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y joint, every crease is there, although all this careful painting is shortly to be hidden with the draperies; such, however, is the only method of insuring absolute correctness of drawing. The fourth stage completed, I return once more to my brown paper, re-copy the outline accurately from the picture, on a larger scale than before, and resume my studies of draperies in greater detail and with still greater precision, dealing with them in sections, as parts of a homogeneous whole. The draperies are now laid with infinite care on to the living model, and are made to approximate as closely as possible to the arrangement given in the first sketch, which, as it was not haphazard, but most carefully worked out, must of necessity be adhered to. They have often to be drawn piecemeal, as a model cannot by any means always retain the attitude sufficiently long for the design to be wholly carried out at one cast. This arrangement, is effected with special reference to painting--that is to say, giving not only form and light and shade, but also the relation and 'values' of tones. The draperies are drawn over, and made to conform exactly to the forms copied from the nudes of the underpainted picture. This is a cardinal point, because in carrying out the picture the folds are found fitting mathematically on to the nude, or nudes, first established on the canvas. The next step then is to transfer the draperies to the canvas on which the design has been squared off, and this is done with flowing colour in the same monochrome as before over the nudes, to which they are intelligently applied, and which nudes must never--mentally at least--be lost sight of. The canvas has been prepared with a grey tone, lighter or darker, according to the subject in hand, and the effect to be produced. The background and accessories being now added, the whole picture presents a more or less completed aspect--resembling that, say, of a print of any warm tone. In the case of draperies of very vigorous tone, a rich flat local colour is probably rubbed over them, the modelling underneath being, though thin, so sharp and definite as to assert itself through this wash. Certain portions of the picture might probably be prepared with a wash of flat tinting of a colour the opposite of that which it is eventually to receive. A blue sky, for instance, would possibly have a soft, ruddy tone spread over the canvas--the sky, which is a very definite and important part of my compositions, being as completely drawn in monochrome as any other of the design; or, for rich blue mountains a strong orange wash or tint might be used as a bed. The structure of the picture being thus absolutely complete, and the effect distinctly determined by a sketch which it is my aim to equal in the big work, I have nothing to think of but colour, and with that I now proceed deliberately, but rapidly."

"God forgive me if I am intolerant," he wrote to Steinle, "but according to my view an artist must produce his art out of his own heart; or he is none."

"The chord that wakes in kindred hearts a tone, Must first be tuned and vibrate in your own"

were the words with which he ended his first address to the students of the Royal Academy.

In the world's estimate of things and people, classification plays at times a pernicious part. Classification in art matters may be tolerated as useful only in the education of the non-artistic. Invariably the most convincing touches escape the possibility of being reduced to so dull a process of reckoning. Art marked by individual spontaneity, emanating from the ego of the artificer, refuses to be levelled down into a class. Critics seem at times to be strongly tempted to fit an artist's achievements into certain classes, because they have previously made up their minds as to the class the work belongs to. Hence the perversion often of even an intelligent critic's estimate: certain squarenesses exist which will not fit into round holes, so, for the sake of classification, the corners must be shaved off. Surely no artist ever existed who evaded being comfortably fitted into either a square or a round hole more completely than did Leighton. Every serious work he undertook was an entirely separate performance from any previous invention--a new venture throughout--and, once decided on, carried through with absolute conformity to the original conception. Therefore any classification, beyond his mere method of working, is more sterile in producing a just estimate of Leighton's art than of those workers who are in the habit of painting pictures in which the same motive recurs. Essentially original in his conceptions as in his aims, and vibrating with receptiveness, he sounded nevertheless every impression he received by unchanging principles adhered to as implicit guides. He had within him at once the steadiest rock as a foundation, and the most fertile of serial growths on the surface. Abiding rock and surface flora alike had had their earliest nurture, it must be remembered, in foreign parts, under other skies than that of our veiled English light--under other influences of nature and of art than that of our English climate and schooling--and it is partly owing to this fact that it is not realised by those who have never seen nature under the aspects which most delighted him, that Leighton's conceptions were directly and invariably inspired by nature. Those who are conversant with Italy and other Southern countries will possess the key to much that is misjudged by others in Leighton's work. Scenes which entranced his sensibilities as a boy, and, lingering ever in his fancy, gave subjects for his paintings when his art was mature, may appear to one without special knowledge of the South as mere echoes of classic art. When he was thirty-one Leighton exhibited the picture "Lieder ohne Worte." It is no record, probably, of any particular place, nor of any particular fountain; but when strolling on a road in or near a southern town or village in Italy, a view which might originally have inspired the motive may be seen at any moment. Encased in a wall near Albano is a fountain which certainly recalled to me the picture as, in the bright light of a May morning, the song of nightingales in the grand foliage of overhanging magnolia trees echoed the sound of the water springing from the glistening lip, and flowing over the clean curve of the marble basin into the trough below. There was the same lion's head which served as spout, the same arrangement of ornament encircling it; also a finely shaped pitcher placed below to catch the water, and--more recalling than any detail--was the echo of the real motive of the picture--the dream-like poetry of the sunlit scene, with the musical accompaniment of trickling water. Had Leighton painted a Discobolus, it would probably never have occurred to most English critics that nature and living action had inspired the work. Above the lake of Albano is a road--"the Upper Gallery"--where every day are to be met men playing the game. Any one watching it may see repeated over and over again the action in the well-known statue. Nature inspired the creations of the great ancients, and it was also invariably first-hand impressions from nature that inspired Leighton's creations, whatever superstructure of learning he added in the course of their development. Living in Italy when his feelings were most sensitive to impressions, the origin of the suggestions he imbibed is to be found in her atmosphere, colouring, and the scenes which surrounded him when his imagination was most free and fertile. Later, when he lived in England, his travels in Italy and Greece supplied him with the subjects for the most beautiful sketches he made direct from nature. No one, I believe, has ever painted the luminous quality of white, as it is seen under heated sunlight in the South, with the same charm as Leighton. The sketches he made of buildings in Capri are quite marvellously true in their rendering of such effects. He made equally beautiful studies of mountains and sea, under the rarefied atmosphere of Greece. He seemed always happiest, I think, when the key of his pictures and sketches was light and sunlit; in such pictures, for instance, as "Winding the Skein," "Greek Girls Picking up Shells by the Seashore," "Bath of Psyche," "Invocation," and others remarkable for their fairness and their light, pure tone.

