine works were virtually expressions of faith? What a purifying and enn.o.bling influence was thus exercised over the taste of the artist! an influence which nothing can replace. This influence was incalculably great; no dwelling was so humble but it owned a crucifix; no artist so poor in capacity but endeavoured to produce something not unworthy of his subject; the general _tone_ of taste thus produced reacted on everything; witness the most insignificant doorlatch or ornament that remains to us from the Middle Ages. Is it not remarkable that the first artists of the modern day, in the higher walk of art, I mean, are _Catholics_? Cornelius and Steinle were born in the Church of Rome; Veit and Overbeck went over to it; Pugin, too, our great architect, was converted by his art to the Catholic faith.

[Sidenote: August 15, Sunday.]

"From Friedrichshafen a delightful sail took us across the emerald coloured Lake of Constance to Bregenz, where I parted from Steinle.