CHAPTER VI

LIFE WANING--DEATH

1887-1896

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.

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 my _average_ condition is perhaps a little less satisfactory than on Hampstead Heath. On the other hand, of course, such air _must_ in some occult way be benefiting my tissues, and I shall no doubt, as the stock phrase is, "feel _so_ much better _afterwards_." Meanwhile, I undergo much humiliation; whilst _ladies_ make 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, _not_ climbers 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 is _wonderful_ that 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 hope to 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--a _good_ bit, I hope. Tell her with my love that she is to make herself _very_ comfortable, and _not to look at the money_, but _send for a cheque whenever convenient_. She _must_, 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 visiting _till 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--_that_ must 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 a _Giro_ to Siena and Florence. I also gave him a commission: very few things could give him so much pleasure (_inside_--he is not demonstrative!), and _nothing_ is 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 late _bitter_ cold, to-day cold _plus_ rain, 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 1893 Leighton 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--_thirty_ towns in thirty days; a Yankee might be proud of it; and over an area contained between _Luebeck_ (N.), if you please, and Berne (S.), Vienna (E.), and Colmar (W.), and I have made notes everywhere, _and_ I 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 you _will_ be 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 what _date_ you wrote it? I would _try_ to 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, except _Soll und Haben_, which I have just begun; how amazingly _altmodisch_ and 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 and _good_ little 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 Athenaeum 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. The pictures--"Lachrymae," "'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.

[Illustration: "SUMMER SLUMBER." 1894 By permission of Mr. Phillipson]

[Illustration: SKETCH FOR "SUMMER SLUMBER." 1894 Presented by H.M. the King to the Leighton House Collection]

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 Riviere, 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 Athenaeum. 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 and _would_ have 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 Riviere he wrote:--

DEAR RIVIERE,--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 value _your_ friendship, 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 with it warm and grateful--and _envious_ greetings to you all. These you will, I know, deliver to my brother members at lunch, for then only is the _whole_ body 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 change _should_ not 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, one _does_ miss 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 a _little_ improvement, of course I give myself 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 I _know_ that I can get rid of them almost immediately by certain respiratory exercises my Swede taught me. This I assume is again _no 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 so _coarse_ as 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. _Her_ keynote is belief in the _immeasurable_ (but not explained) superiority of women, whom no man can _understand_; well, certainly, _I_ don't know _wo sie hinaus will_.

I have had more kind notes, this is a kind world _tout de meme_. When stodgy, elderly Englishmen talk to me of the number of people who _love_ me, 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 a _menschlich_ letter when her husband died (_I_ have known them nearly forty years), and again a pretty letter t'other day about the wedding.

But I _must_ finish this scribble. I shall be gone when you get this, write _Algiers_ (poste restante), I shall get it _some_ time 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.

_Telegram._] _April 16, 1895._ TO SIR FREDERIC LEIGHTON, 2 HOLLAND PARK ROAD, KENSINGTON, LONDON.

Profondement touchee de votre si bonne lettre et aimables voeux pour ma fille, je vous en remercie de tout mon coeur, y voyant une nouvelle preuve de votre amitie. Je regrette vivement pas avoir le plaisir de vous revoir avant longtemps, mais suis sure penserez a 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 a _very_ brief acknowledgment; I have _one_ day 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. _I_ know 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 effects _last_ so 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 in _utter_ idleness, and a great deal on my back, and yet this morning I got an attack _lying in bed_! but don't let this disturb you--for several weeks I was much better and required _no_ capsules 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 the _best_ hotels are--I _must_ be 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 Brunton hoped, but found it somewhat difficult to do so in the face of _facts_, he used to say. He, however, assumed that he was mending. On 19th July 1895 he wrote:--

DEAR BRITON RIVIERE,--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.

[Illustration: "THE FAIR PERSIAN" (Unfinished at the time of Lord Leighton's death.) 1896 By permission of Sir Elliott Lees]

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 Soiree 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 had _three_."

