I pensier miei gia de' miei danni lieti Che fian se s'a due morti m'avvicino L'una m' e certa, l'altra mi minaccia?

Ne pinger ne scolpir fin piu che queti L'anima volta a quell' amor divino Ch'aperse a prender noi in croce le braccia.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "DER WINTER"

Drawing by Eduard von Steinle]

No other member of Leighton's family was ever known to have been an artist, and neither his parents nor his sisters pretended to any knowledge of painting; but respecting literature he had an interest in common with both his sisters, also a very strong sympathy existed between Mrs. Matthews and Leighton in their love for music. In answer to a letter from Mrs. Orr relating to Mr. Augustine Birrell's well-known book, Leighton wrote, "I have read 'Obiter Dicta,' and am much charmed with its delicate humour and ease of its style. I thought 'Truth Seekers' charmingly written." With reference, however, to the Browning chapter he continues:--

Browning's obscurity hides a shorthand of which he keeps the key in _his_ pocket. A matter of form, _not_ of matter, as "O.D."

hath it. Browning is not abstruse; he is a _deep_ thinker, who _therefore_ (_vide_ "O.D.") requires obscure language; he is a most ingenious dialectician and a subtle a.n.a.lyst; but he is not a great poet on _that_ account--he is a great poet because of his magnificent central heat, and the surface of interests over which he sheds it. All this is rather late in the day to remark, and one would not be exasperated by his friends if one had not a sort of feeling that they _have_ done something to mar him. You say he would not be obscure if he _knew_ it?--_distinguons_. His obscurity is not intentional--of course--it is inherent in a style which is strongly personal, and therefore sincere--but is it in no degree _wilful_?--does he _not_ accept, virtually, some such (absolutely false) view of his obscurity as "O.D.'s"? A pity it certainly is; Browning is the last man who in his heart _wishes_ to touch only the few--n.o.body knows better than he does that that is not the characteristic of the greatest poets, and that not for that is a poet's soul kindled to a white heat.

Meanwhile, here _is_ the fact that men of average culture and average brains (I claim both, for an example), and _desirous_ of _understanding_, as well as full of admiration for his powers, often get at his meaning only by considerable effort, and sometimes not at all, and that not because the thought is obscure, but because it is wilfully written in cypher.

The following letter to a friend of his sister's contains a criticism of Leighton's on Goethe's _Spruche_ under the head of "Kunst":--

_Private._]

2 HOLLAND PARK ROAD, KENSINGTON, W., 17/8/91.

DEAR MR. BAILEY SAUNDERS,--Complying with your wish, expressed through my sister, Mrs. Orr, I have gone carefully through the _Spruche_ under the head "Kunst," and have marked certain pa.s.sages. I have, however, deferred writing till the last moment (I am starting presently for the Continent), partly because I have been overwhelmingly busy, and partly because I am a good deal "exercised" on the whole matter. To speak with entire frankness, I cannot feel sympathy with the idea of the publication, and feel that the connection of my name with it would imply an adhesion which does not exist. On re-reading more than once the maxims and sayings in question, which I had not seen for many years, I find myself confirmed in my earlier impression of them, that their value is in no way commensurate to the authority of Goethe's great name. Some of them are, in my opinion, wholly misleading and some obscure; some commonplace, some irrelevant to the subject. Again, my markings do not by any means always mean a.s.sent; and, on the other hand, the discrimination between the value of a marked paragraph is often a nice one, and is not represented by the difference between selection and omission, which, _on the face of it_, seems a.s.sent and dissent. In sum, I ask myself what the outcome is--what _is_ the selection? it does not give to the world an important or instructive intellectual possession; it _seems_ to express the selection of the best by a particular individual (who does not spontaneously desire to make such selections), and in _reality_ does _not_ represent anything that he a.s.sents to throughout.

But why a selection at all? I cannot refrain from asking myself.

The interest of these particular _Spruche_ lies in the fact that _they are utterances of Goethe's_ (and he gave them with a context)--but then what is the meaning of a selection?

You see I speak very bluntly in the matter, but also sincerely; and I have at all events shown my good will.--In much haste, yours faithfully,

FRED LEIGHTON.

I am, as I said, just off, but if you wished especially to communicate with me, a line sent _here_ would reach me after some delay.

Though Leighton persisted in affirming that he hardly ever read, the number of letters, and answers to letters from scholars, referring to poems and general literature, which exist in the correspondence he preserved, prove that if he did not read he nevertheless somehow got a knowledge of the inside of books. To a question having reference to the Nine Muses (he was then painting his frieze "Music") which he asked Swinburne, he received the answer:--

THE PINES, PUTNEY HILL, S.W., _August 21, 1885_.

