I am fattening _vue d'oeil_. The light is certainly not irreproachable, still I can work, and don't find that my ideas get particularly rusty. On the contrary, for colour, certainly my sense seems to be sharpened in this atmosphere.

I am soldiering too. I drill three times a week, and make as bad a soldier as anybody else. The Sartoris, you know, are no longer in London--a great loss to all their friends--but I go pretty often to see them in the country, and have spent many a happy day there in the course of the winter. By-the-bye, do you hear or know anything of those two drawings I did of you and Mrs.

Browning? If so, will you give the one of you to Hookes that he may send with some other things he has? And now, dear Browning, "_vi lever l'incomodo_," and will bring this very tedious epistle to a close. Remember me most kindly to Mrs. Browning, to Cartwright and his wife, to Odo Russell, B----, Pantaleone with better half, Storeys, and last, but not least, dear little Hatty! Love to Cerinni; tell me about him. Good-bye.--Believe me, very affectionately yours,

FRED LEIGHTON.

I am hand-and-glove with all my enemies the pre-Raphaelites.

Woolner sends his affectionate remembrances.

Leighton writes to his sister in Italy:--

2 ORME SQUARE, BAYSWATER, _March 12_.

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

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

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

_Translation._]

2 ORME SQUARE, _September 15, 1860_.

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

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

Have I already told you the subject of my religious picture? I think not. At the turning-point of a very critical illness, the lady who commissioned my picture dreamt that she, as a disembodied spirit, soared up heavenwards in the night.[15]

Suddenly she was aware of a point of light in the far vault of heaven. This light grew, developed, and soon she saw coming forth from the night the shining form of the Saviour. Full of confidence she approached the holy apparition. Jesus, however, raised His hands and, gently repulsing her, enjoined her to return to earth, and during her life to make herself worthier to enter the company of the blessed. She awoke, recovered, and ordered the picture.

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

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

But enough of me and my affairs.

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

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

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

FRED LEIGHTON.

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

_December 12, 1860._

DEAREST MAMMY,--I have deferred until now answering your kind letter that I might be able to announce to you a little circ.u.mstance which took place yesterday, and which, though not of any real importance, may give you and Papa pleasure. I was yesterday raised to the rank of Captain; I command the 3rd Company--Lewis was at the same time made Captain of the 2nd--his election of course came before mine; he has done three times more for the Corps than I have or could have done--he lives very near and goes _every day_--as a man of business, and a very clever one, he has entirely organised the bookkeeping department, and in fact has been altogether the vital principle of the Corps. I was chosen next for having shown some zeal in this service and some little capability for teaching. The vacant lieutenancies go to Nicholson (the musician) and Talfourd. One of the ensigncies has been given to Perugini, contingent on its being lawful for him to hold such commission; another to old Palmer. So much for our volunteering. I wish we had a commander.

The next question in your letter I thought I had answered in my last--however, though Ruskin stayed about three hours and was altogether very pleasant, he did not say anything that I could quote about my paintings. He was _immensely_ struck by my drawing of a lemon-tree, and was generally complimentary, or rather, _respectful_, that is more his _genre_. I don't think, however, that he cared for Sandbach's picture--which leads me to the third point in your letter. Neither of the S.'s have seen their picture; last time they were in London, having made no definite appointment, I missed them. He wrote to say that when he came up to town again, he would fix a day to call on me.

Gibson, the old traitor, never turned up at all. By-the-bye, I see you ask whether I shoot much--no, not often; I am an ordinary, average shot--my unsteady hand prevents my shooting well. My general health is pretty fair. Many thanks, dearest Mammy, for your kind wishes and congratulations on that melancholy occasion, my birthday--it is a day I always hate--fancy my being _thirty_!!! About marrying, dear Mamma, you must not forget it requires two to play at that game. I would not insult a girl I did not love by asking her to tie her existence to mine, and I have not yet found one that I felt the slightest wish to marry; it is no doubt ludicrous to place this ideal so high, but it is not my fault--theoretically I should like to be married very well.

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

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

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

[Ill.u.s.tration: PORTRAIT OF MRS. SUTHERLAND ORR. 1861]

2 ORME SQUARE, _April 10, 1861_.

DEAREST MAMMY,--I have deferred writing until now that I might be able to tell you the result of my little "private view," now over. I am happy to say I have a great success. The "Vision"

pleased many people much, but was altogether, as I expected, the least popular; the subject, though very interesting, was less attractive to the many, and besides I have progressed in painting since the date of that picture. My little girl at the fountain, christened for me by one of my visitors, "Lieder ohne Worte," has perhaps had the greatest number of votes.[16] The "Francesca,"[17] on the other hand, has had, I think, the advantage in the _quality_ of its admirers. Watts, for instance, and Mrs. Sartoris think it by far my best daub.

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

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

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

LONDON. 1861.

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

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

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

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

PARIS. _Monday_.

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

FRED.

_May 1, 1861._

DEAREST MAMMY,--Life being a pump handle, first up then down, you won't be too much surprised to hear that after the real success my pictures had on "private view" they are with one exception (the landscape) badly hung, "The Vision" over a door, the others above the line, which will make it impossible to see the finish or delicacy of execution which is an important feature in them. I have not seen them myself, but am told this by those who have. Don't take on, dear Mammy, nor let Papa worry himself about it. Things come right in the end, and I know that many people will be much annoyed at this treatment of me.

_Millais_, like a good fellow that he is, spoke up for me like a man, though he himself feels so differently on art from what I do. My good friend Ade is furious. After all perhaps, though badly hung, the pictures may still be seen well enough to be judged, that is all I really want, then perhaps some of the papers will speak up for me. I am glad I let so many people see them at the studio, those at least know what the pictures are like. Of one thing be sure: if my works have real value, public opinion will in the _long run_ force the Academy to hang me--but enough of this subject.

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

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