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 in one 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 stand _wind_ either, it aggravates my system.) I've never seen Mull--should like to--but _not_ being a sociable bird (like you) should wish to have no acquaintances. Is it Napier of _Magdala_? 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 of _Ettrick_? if so ditto, ditto. It is always the previous lot _I_ knew. 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, then _Malinmore_, 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 is _succulent 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 wind is 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. I KNOW from Gussy's own mouth that she would particularly like to hear the Siegfried Tetralogy at Bayreuth (and this _may_ be the last time of giving it _there_), I _know_ also that, given, of course, the Fuersten 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 absence _at present_ of 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 (from _outside_) 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 and _spitzfindelei_ and his curious narrownesses and lacunae. The _Boecke die er schneidet_ when 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 aesthetic and _sexual_(!) 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 himself in some measure a _crypto_degenerate, if I may so call him; degeneracy is a _Zwangsvorstellung_ with 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 a _Rueckschlag_," but he would therein give another proof of his ineptitude in aesthetic matters. In _every_ Art, _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 in _nearly 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 say _where_, exactly, madness begins?" Amen! And that little (or large) spice of something which _might_ be 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! _what_ a creature to live with!!

Tell Gussy, with my love, that I have got the usual two seats (Queen's Hall) for the November _Wagner_. 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":--

"His last study from nature was painted in Rome in October 1895, for the unfinished picture of 'Clytie,' exhibited in the Royal Academy, 1896. It was a study of fruit, and he enjoyed working on it for several hours, though he was then ill; and I believe that the hours he passed in the courtyard of the Palazzo Odeschalchi painting these fruits, which he had arranged on a marble sarcophagus, afforded him, perhaps, the last artistic pleasures he ever enjoyed. It is true that after this he went to the Vatican, to Siena, and to Florence, where he saw for the last time the masterpieces with which these towns abound. But, standing before the great works of the masters of the past, he could only sigh.

"He worshipped children, and his pictures of children with fruit and flowers are among the most delicious and spontaneous work ever done by him in painting. And I can see him again, during the last visit he paid to Rome in 1895, on his knees before my little girl, to accede to her request that she should have a lock of his hair as a remembrance."

Nothing could give a better record of two sides of Leighton's nature, often believed to be incompatible, than the contents of the letter from Naples to his sister, with its remarks on Nordau, Nietzsche, and the like, and this beautiful picture recalled by his old friend Costa--Leighton on his knees before a little child. The intellect which could crack the hardest of intellectual nuts was surmounted by lowly reverence for all beauty, most ardently adored when that beauty came to him in its most innocent childlike garb.

Writing to me on his return on November the 6th Leighton says: "I shall try to look in to-morrow at five. I want very much to hear Fuller-Maitland's preachment" (Lectures on Purcell were being given at our house previous to the Purcell Festival). "I am sorry to say I am no better, rather worse." On being asked the next day, as he came into our house, "How is it?" the answer Leighton gave was, "Oh, worse! Sometimes fifteen attacks a day." On his birthday, the 3rd of December, he wrote to his sister:--

2 HOLLAND PARK ROAD, KENSINGTON, W., _December 3, 1895_.

DEAR LINA,--The grand leaves in a mossy pot, and the sweet flowers, and the poems, and your letter, came all together. I know you will let me answer you both on one piece of paper. I know, dears, how true is your love, and though I am not a demonstrative person, it is very precious to me. I know you will both like to hear that after an _hour's_ innings between L. Brunton, Dr. Tunnicliffe his partner, Roberts, and three most ingenious scientific instruments, and after tapping and auscultating of my wretched ear cap fore and aft, it was pronounced that (in some mysterious way) I am _not_ worse, but _better_; well, I am glad to hear it; meanwhile my medicine is being strengthened, and will be again in the (pretty certain) event of its requiring more strength. L.B. quite _hopes_ to rig me out for the May banquet. Much love to both from affectionate old brother.

