[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.
[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.
[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.
[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.
[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:—SOLITUDEO'er the grey rocks, like monarchs robed and crowned,High tower the firs in swart magnificence,Where, winter after winter, vehemenceOf the wild torrent's rush, unstayed, unbound,Hath scooped and worn the rocks till so profoundThe deep pool's depth that all the gazer's senseFills with the absolute, dark-brown night intense.The rapid current swirls, but never a sound.By the high grandeur of the silence wooedInto its bond of comradeship, the maidSits 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.
[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, vehemenceOf the wild torrent's rush, unstayed, unbound,Hath scooped and worn the rocks till so profoundThe deep pool's depth that all the gazer's senseFills with the absolute, dark-brown night intense.The rapid current swirls, but never a sound.By the high grandeur of the silence wooedInto its bond of comradeship, the maidSits 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.
O'er the grey rocks, like monarchs robed and crowned,High tower the firs in swart magnificence,Where, winter after winter, vehemenceOf the wild torrent's rush, unstayed, unbound,Hath scooped and worn the rocks till so profoundThe deep pool's depth that all the gazer's senseFills with the absolute, dark-brown night intense.The rapid current swirls, but never a sound.
By the high grandeur of the silence wooedInto its bond of comradeship, the maidSits 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.
[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 almostallnose!
[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 almostallnose!
[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'sStandard, 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.
[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'sStandard, 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.
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'sStandard, 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.)
[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.)
"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.
[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.
[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.
[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."
[82]This spot inspired the picture "Solitude."
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.
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 myaveragecondition is perhaps a little less satisfactory than on Hampstead Heath. On the other hand, of course, such airmustin some occult way be benefiting my tissues, and I shall no doubt, as the stock phrase is, "feelsomuch betterafterwards." Meanwhile, I undergo much humiliation; whilstladiesmake 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,notclimbers 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 iswonderfulthat you do what you do on the doorstep of 89!—Your affectionate son,Fred.
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 myaveragecondition is perhaps a little less satisfactory than on Hampstead Heath. On the other hand, of course, such airmustin some occult way be benefiting my tissues, and I shall no doubt, as the stock phrase is, "feelsomuch betterafterwards." Meanwhile, I undergo much humiliation; whilstladiesmake 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,notclimbers 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 iswonderfulthat 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 hopeto 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—agoodbit, I hope. Tell her with my love that she is to make herselfverycomfortable, andnot to look at the money, butsend for a cheque whenever convenient. Shemust, 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 visitingtill 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—thatmust 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 aGiroto Siena and Florence. I also gave him a commission: very few things could give him so much pleasure (inside—he is not demonstrative!), andnothingis 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 latebittercold, to-day coldplusrain, worthy of London.
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 hopeto 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—agoodbit, I hope. Tell her with my love that she is to make herselfverycomfortable, andnot to look at the money, butsend for a cheque whenever convenient. Shemust, 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 visitingtill 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—thatmust 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 aGiroto Siena and Florence. I also gave him a commission: very few things could give him so much pleasure (inside—he is not demonstrative!), andnothingis 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 latebittercold, to-day coldplusrain, 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 1893Leighton 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—thirtytowns in thirty days; a Yankee might be proud of it; and over an area contained betweenLübeck(N.), if you please, and Berne (S.), Vienna (E.), and Colmar (W.), and I have made notes everywhere,andI 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 youwillbe 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 whatdateyou wrote it? I wouldtryto 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, exceptSollund Haben, which I have just begun; how amazinglyaltmodischand 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 andgoodlittle 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.
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—thirtytowns in thirty days; a Yankee might be proud of it; and over an area contained betweenLübeck(N.), if you please, and Berne (S.), Vienna (E.), and Colmar (W.), and I have made notes everywhere,andI 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 youwillbe 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 whatdateyou wrote it? I wouldtryto 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, exceptSollund Haben, which I have just begun; how amazinglyaltmodischand 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 andgoodlittle 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 Athenæum 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. Thepictures—"Lachrymæ," "'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.
Summer Slumber"SUMMER SLUMBER." 1894By permission of Mr. PhillipsonToList
"SUMMER SLUMBER." 1894By permission of Mr. PhillipsonToList
Sketch for Summer SlumberSKETCH FOR "SUMMER SLUMBER." 1894Presented by H.M. the King to the Leighton House CollectionToList
SKETCH FOR "SUMMER SLUMBER." 1894Presented by H.M. the King to the Leighton House CollectionToList
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 Rivière, 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 Athenæum. 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 andwouldhave 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.
One of the last times that I met him actively employed was at a committee meeting of the Athenæum. 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 andwouldhave 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 Rivière he wrote:—
Dear Rivière,—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 valueyourfriendship, you, I am sure, know.—Sincerely yours always,Fred Leighton.
Dear Rivière,—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 valueyourfriendship, 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 withit warm and grateful—andenviousgreetings to you all. These you will, I know, deliver to my brother members at lunch, for then only is thewholebody 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 changeshouldnot 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.
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 withit warm and grateful—andenviousgreetings to you all. These you will, I know, deliver to my brother members at lunch, for then only is thewholebody 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 changeshouldnot 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, onedoesmiss 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 alittleimprovement, of course I givemyself 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 Iknowthat I can get rid of them almost immediately by certain respiratory exercises my Swede taught me. This I assume is againno 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 socoarseas 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.Herkeynote is belief in theimmeasurable(but not explained) superiority of women, whom no man canunderstand; well, certainly,Idon't knowwo sie hinaus will.I have had more kind notes, this is a kind worldtout de même. When stodgy, elderly Englishmen talk to me of the number of people wholoveme, 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 amenschlichletter when her husband died (Ihave known them nearly forty years), and again a pretty letter t'other day about the wedding.But Imustfinish this scribble. I shall be gone when youget this, writeAlgiers(poste restante), I shall get itsometime or other, but am still vague.Love to poor Gussy.—Afft. bro.,Fred.