DEAR LEIGHTON,--I doubt very much whether Sh.e.l.ley himself could have answered your question to your satisfaction. His scholarship was that of a clever but idle boy in the upper forms of a public school. His translation from Plato, as Mr. Jowett tells me, and his translation from Euripides, as I know by personal experiment, having carefully collated it with the original text, absolutely swarm with blunders, sometimes, certainly, resulting in sheer nonsense. I fancy he may have been thinking of Aphrodite Urania, and perhaps confounding (as indeed it seems to me that a Greek poet might possibly and pardonably have done) the G.o.ddess of divine love with the Muse who was _not_ the Muse of astronomy when she first made her appearance in the Theogony of Hesiod, but simply the "heavenly one" in a general way, as I gather from a reference to the lexicon. I should have thought Calliope or Euterpe a fitter head mourner for Keats: but probably Sh.e.l.ley wished to introduce the most distinguished in the rank of the Muses in that capacity, on such an occasion. And if Urania was in a certain sense the chief of the Nine, she would naturally be most musical of mourners.--Ever yours sincerely,

A.C. SWINBURNE.

As years went on, Leighton became more and more enamoured of the beauty to be found in our own islands, and longed, as can be traced in his letters, that his sisters should share with him his intense love of nature.

To his elder sister, who was in Yorkshire, he wrote in 1887:--

"A broad shoulder of moor, lifted against a great field of sky, is one of the grandest and most pathetic things in nature (see Leopardi). The beauty of moorland is that it has a particular poetry and impressiveness for _every_ condition of atmosphere and weather."

Again:--

"I am very glad you like Ilkley so much--moors have an immense fascination for me, but all English scenery of whatever kind has charm for me. It has two immense virtues: first, being entirely of its own _kind_, it never suggests a, to itself, disparaging comparison with the scenery of any other country, and secondly, it is steeped, every fold and nook of it, in English poetry, and is haunted with the murmur of the prettiest of peace-suggesting words: _home_. I wonder whether you both feel as I do the endearing quality in our old green-brown country."

It became his habit, in these later years, to visit Scotland in September before flying off to his second home. More and more did he realise the marvellous beauty of the scenery there. He told me, shortly before he died, that the most beautiful vision he had ever beheld on earth was the one he saw when approaching Skye by sea from the south, when the sun was setting and illuminating the range of the Cuillin Hills with magic light and colour. He wrote to his father from:--

THE HIGHLAND RAILWAY COMPANY'S STATION HOTEL, INVERNESS.

Accurately the _charmingness_ of Scotland, it is the starting-point for everything. But I observe that at the rate of writing I should fill a volume before I had given you the hastiest account of my journey, so I will e'en cut it short and simply say that, taking it altogether, my too brief stay in the Highlands has been a source of very great enjoyment to me, if not of any particular benefit to my health, for which indeed it has been too short. I have had more than the usual proportion of fine weather, and am corroborated in my old opinion that for beauty of colouring nothing north of the Alps will compare with this most lovely country, and that the wealth and variety of effects of light and shade is altogether unrivalled.

Unfortunately, working here is very difficult, all the effects are so bafflingly fugitive; nevertheless, I have made three little sketches which, though hasty, will be of value if only to revive my recollections of the effects they very feebly render; they were all done in one day; and no one day since I did them has been such as to make sketching possible--except this the last and one of the most enchanting, which I have spent delightfully but fruitlessly on the top of a coach.

From Gressoney, St. Jean, September 1, 1891, he wrote to Mrs.

Matthews:--

Many thanks for your letter received last night; as it crossed one from me to the Dad, which I hope he could read (it was writ large), I should not write again at once (having, of course, nothing to say--except that it is, _pour changer_, a splendid afternoon, and I ought to be out of doors) but that I want you at once to tell the poor old Dad how concerned and sorry I am to hear that he has been so ailing, and ailing so long, and how I wonder at his superb power of recuperation. I don't ask in _this_ letter how the Dad is, because I am sure he will send me a line in answer to my note to him. But I have another reason for writing at once; I want you, please, to thank Lina with best love, for her nice long letter (_she does not want a letter written from here_), and tell her, before it is too late, that I hope she won't give up her Ballater without _a very full trial_, because I know that it takes many people a considerable time to get acclimatised to that bracing air. Tell her also that I was myself going to suggest an _Ausflug_ to Braemar; if she goes to the Invercauld Arms let her use my name, and she will be well treated. I should _peculiarly_ like her to see the Lynn of Dee--she will only have to scramble five or six yards off the main road to look down into the stream from under some of the grandest old Scotch firs in Scotland; and I verily believe that the watching for a silent bit of those dark, dark, seemingly bottomless, noiselessly swirling pools, _tiny_ as they are under the hollow grey craig, will, somehow, whisper a big peace and a strange wondering fascination into her being; the whole thing is not bigger than an expensive toy, but it lays a never-failing grip on _me_.[82]--Affectionate brother,

FRED.

