9 PARK PLACE, ST. JAMES'S, _Sunday, May 5, 1861_.

DEAR MRS. LEIGHTON,--I know that the news of the bad hanging of your son's pictures has reached you (unpleasant tidings generally travel fast) and I hasten to tell you, what I hope may a little mitigate the annoyance you must have felt about it, that they are spoken of in terms of great eulogium by both the _Times_ and _Athenaeum_. I was afraid that their unfortunate placing might have prevented the possibility of any justice being done them by the public critics, but after all the _Times_ and _Athenaeum_ are the most influential and leading of all our public journals. Mrs. Orr's portrait is consistently praised by all the papers, even by those which review the others less favourably. Fortunately, the pictures were well seen in the studio by numbers of people of all cla.s.ses before they went to the Academy, and excited very general admiration in those who felt no particular interest either in art or in your son; while his friends, and those who _know_, were delighted not only with the works themselves, but at the visible indications in them of increased power in all ways. They have been thought by all whose opinion is of value a great advance upon what he has. .h.i.therto done. All this will, I hope, be pleasant to you; what will be so most of all will be to know that he took the exceeding trial and vexation of the abominable hanging of his pictures with the most perfect temper, and an admirable desire to be just about those who were doing him this ill turn. You will care for this, as I do, more than for any worldly success his talent could have brought him. I think he is looking well, although he complains a little of feeling tired. I daresay it is nothing but the weariness that must make itself a little felt after a great and all-engrossing exertion. His volunteering occupation is quite invaluable to him, giving him the exercise he never would otherwise get. I think he seems to like his life in London, where he has many friends, so many that if you were here you would no longer feel as jealous about me as you once owned to feeling--do you remember? I do not apologise for writing all this to you, for although excess of zeal may be a sin in the eyes of others, and even indeed of those whom one would die to serve, a mother will hardly count it as such when her child is in question. With best remembrances to Mr. Leighton and your daughters, I am, ever faithfully yours,

ADELAIDE SARTORIS.

To his father Leighton wrote:--

1861.

As to the article in _Macmillan_, I don't in the least deny its value as far as it goes and _quo ad_ the public; it is in that sense very gratifying to be spoken of in such flattering terms in a periodical of some standing, but I can't individually feel much elated at the praise of a critic who in other parts of his article shows he is not _au fond_ a judge; as for what he says in _interpretation_ (I am not now alluding to the _praise_), it is so verbatim what I said myself to those who visited my studio, that I suspect he must have been of that number. I remember, it is true, telling you _before_ I began to paint "Lieder ohne Worte" that I intended to make it _realistic_, but from the first moment I began I felt the mistake, and made it professedly and pointedly the reverse. I don't think, however, that we understand the word realistic alike; the Fisherman and Syren which you quote was as little naturalistic as anything could be, and, while you urge me to take up some subject possessing that quality, I would point out that the Michael Angelo and the Peac.o.c.k Girl both fulfil that condition--to _my_ mind _to a fault_. I have sent in (or am about to) a formula which I received to fill up, stating what I would contribute to the Great Exhibition of 1862 (International). I have offered the Cimabue, four "Nannas," the "Lieder ohne Worte," "Francesca,"

and the "Syren." I have obtained permission for all.

_Translation._]

2 ORME SQUARE, BAYSWATER, _30th April 1861_.

MY DEAR FRIEND AND MASTER,--When I last wrote you I promised in the spring to send you photographs of my pictures for the exhibition. I have just received some prints and hasten to enclose them.

One of them (the girl by the fountain) gives, as is so often the case, an entirely false impression of the picture, in that the drapery of the princ.i.p.al figure should be much darker, and that of the retreating figure much lighter. I have called this picture "Lieder ohne Worte." It represents a girl, who is resting by a fountain, and listening to the ripple of the water and the song of a bird. This subject is, of course, quite incomplete without colour, as I have endeavoured, both by colour and by flowing delicate forms, to translate to the eye of the spectator something of the pleasure which the child receives through her ears. This idea lies at the base of the whole thing, and is conveyed to the best of my ability in every detail, so that in the dead photograph one loses exactly half, also the dulling of the eyes, which are dark blue in the picture, gives a look of weakness in the photograph that is not quite pleasant.