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, onedoesmiss 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 alittleimprovement, of course I givemyself 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 Iknowthat I can get rid of them almost immediately by certain respiratory exercises my Swede taught me. This I assume is againno 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 socoarseas 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.Herkeynote is belief in theimmeasurable(but not explained) superiority of women, whom no man canunderstand; well, certainly,Idon't knowwo sie hinaus will.
I have had more kind notes, this is a kind worldtout de même. When stodgy, elderly Englishmen talk to me of the number of people wholoveme, 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 amenschlichletter when her husband died (Ihave known them nearly forty years), and again a pretty letter t'other day about the wedding.
But Imustfinish this scribble. I shall be gone when youget this, writeAlgiers(poste restante), I shall get itsometime 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.
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 touchée de votre si bonne lettre et aimables vœux pour ma fille, je vous en remercie de tout mon cœur, y voyant une nouvelle preuve de votre amitié. Je regrette vivement pas avoir le plaisir de vous revoir avant longtemps, mais suis sure penserez à moi.Comtesse Paris.Buckingham.
Telegram.]
April 16, 1895.
To Sir Frederic Leighton,2 Holland Park Road,Kensington, London.
Profondement touchée de votre si bonne lettre et aimables vœux pour ma fille, je vous en remercie de tout mon cœur, y voyant une nouvelle preuve de votre amitié. Je regrette vivement pas avoir le plaisir de vous revoir avant longtemps, mais suis sure penserez à 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 averybrief acknowledgment; I haveoneday 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.Iknow how trying that is.
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 averybrief acknowledgment; I haveoneday 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.Iknow 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 effectslastso 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 inutteridleness, and a great deal on my back, and yet this morning I got an attacklying in bed! but don't let this disturb you—for several weeks I was much better and requirednocapsules 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 thebesthotels are—Imustbe 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.
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 effectslastso 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 inutteridleness, and a great deal on my back, and yet this morning I got an attacklying in bed! but don't let this disturb you—for several weeks I was much better and requirednocapsules 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 thebesthotels are—Imustbe 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 Bruntonhoped, but found it somewhat difficult to do so in the face offacts, he used to say. He, however, assumed that he was mending. On 19th July 1895 he wrote:—
Dear Briton Rivière,—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.
Dear Briton Rivière,—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.
The Fair Persian"THE FAIR PERSIAN"(Unfinished at the time of Lord Leighton's death.) 1896By permission of Sir Elliott LeesToList
"THE FAIR PERSIAN"(Unfinished at the time of Lord Leighton's death.) 1896By permission of Sir Elliott LeesToList
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 Soirée 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 hadthree."
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 inone 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 standwindeither, it aggravates my system.) I've never seen Mull—should like to—butnotbeing a sociable bird (like you) should wish to have no acquaintances. Is it Napier ofMagdala? 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 ofEttrick? if so ditto, ditto. It is always the previous lotIknew. 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, thenMalinmore, County Donegal, where I shall be from (say) the 10th to (say) the 17th, your affectionate old brother.
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 standwindeither, it aggravates my system.) I've never seen Mull—should like to—butnotbeing a sociable bird (like you) should wish to have no acquaintances. Is it Napier ofMagdala? 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 ofEttrick? if so ditto, ditto. It is always the previous lotIknew. 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, thenMalinmore, 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 issucculent 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 windis 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. IKNOWfrom Gussy's own mouth that she would particularly like to hear the Siegfried Tetralogy at Bayreuth (and thismaybe the last time of giving itthere), Iknowalso that, given, of course, the Fürsten 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 absenceat presentof 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 (fromoutside) 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 andspitzfindeleiand his curious narrownesses and lacunæ. TheBöcke die er schneidetwhen 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 æsthetic andsexual(!) 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 himselfin some measure acryptodegenerate, if I may so call him; degeneracy is aZwangsvorstellungwith 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 aRückschlag," but he would therein give another proof of his ineptitude in æsthetic matters. IneveryArt,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 innearly 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 saywhere, exactly, madness begins?" Amen! And that little (or large) spice of something whichmightbe 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!whata creature to live with!!Tell Gussy, with my love, that I have got the usual two seats (Queen's Hall) for the NovemberWagner. Tell her to keep the day open.—Afftly. yrs.Fred.
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. IKNOWfrom Gussy's own mouth that she would particularly like to hear the Siegfried Tetralogy at Bayreuth (and thismaybe the last time of giving itthere), Iknowalso that, given, of course, the Fürsten 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 absenceat presentof 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 (fromoutside) 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 andspitzfindeleiand his curious narrownesses and lacunæ. TheBöcke die er schneidetwhen 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 æsthetic andsexual(!) 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 himselfin some measure acryptodegenerate, if I may so call him; degeneracy is aZwangsvorstellungwith 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 aRückschlag," but he would therein give another proof of his ineptitude in æsthetic matters. IneveryArt,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 innearly 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 saywhere, exactly, madness begins?" Amen! And that little (or large) spice of something whichmightbe 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!whata creature to live with!!
Tell Gussy, with my love, that I have got the usual two seats (Queen's Hall) for the NovemberWagner. 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":—