To Mrs. Orr when in Scotland:--

_August 22, 1891._

If you can manage it go to a favourite haunt of mine, the Lynn of Dee, quite a tiny tumble of green waters in fantastically scooped grey rocks, no higher than a cottage, under astounding old Scotch firs (by-the-bye the grandest tree in the world to my thinking), where I have sat interminably long looking down into the dark deep pools, from which now and then a salmon leaps. To me no spot about there is so fascinating.

GRAND HOTEL, BRUFANI, PERUGIA, _October 3, 1891_.

DEAR LINA,--Well, I am glad you got to the Lynn of Dee, though sorry that you could not be there in solitude and see it without sitting in a pool of water. I am glad, too, that you saw the salmon leap; I did not mention that most exciting spectacle because it is not by any means _always_ on view--you were in luck; but what you must make for another time is the bit three or four yards _below_ the fall where the vehemence of the winter torrent has scooped and worn pools so deep that as your eye is drawn down past half-hidden submerged rocky shapes you come at last to absolute dark brown night, and whilst you are conscious of a rapid, swirling current, no _sound_, no faintest gurgle even, reaches your ear; the silent mystery of it all absolutely invades and possesses you; that is what I faintly tried to put into my "Solitude," of which a photogravure embellishes your staircase. I am vexed that you had so much rain; however, you had a few fine glimpses, and if a rainy day in Scotland is like the Scotch Sawbath, a fine one throws you the gates of Heaven.

It is curious how much clearer the air is (_when clear_) than we get it south of the Tweed.

I am glad that the Dad has rallied so satisfactorily; tell him, with my love, that I have heard from the gentleman in Copenhagen for whom I carved the marble "Athlete." He is benighted enough to say that in his opinion it is one of the most important statues of modern times; and he wants my bust, if there is one, for his collection of portraits.

[Ill.u.s.tration: STUDY IN COLOUR FOR "SOLITUDE." 1890 By permission of Mrs. Stewart Hodgson]

Leighton also particularly desired that his sister should see Malinmore, County Donegal, when visiting Ireland. He wrote from Kensington, "I am bent on your seeing Malinmore."

And again, from Scotland:--

INVERNESS, _September 13_.

DEAR LINA,--I can't help feeling a good deal of responsibility about the melancholy, treeless wilds to which I have sent you, because I happen to like them vastly; and I particularly feel that _everything_ will turn on your seeing, not indeed all or nearly all _I_ saw--that is impossible--but as much as your strength will allow; take your courage, therefore, in one hand, your goloshes in another, and your umbrella in a third, and _from_ the car--_abseits_--see the _whole coast-line close_ to the rocks overlooking the sea; there is not an inch that won't reward you. There is a bit not more than half a mile from Malinmore (_to'ards_ Malinhead), that is, though _small_, quite Dantesque in its grim blackness (a few wet feet _im Nothfall_ won't hurt you). Of course, to do this well you must be in cars _every_ day to take you in all directions to the point _from_ which to make your _Abstecher_--sometimes towards Glencolumskill and the Hog's Back beyond (magnificent), sometimes towards Malinhead, where you must see every little bay, including the Silver Strand.

At first sight the breaking up of the weather is a bore, _mit Seitenblick auf Ihnen_--but is not as bad as it seems; bad (dirty) weather suits these parts, and the day will not dawn in which I shall have forgotten certain dramatic sunsets and the swooping of certain storm-clouds like the flight of huge fiery birds of prey, more than once witnessed and deposed to on canvas by me, over this treeless tract of moor.

FOOTNOTES:

[58] "Athlete Strangling a Python," exhibited in the International Exhibition, Paris, 1878.

[59] "The Arts of War."

[60] "Addresses delivered to the Students of the Royal Academy by the late Lord Leighton." Publishers: Kegan Paul, Trench, Trubner & Co.

1897.