On the 14th he wrote to his friend Mr. Henry Wells:--

2 HOLLAND PARK ROAD, KENSINGTON, W., _December 14, 1895_.

DEAR WELLS,--Many thanks for your kind letter, relying on which I hasten to "nail" you for the _27th_; I shall be very much disappointed if you say me "nay." I never give a _long_ notice, in part so as to bring about a little shuffling of cards, and relieving my guests of a certain monotony of routine which might in the end irk them. I need not assure you that I am most warmly sensible to the vigilant and truly friendly interest which you manifest concerning my health; believe me, if I differ from you in not believing in the efficacy or feasibility of a suspension of activity for a year or two, it is in no unreasoning or perverse spirit (and let me, by-the-bye, say in passing that I have, for a few days past, certainly been a little better). Putting aside for a moment the fact that I have for the next year, and more, definite professional _obligations_ in the way of commissioned work (which is, unfortunately, not incompatible with having a certain number of unsold works!), to withdraw from Academic duties would mean _leaving England_ for the period in question; it would be morally impossible to remain here, apparently in robust health, congratulated constantly, as I am, on my healthy appearance, going about unrebuked by a _very_ cautious doctor (Lauder Brunton), taking the pleasures of life _apparently_ without any stint (as a matter of _fact_ I am very quiet and regular, and under _continuous_ medical treatment), and then shirking all its _duties_; but experience has shown that I gain nothing by absence--by change of climate and the rest; and, on the other hand, my temperament being what you know, the withdrawal from my active life would infallibly prey on me and have a marked effect on my health through my spirits; this is also the opinion of Lauder Brunton. My care must be to live quietly but not idly, and thus try to mend gradually, as I doubtless shall, in the hands of my doctor _and my masseur_. _If_, which God forbid, I am pronounced still unfit in May, I will bow, with whatever bitterness, to the judgment, but till then I must not forego hope. Meanwhile, you have all done me infinite service in prohibiting the "Discourse" for this year--I can't say how grateful I was for that! I shall also avoid, as far as may be, all _controversy_ at our table; that is the worst thing of all by far, for yours sincerely always,

FRED LEIGHTON.[87]

With the New Year honours and among those bestowed was a Peerage on Leighton, who was created Lord Leighton, Baron of Stretton (see chap. i. vol. i., Antecedents). Needless to say, congratulations poured in from all sorts and conditions. One of these in writing was preserved because enclosed in a note to his sister.

_January 13, 1896._

MY DEAR LEIGHTON,--I have just come back from Italy, and hope that it is not too late to tell you with how much satisfaction I read of the mark of honour that has been accepted by you. I am not a passionate admirer of the legislative feats of the House of Lords, but so long as it stands, it is well that such a man as you should sit there. I hope that the thing has given you pleasure, and for my poor part I rejoice both as a friend and as a humble admirer of art and genius that this honourable recognition has fallen to you.--Yours sincerely,

JOHN MORLEY.

Not a word of reply, I pray.

From his native place Leighton received the following:--

When it was announced on Wednesday that the Queen had been pleased to confer the dignity of a Peerage of the United Kingdom upon Sir Frederic Leighton, Bart., President of the Royal Academy, who is a native of Scarborough, having been born here sixty-five years ago, the Mayor (Alderman Cross, J.P.) sent the following telegram:--"Sir Frederic Leighton, 2 Holland Park Road, London, the Mayor, Corporation, and inhabitants of Scarborough present their hearty congratulations on the honour conferred upon you.--The Mayor, Scarborough." The next morning the following reply was received:--"The Mayor of Scarborough,--Sincere thanks for congratulations from my birthplace.

LEIGHTON."