The second subject is, as you will know well, the old, ever-new motive of Paolo and Francesca. I endeavoured to put in as much glow and pa.s.sion as possible without causing the least offence; this picture also would, perhaps, have pleased you in colour.

How I should like to show it to you, my dear master! However, you will no doubt send me your candid opinion of the photographs in a few lines, and not spare criticism.

I am exceedingly curious to know how _your_ work is getting on.

What are you working at just now? When is the fresco to be begun? What easel pictures have you undertaken? I want to know all that. I also hope with all my heart, my dear master, that your health keeps good, that your wife and children are all well. Please remember me most kindly to your family and all in Frankfurt who remember me. And yourself, my dear friend, keep in remembrance.--Your grateful pupil,

FRED LEIGHTON.

_Translation._]

2 ORME SQUARE, BAYSWATER, LONDON, _June 30, 1861_.

MY DEAR FRIEND,--Forgive my not having thanked you sooner for your kind note. The same thing has happened to me as to you: work has left me but little leisure for writing. Now, however, my hearty thanks for the open sincerity with which you have spoken of my latest work, I am only sorry that you have not gone into it even more closely. I shall endeavour in my present works to diminish the excessive mannerism of the lines, which will be all the easier for me as I am now painting princ.i.p.ally from nature; in my last picture the subject permitted that but little. In any case I hope, dear master, that you will always speak to me with the same candour; it is the best proof to me that I still possess your friendship.

I am extremely eager to see how far your works have got on.

Amongst them, however, my dear friend, keep in remembrance your grateful pupil,

FRED LEIGHTON.

_P.S._--I notice with regret that already I do not write a German letter with my former fluency.

In a letter to his sister, Mrs. Matthews, January 24, 1860, Leighton wrote: "I am horrified to hear the account you give of Mrs. Browning.

I knew she was a confirmed invalid, but had no idea that one of her lungs was already gone! What will poor Browning do if she dies? He adores her, you know."

LONDON, _July 1861_.

DEAREST MAMMY,--Thanks for your kind letter, which I have been unable to answer till now. I had heard of poor Browning's bereavement; we were all very much shocked at it, knowing, as we do, how entirely irreparable his loss is. I wrote a few lines to him that he might know how sincerely I grieved with him; I don't at all know what were the circ.u.mstances of her death, we have no particulars.

Leighton undertook to design the monument over Mrs. Browning's grave in the English Cemetery at Florence. The work appealed to him in every sense, and remains as a permanent memorial of those friendships which made the years spent in Italy so full, so rich, so entrancing.

With reference to the monument Browning writes:--

CHEZ M. LARAISON, STE. MARIE, PReS p.o.r.nIC, LOIRE INFeRIEURE, _August 30, 1863_.

MY DEAR LEIGHTON,--Don't fret; you will do everything like yourself in the end, I know; wait till the end of October, as you propose. I cannot return before the beginning of it, though I would do so were it necessary, but it is not, for I have only this morning received the notification of which I told you, that "the marble is in the sculptor's studio." We shall therefore be in full time.

The portrait you saw was the autotype which I lent to Mr.

Richmond, and concerning which I wrote to him before leaving London, directing that it should be sent to you. He engaged to let you have it whenever you desired. I therefore enclose (oh, fresh attack on your envelopes and postage stamps!) a note which I presume he will attend to, and which you will of course burn should he have sent the portraits meanwhile. I have also two others nearly like that portrait, taken the same day with it, which I was unable to find, but which shall be found on my return.

Dear Leighton, I can only repeat, with entire truth, that you will satisfy me wholly. I don't think, however, you can make me more than I am now--Yours gratefully and lovingly,

ROBERT BROWNING.