"No doubt the constant wear and tear occasioned by the perpetual strain of mental and physical watchfulness did much to shorten his life; I think it sometimes injured his own work as an artist, because, though a great artist can never be evolved except by years of patient work and strenuous effort to do his very best always, yet, on the other hand, it is often the happy, easy work and absolutely spontaneous effort of the moment by such a hand which is his very best. Such happy, easy work probably Leighton would seldom allow himself to do, and never would leave at the right moment, but would still strive to make better and more complete. He must still elaborate it and try to make it more perfect; and this it was that made his enthusiastic admirer Watts sometimes say, 'How much finer Leighton's work would be if he would admit the accidental into it.'"

A fact, little suspected by the public, certainly affected the element of strength in some of Leighton's works. Besides often suffering from a positive want of health, his normal physical condition was far from robust; and, as appears in his letters, he suffered much through weakness and irritation in the eyes from the time he was a boy. He did not wear his physical distress on his sleeve, and experienced many hindrances in his work never dreamt of, even by his intimate acquaintances. These might not have been so serious had he been willing to sacrifice all other duties in life to his own special vocation; but though he realised that Art, the language of beauty, was his main passion, his conscience would not allow him to make this passion an excuse for avoiding help to his generation on other lines, if he distinctly felt he could do so. In the happiest of surroundings, with his life unburdened by public responsibilities, he painted "Cimabue's Madonna"; and, for pure vigour in the manipulation, this painting has a robust quality which is scarcely to be found in any other of the larger works which followed, though these may possess many other virtues, and evince a more definite individuality, than does the early work.

Leighton's art appeals to the artists possessed of cosmopolitan culture--also to many who love beauty, a sense of refined distinction in feeling and in form and in the arrangement of line. Beyond these it appeals also to the great public outside the radius of specialists, a public which is impressed by a sense of beauty and achievement without possessing the knowledge of experts. It is not much cared for by the disciples of either of the latest schools in England, and in France, which have governed fashion in the matter of taste for the last twenty years. In the first place, it appeals but little to those to whom the highest province of art appears to consist in conveying didactic sentiments and poetic ideas through a language of form and colour--to suggest thought to the brain rather than beauty to the eye. Respecting this theory of the province of art, Leighton expresses himself clearly in his second address to the Royal Academy students in December 1881:--

"Now the language of Art is not the appointed vehicle of ethic truths; of these, as of all knowledge as distinct from emotion, though not necessarily separated from it, the obvious and only fitted vehicle is speech, written or spoken--words, the symbols of ideas. The simplest spoken homily, if sincere in spirit and lofty in tone, will have more direct didactic efficacy than all the works of all the most pious painters and sculptors from Giotto to Michael Angelo; more than the Passion music of Bach, more than a Requiem by Cherubini, more than an Oratorio of Handel.