Leighton had been loath to acquaint his sisters with the real nature of his complaint, as he was aware how much their anxiety for him would be increased if they knew. However, he at last felt it was necessary to tell them. Very characteristically, he chose the moment when they were at the theatre, thinking it might produce a less painful shock when mentioned casually, and when their attention might be distracted more easily. It was difficult, however, under any circumstances to temper the blow. Leighton wrote the next Sunday--"I do hope I shall find you better this afternoon.... I ought not to have spoken to you about my ailment." I received the following in Somerset, dated January 20, dictated, ... "As I am (not to put too fine a point on it) in bed with a very bad cough at this moment, you will, I know, forgive my using the hand of a secretary in writing to you. I see that you want a contribution for Mrs. Watts Hughes' Home for Boys; I therefore enclose a cheque." ... On the day following, Tuesday, his doctors decreed that he should remain in his room, but on Wednesday, the day after, Leighton insisted on getting into his studio, where he worked all the morning from models. In the afternoon he drove in his open carriage--certainly without the permission of his doctors!--to Westminster, getting out and standing in the raw damp of a cold January afternoon to watch the pulling down of some old houses which had interested him. In the evening he wrote to me a letter, which happened to be the last he penned. A Lecture was to be given for the benefit of Mrs. Watts Hughes' Home for Boys; and in return for Leighton's contribution I had sent him four five shilling tickets to give away, offering to change them for half guinea tickets, but suggesting it would be most rash of him to go himself. However, he intended to go, and wrote that Wednesday evening:--

DEAR MRS. BARRINGTON,--... Since you are good enough to offer to change the tickets for tenners, I will ask you to do so, and thank you in advance. Yes, Mackail's book, which oddly enough I _have_ read--for, alas! I never read now--is an exquisite bit of work.

When the Lecture was given on the evening of January 29, Leighton had left us already four days!

At five o'clock on Thursday morning, January 23, he woke, feeling terrible pain and great distress in breathing, but would not ring for his servant because he believed him to be delicate, and thought it might hurt him to be disturbed so early. At seven he rang, and Dr. Roberts, who was telegraphed for, at once saw that the situation was of the gravest. Sir Lauder Brunton also was summoned. Leighton's servant had promised his sisters that they should be sent for at once if the symptoms at any time became more acute; but on his mentioning this, Leighton said he must not send for Mrs. Orr and Mrs. Matthews, as they were both more ill than he was. However, as the morning went on and there were no signs of any change for the better, the sisters were told of his condition, and at once came--not leaving him till the end.

On Thursday afternoon, when he was supposed to be sinking, and they were with him alone, he expressed his wishes as to his property--the sums of money he wished given to various friends--adding that he should like ten thousand pounds to be given to the Royal Academy. These were wishes expressed--not legacies, as he left his whole property unconditionally to his sisters, and believed that they, as next-of-kin, would, as a matter of course, be his heirs.

Contrary to the doctor's expectations, Leighton rallied on the Friday, and hopes were expressed that he might recover from the acute attack from which he was suffering. On his hearing this, he exclaimed to his sisters, "Would it not have been a pity if I had had to die just when I was going to paint better!"

On the Saturday morning the gravest symptoms returned, and every hope vanished. It was then suggested to Leighton that it would be better for him to make a will, and his lawyer was sent for; but it was some time before he could arrive. Though the agony was great, Leighton refused all alleviations till his will was written out. It was as follows:--

This is the last will and testament of Frederic Leighton. I will and bequeath to my sisters, Alexandra Orr and Augusta Newnburg Matthews, the whole estate unconditionally.

FRED LEIGHTON.

Mrs. Orr wrote: "When the official will had been drawn up and signed, he said, 'Does this give my sisters absolute control over all I have?' On the lawyer answering in the affirmative, Leighton asked, 'Then no one can interfere with them?' 'No one,' answered the lawyer; 'they are paramount.' He was afraid that the brief paragraph was not sufficiently strong."

After signing it, he said, "My love to the Academy"; but his last words were spoken in German, and meant for his sisters' ears alone. Then came the end.

* * * * *

"We went together," writes Lady Loch, "to see Fred Leighton the Sunday before he died, and he said, 'Mind you come to "my concert." I have just settled it all with Villiers Stanford, and it will be beautiful.'" In about ten days after, with aching hearts at the loss of so true, so warm, so great a friend, we attended his burial service at St. Paul's Cathedral, seeing such proofs of real mourning all along the Embankment and streets, for indeed every man, woman, and child had lost a real, true friend.