Continuation of letter to his mother:--

I am glad to hear Papa reported favourably of my work, and that you like the photographs of my pictures now in the Exhibition. I am very glad also that Gussy liked the _receding figure_ in the "Lieder ohne Worte," as it was a favourite also with me, the _tallness_ of said figure was inseparable from the sentiment of it in my mind. I have a photograph of that picture still remaining; I will give it to Gus when she comes through, I can get myself another some future day. I am getting on tol-lol with my pictures, but am rather anxious just now about the extreme difficulty of getting a peac.o.c.k. I want to _buy_ one to have the skin prepared, and if I don't get one soon they will all lose their tails; and there I shall be--in a fix! A friend of mine has written to Norfolk, and hopes to get me one. The season, even in the extremely moderate form in which I take it, is a fatiguing affair. I get up late and never feel fresh and vigorous. I have serious thoughts of entirely giving it up next year. I will go now and then to stay at people's houses, but not to their parties--_le jeu ne vaut pas la chandelle_. _A propos_ of country houses, I am going to spend a few days with Lady Cowper at Wrest Park towards the end of this month; there are to be theatricals and great hilarity. And now about Bath, I hope, dearest Mammy, you won't be hurt if I propose to come at the end of the _first_ week in September instead of the _last_ week in August. The fact is I have a great "giro" I want to make, and if I could take Bath in the regular progress it would be both a great convenience and a saving of expense. I mean to stay three weeks in Bath and have thoughts of painting a _pot-boiler_ of little Walker if he is still handsome. I wish Papa would look after him, and let me know what he is doing and how he is looking. These are my plans: I want, whilst the summer is still hot and green, to visit South Hampshire, New Forest, Isle of Wight, South Devon, North Devon, and so work my way round to Bath, whence to Stourhead for a few days; then to Mason in Staffordshire, and then back to London. My pictures will be done long before the Exhibition next opening, so I can manage all this. I shall visit the following people: Sartoris, Ades, perhaps Morants, I hope _Tennyson_, Lady E. Bulteel, and look in at Mount Edgcombe--the rest of the journey will be purely artistic.

CLOVELLY, _Sunday_.

DEAREST MAMMY,--I could not find time to answer your note (for which best thanks) before I left Ventnor. I am now in one of the most picturesque spots on the north coast of Devon--the _rendezvous_ of painters and tourists, the _pays de cocagne_ of Hook and one of the chief lions of my trip.

The places I have visited so far are Salisbury, Exeter, and Bideford; with the latter I was much disappointed, and think it far below its reputation; not so Salisbury, which is a most interesting town, full of quaintness and character beyond my expectations; it has, however, a look of decay and depopulation about it which makes me feel awfully low-spirited. The Cathedral, perhaps, _altogether_ rather disappointed me--though of course much about it is very beautiful; then, too, its general (internal) aspect is entirely marred by a brutal coat of whitewash laid on in the last century, covering up the marble columns and killing out all life and colour. Unfortunately, it would cost very many thousands to restore the church and its ancient glories.

To-morrow I start for Ilfracombe--the next day for Lynton.

Again, later:--

Many thanks for your letter just received and for all the kind wishes therein contained, which I most warmly return for you all--a double portion to dear Taily in honour of her birthday.

I will come on the 8th if I possibly can, and bring some little sketches to show you.

I shall exhibit this year IF I get done in time, but I can't hurry--it is entirely immaterial whether I exhibit or not--I would rather, of course.

We have begun drilling, but it will be many weeks before we get to rifle-shooting--this is the sort of thing we are doing now.

Our uniform is plainness itself, all grey, and the cheapest in London.

I weather the cold so-so--I have a gas-stove beside my fireplace, but am still tolerably cold when it comes very sharp.

My dinner with Millais was put off till Monday next--I think Millais _charming_ and _so_ handsome.

I am exceedingly sorry, dear Mamma, you have reckoned on me for cotillon figures--with the exception of the one I led at Bath once, _I have not seen one for years_, and have not the faintest notion what is done--I will, however, _back_ anybody else with great zeal.

I was indeed truly sorry to hear of Lord Holland's death--I had expected it for some time; nothing could exceed their kindness to me, and the House is an irreparable loss to me.

I hope to have a very merry Christmas Day. I am running down to Westbury (the Sartoris); there is to be a tree; I come up again of course Monday morning.

I am never _ill_. I take my human frailty out in never being very well--never equal to much fatigue.