"It is not, then, it cannot be the foremost duty of Art to seek to embody that which it cannot adequately present, and to enter into a competition in which it is doomed to inevitable defeat."

Mr. Arthur Symons, writing on "The Psychology of Watts," quotes a popular preacher who affirmed that "Critics who approach his work from the side of technical excellence do not interest him at all. His endeavour has been to make his pictures as good as works of art as was possible to him, for fear that they should fail altogether in their appeal; but, beyond that, their excellence as mere pictures is nothing to him." "Now," writes Mr. Symons, "it is quite possible that Watts may have really said or written something of the kind; he may even, when he set himself down to think, have thought it. The conscious mental processes of an artist have often little enough relation with his work as art; by no means is every artist a critic as well as an artist. But to take a great painter at his word, if he assures you that the excellence of his pictures 'as mere pictures' is nothing to him; to suppose seriously that at the root of his painting was not the desire to paint; to believe for a moment that great pictorial work has ever been done except by those who were painters first, and everything else afterwards, is to confuse the elementary notions of things, hopelessly and finally. And so, when we are told that the technical excellence of Watts' pictures is of little consequence, we can but answer that to the 'painter of earnest truths,' as to all painters, nothing can be of more consequence; for it is only through this technical excellence that 'Hope,' or 'The Happy Warrior,' or 'Love and Life,' is to be preferred to the picture leaflet which the district missionary distributes on his way through the streets."

All who knew Watts intimately and watched him working day by day can testify that he spared no labour, time, or patience, in working over and over on a picture in order to attain the finest quality in the actual surface which his material--paint--could possibly produce.

Neither the disciples of the original brotherhood of the pre-Raphaelites nor those of Burne-Jones care, as a rule, for Leighton's art. Though starting as one with the pre-Raphaelites, Burne-Jones, possessing a remarkably fine intellect, a subtle fancy, a rich inventiveness in the detail of design, an exquisite sense of grace, and great genius as a colourist, developed so distinct an individuality that his followers cannot be precisely identified with those of the pre-Raphaelites. Leighton fully appreciated the genius of Burne-Jones, and did all in his power to secure his adherence to the Academy; but he had no sympathy for that feeling in art evinced by Burne-Jones' followers, which is so essentially rooted in purely personal moods that even distortion of the human frame is condoned, so long as prominence is given to the suggestion of such moods.

To quote lines that were written about Leighton very shortly before his death:--

"There is truly to be traced in the feeling of his art that 'seal on a man's work of what is most inward and peculiar in his moods'; the sign of individual intimate preferences and of the moving power which certain aspects of beauty have had upon the artist's innermost susceptibilities, though these may be somewhat veiled and distanced by being translated through the reserved form of a classic garb. Perhaps it is this reserve which invests Sir Frederic Leighton's art with the special aroma of poetry which Robert Browning found in it to a greater extent than in any other work of his time. Whether in his larger compositions, in the complicated grouping of many figures, such as the Cimabue picture being led in procession through the streets of Florence, the 'Daphnephoria,' 'Heracles struggling with Death,' the 'Andromache,' the 'Cymon and Iphigenia,' and others; or those simpler compositions, such as the 'Summer Moon,' 'Wedded,' 'The Mountain Summit,' 'The Music Lesson,' 'Sister's Kiss,' in all can be traced the sentiment of a poet inspiring the touch; not overriding by any assertiveness of sentiment the complete scheme of the picture, but lingering here and there with a wistful loveliness which has to be sought for within the barriers of the formal classic design. And it is this reticence in the expression of individual sentiment, this subduing it to the larger conditions of a more abstract style of art which, though it will never make Sir Frederic Leighton's work directly popular, gives to it a quality of distinction. In such reticence is an element of greatness which probably will only be duly appreciated when the more transient moods of thought in the present generation have passed. His work lacks altogether the sentimental, brooding-over-self quality, which, when allied to genius, is contagious, and gives an interest of a subtle, but perhaps not altogether wholesome kind to some of the best work of this era."

And again after his death:--

"Beauty of every kind played on a very sensitive instrument, when it made an appeal to his nature, giving him very positive joy: no complication of subtle interest beyond the actual influence being required before a responding echo was sounded, because so pure and innocent was this joy he had in the charm of beauty;--so also attendant on his personal influence, there was no power of mesmerism, nor of the black arts. In every direction it was healthy and bracing. Even a Nordau could have discovered no remotest taint of the degenerate!"