[Illustration: "THE SPIRIT OF THE SUMMIT." 1894]

[Illustration: STUDY FOR "LACHRYMAE." 1895]

All who were present must ever remember the last "Music" in the March before, when (contrasting so strongly in colour and sentiment) "Lachrymae" and "Flaming June" stood on the easels, and for the first time the silk room was open, hung with the work of Leighton's friends; how, through all the beautiful strains from Joachim and the rest, a tragic note rang out to tell, as it seemed, of the waning life of the centre of it all. No one said it, but all felt that the last chapter was ending of those many, many perfect pages in life known as "Leighton's music."

A voice sang with emotion Charles Kingsley's soul-stirring verse--

"When all the world is old, lad, And all the trees are brown; And all the sport is stale, lad, And all the wheels run down, Creep home, and take your place there, The spent and maim'd among; God grant you find one face there You loved when all was young."

Cruelly pathetic did it seem that one who had ever had the vitality of a boy, who had ever been the inspirer and support of those weary overwrought ones whose wheels had run down before their time, should himself be stricken, creeping home "the spent and maimed among."

The studios emptied, and he came down the stairs with the last of us. Dainty figures of girls were dancing round the fountain in the empty Arab Hall; and as he went to the outer door they flew to him, throwing their arms round his neck. "They are all my god-children," he said, as each, fleet-footed, fled out of the gate. A clasp, a wring of a friend's hand; then, ashen pale, tired and haggard, he turned back lonely into the House Beautiful--and that book was closed.

Instead of strains of perfect song and music hailing their completion, the six pictures of the next year looked down on the coffin, and over a rich carpeting of beautiful flowers. In the centre, above the head, the sun-loving "Clytie" stretched out her arms, bidding a passionate farewell to her god.

The coffin was borne away to the Academy on Saturday, February 1, previous to the funeral on the Monday.

[Illustration: "CLYTIE." 1896 By permission of the Fine Art Society, the owners of the Copyright]

The following is a correct account of the public funeral, written on the day it took place, and forwarded to Leighton's birthplace.

At half-past ten this morning, by which time a dense crowd had collected in the neighbourhood of the Royal Academy, the workmen commenced to remove the numerous wreaths from the Central Hall, where the body of Lord Leighton has rested since Saturday night, and to load the huge floral car. Prominent among these wreaths was one from the Princess Christian; but that from the Prince and Princess of Wales was conveyed in a separate carriage by representatives of the Prince and Princess, General Ellis and Lord Colville of Culross. The wreath consisted of choice white flowers rising from a bank of delicate green foliage, and attached was a card written by the Princess of Wales, and inscribed as follows:--

"Life's race well run, Life's work well done, Life's Crown well won, Now comes rest."

Then follow the words, "A mark of sincere and affectionate regard, esteem, and admiration for a great artist and much beloved friend, from Alexandra and Albert Edward." At the head of the card were the words, "To Sir Frederic Leighton." There was also a wreath from the Empress Frederick, bearing the words: "From Victoria, Empress Frederick," in the Empress's own writing.

The Queen's wreath for the funeral of Lord Leighton was sent from Buckingham Palace this morning to Colonel the Honourable W. Carington, by whom it was conveyed to St. Paul's Cathedral. The wreath is composed of laurel, entwined with which are immortelles, and it is tied with broad satin ribbon. Attached to the wreath is an autograph card from Her Majesty, with the following inscription: "A mark of respect from Victoria, R.I."