It is the emotions which art suggests outside itself which have been viewed by one school as more interesting than art itself, and it is the sensuous qualities in painting--colour and texture--which are the visible agents, and convey more readily these suggestions of emotions in our northern temperaments than do beautiful lines and forms. Our northern temperaments also love symbolism and mysticism, therefore are apt to favour the art that meets a veiled condition of things; and the perfection of complete finish in nature's form is no longer held up as a standard for the student to aim at. Leighton had no sympathy with the artificial, neither had he any with the shadow put in the place of the substance. The actual was ever sufficient for him, for in nature herself he never failed to find sufficient inspiration. The mind of the Creator in matter is what the ingenuous artist temperament searches for and is inspired to record; whereas it is, on the one hand, phases of human moods, selections from human passions, good, bad, and indifferent, which are made to saturate the feeling in much of our modern art, or, on the other hand, aspects of nature's moods given without the framework of her structure, and without the detail of her perfection.

It may be argued, however, that there are among the most beautiful effects in nature those which are not fully distinct to the sight--the shimmering iridescence on a shell, where one colour is seen sparkling against another through a film, or the waving branches of a willow, the liquid shifting of a flowing stream, or the endless effects of cloud and mist in a northern sky. To express this in paint requires an appropriate treatment in the manipulation of the pigment itself. Watts' theory was that you have to unfinish the record of certain facts in order to render the truth of the whole fact . He would, therefore, film his painting over with a scumble of white, and only partially repaint the surface, in order to get at that whole truth which includes the bloom of atmosphere and the veil of northern mists. Leighton is thought at times to have erred on the side of explicitness, and the texture of his surface is apt undoubtedly to lack the vibrating quality which carries with it a beauty of its own. This is partly accounted for by the fact that he had imbibed the rudiments of his teaching in a school whose followers were not sensitive to the finest qualities in oil painting, but also probably from his extreme desire to give expression to his sense of the intense finish in nature.

He viewed the influence of art as one which should perfect the life of every class; should purify in all directions the debasing elements of materialism and self-interest; should put zest and gratitude into the hearts of all men and women who can see and feel, by awakening a sense of the perfection and beauty of nature, art forming an explanatory and illuminating link between her and mankind--a translation of her perfection transmitted with all reverence by the artificer;--a perfecting beautiful pinnacle in the erection and development of a noble human being.

No words could better describe Leighton's high endeavour in training his own mind and those whom he tried to influence, than the following, written by Lord Acton and quoted by his friend, Sir M. Grant Duff. "If I had the power," writes Sir M. Grant Duff, "I would place upon his monument the words which he wrote as a preface to a list of ninety-eight books he drew up, and about which he still hoped to read a paper at Cambridge when he wrote to me on the subject last autumn. 'This list is submitted with a view to assisting an English youth, whose education is finished, who knows common things, and is not training for a profession, to perfect his mind and open windows in every direction; to raise him to the level of his age, so that he may know the forces that have made the world what it is, and still reign over it; to guard against surprises and against the constant sources of errors within; to supply him both with the strongest stimulants and the surest guides; to give force and fulness, and clearness and sincerity, independence and elevation, generosity and serenity to his mind, that he may know the method and lay of the process by which error is conquered and truth is won, discerning knowledge from probability and prejudice from belief; that he may learn to master what he rejects as fully as what he adopts; that he may understand the origin as well as the strength and vitality of systems, and the better motives of men who are wrong; to steel him against the charm of literary beauty and talent, so that each book, thoroughly taken in, shall be the beginning of a new life, and shall make a new man of him.'" In a like spirit Leighton sought to arrive at viewing art; and what Lord Acton sought to effect by the general culture of men's minds and natures through reading, Leighton sought to effect in his special vocation by inducing other artists to study all that was greatest in Art from a wide and unprejudiced point of view--making it their own, so to speak, by thoroughly realising and appreciating the qualities in it which make it great. Each true masterpiece in Art, he urged, should be thoroughly taken in, and should be the beginning of a new effort. On the other hand, he sought to make the student "learn to master what he rejects as fully as what he adopts, that he may understand the origin as well as the strength and vitality of systems, and the better motives of men who are wrong." His desire was to guide art into the current of the world's best interests--the current in which good literature is so forcible an agent--on the highest, broadest, most catholic lines. He endeavoured to do so by his example as a working artist, by his Discourses, by his labours for the public in every direction where the Art of his country was concerned, and more directly by his influence on those with whom he personally came in contact.

FOOTNOTES:

This picture has, I believe, unfortunately left the country. It was suggested by a passage in the second Idyll of Theocritus: "And for her, then many other wild beasts were going in procession round about, and among them a lioness." Sketches for portions of the picture and the squared tracing for the complete design can be seen in the Leighton House Collection. The full-length portrait of Mrs. James Guthrie was exhibited the same year as this second processional picture, which appeared on the walls of the Academy eleven years after the "Cimabue's Madonna." The head of the central figure, the Bride, Leighton painted from Mrs. Guthrie. The following charming letter from Mrs. Norton, the most notable of Sheridan's three beautiful daughters, refers to this picture:--

Now, as I am quite sure no one else will take this view of what is the principal interest in your glorious procession of youth and hope, I thought it as well to let you know, that you might give that little panther his due importance , and not suppose him a subordinate accessory! That whole procession was tinged with mournfulness in Richard Norton's eyes for that little leopard's sake. I shall see that "Dream of Fair Women" again in the Exhibition, and admire it, as I did to-day, in a crowd of other admirers, I know. I do not mind the crowd. I see over them and under them, and through them, when there is anything so worth being eager about.--Believe me meanwhile, yours very truly,

CAROLINE NORTON.

The picture has left the country, but sketches of the complete design are among those in the Leighton House Collection.

Lent by Lady Wantage to the Exhibition, in Leighton House, of the smaller works and sketches in 1903.

When standing with me before Leighton's picture "Wedded" in the studio Robert Browning exclaimed, "I find a poetry in that man's work I can find in no other."

FIRST STUDIO IN LONDON

In 1858 Leighton was represented on the Royal Academy walls by two pictures, "The Fisherman and the Syren"--a subject from Goethe's ballad,

"Half drew she him, Half sunk he in, And never more was seen"--

and by a scene from "Romeo and Juliet," both small canvases painted in Rome and in Paris.

Leighton at this time received an encouraging letter from Robert Fleury, from whom he had learned much:--

Que parlez vous de reconnaissance, mon cher Monsieur Leighton? de l'amiti? je le veux bien, et je re?ois, ? ce titre seulement, le dessin que vous m'avez envoy?. Ne me suis je pas fait plaisir en vous reconnaissant du talent et en vous rendant la justice qui vous est due? si vous m'avez donn? l'occasion de vous faire part de ma vieille esp?rance n'est ce pas une preuve de l'estime que vous faites de mes conseils? Puisque vous m'offrez g?n?reusement votre amiti?, je l'accepte de bien bon coeur, et votre petit dessin me restera comme un gracieux souvenir de vous.

In the autumn of 1858 Leighton was back in Rome, and it was at that time the King, then Prince of Wales, first visited his studio. "I myself had the advantage of knowing him for a great number of years--ever since I was a boy--and I need hardly say how deeply I deplore the fact that he can be no more in our midst," were the words spoken by the King--thirty-nine years after this first meeting--at the Royal Academy banquet, which took place after Leighton's death, 1st May 1897.

He worked in Rome till his pictures were finished for exhibition in the spring, 1859.

He wrote to his mother:--

I am just finishing the largish studies of a very handsome model here, and am about to send them off for exhibition. They seem very popular with all who see them, and are, I think, my best things.

DEAREST MAMMY,--I find to my annoyance that I have mislaid your kind letter, so that I must answer as best I can from memory.

Besides the three portraits of a model mentioned in his letter, exhibited at the Royal Academy, 1859, Leighton sent "Samson and Delilah" to Suffolk Street. For studies of this picture, see Leighton House Collection.

Later, from Naples, he wrote:--

This place is in great beauty. I have been received with the greatest hospitality by the Hollands, with whom I have dined and supped both days.

Yesterday I breakfasted with Augustus Craven, who photographed me. He is a great adept at this art, and devotes much time to it. He has a most lovely house here, looking out on to the sea.

I have nothing to add for the present, and I will write again from Capri.

DEAR LEIGHTON,--Unless I write again I shall hope to breakfast with you on Friday, and see and know evermore how a lemon differs from an orange leaf. In cases of doubtful temper, might the former more gracefully and appropriately be used for bridal chaplet?--Most truly yours,

J. RUSKIN.

DEAR LEIGHTON,--Of course I want the lemon-tree! but surely you didn't offer it me before? May I come on Tuesday afternoon for both? and I hope to bring "Golden Water," but I hear there's some confusion between the Academy and the Burlington Club. "Golden Water" is perhaps too small a drawing for the Academy--but you'll see.

I wish the lecture on sculpture you gave that jury the other day had been to a larger audience, and I one of them.--Ever affectionately yours,

J. RUSKIN.

J.R.

I can't get lectures printed yet.

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