About five minutes to eleven the coffin was removed from the Central Hall, and carried through the vestibule into the quadrangle. A detachment of the Artists' Volunteers was drawn up here, and saluted the coffin as soon as it emerged into the open by presenting arms. The remains were placed in a glass hearse, and the volunteers took up their position at the front and sides. The pall-bearers, relatives, and others meanwhile formed in procession, and punctually at eleven the cortege left the Academy, the crowd reverentially uncovering as the hearse passed into the street. The whole length of the route, from Piccadilly to St. Paul's, was lined with people; but the crowds were quiet and orderly, and maintained a clear space for the funeral cortege without the assistance of the police. The volunteers marched with arms reversed, and the remains of the deceased artist were carried to their last resting-place with every manifestation of mournful regret. Flags were at half-mast on many public buildings, and as the solemn procession passed slowly along, the remains were reverently saluted by the crowd. Passing into Pall Mall by Charing Cross, the procession wended its way through Northumberland Street, proceeding thence along the Thames Embankment, New Bridge Street, and Ludgate Hill, St. Paul's being reached shortly before noon.

The service in the Cathedral, which occupied an hour, was at once picturesque as a spectacle and impressive in its solemnity as a religious function.

More than an hour before the time appointed for the arrival of the funeral cortege, the space available to the public in St. Paul's was occupied, and a few minutes after eleven o'clock, visitors of distinction, who had been provided with special invitations, began to fill up the reserved seats in the transept.

Among those present were representatives of the Royal Family, the German Emperor, and the King of Belgium, members of both Houses of Parliament, including the Speaker; delegates from learned bodies and artistic associations, as well as from the art committees of various provincial municipalities.

The first lesson was read by the Dean, and the succeeding passages were given by the Bishop of Stepney; but the greater part of the service was undertaken by the Archbishop of York, chaplain of the Royal Academy. The musical portions of the service were exceptionally fine, and included, as a somewhat unusual feature, a trombone quartette.

Lord Salisbury had promised to be one of the pall-bearers, but found himself unable to attend. The pall-bearers were Major-General Ellis, representing the Prince and Princess of Wales; the Duke of Abercorn, Sir Joseph Lister, Sir J. Millais, Sir E. Thompson, Sir A. Mackenzie, and Professor Lecky.

After the coffin was lowered into the crypt by a central opening directly beneath the dome, the two sisters of the late Lord Leighton came to the front, and took a last look at it. When the coffin was lowered many beautiful flowers were placed upon it, and again, after the opening was covered up, the space was more than covered by further wreaths sent by various Academicians, the Royal Academy, students, and personal friends, many of whom lingered some time after the conclusion of the solemn ceremony.

_Scarborough Evening News, February 3, 1896._

* * * * *

Leighton's death touched, as did his life, all sorts and conditions of men; for he had been the true friend alike of the greatest and of the least. The soil in which true distinction is rooted is of a quality too rich, too fertile to be affected by class prejudice. Leighton's own life was made beautiful by the gratitude he felt for the joy nature's loveliness inspired in his soul, and by the passion to make known through his work the mysterious treasure, the never-failing fountain of delight, ever springing up in his heart. Lovingly human, he ardently desired not only to pass on his own joy in beauty to every fellow-creature who crossed his path, but, where he saw in any possible way help could be given, to give it.

Of the eager, great-hearted Leighton, not a few can echo Romola's tribute to Savonarola--the last words of the great book whose pages he vivified with his art: "Perhaps I should never have learned to love him if he had not helped me when I was in great need."

A light has passed that never shall pass away, A sun has set whose rays are unequalled of might; The loyal grace, the courtesy bright as day, The strong, sweet, radiant spirit of life and light, That shone and smiled and lightened in all men's sight, The kindly life whose tune was the tune of May, For us now dark, for love and for fame is bright.

ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE.[88]

[Illustration: MONUMENT IN ST. PAUL'S CATHEDRAL, ERECTED AS A MEMORIAL TO LORD LEIGHTON BY HIS FRIENDS AND ADMIRERS Sculptured by Thomas Brock, R.A.]

[Illustration: View of Inner Hall and Staircase of Leighton House, with reproduction of Mr. Thomas Brock's R.A. Diploma work, Bust of Lord Leighton, presented by Mr. Brock to the Leighton House Collection in 1898. By permission of Mr. J. Harris Stone.]

FOOTNOTES:

[83] "Life and Letters of Robert Browning."

[84] Professor Giovanni Costa.

[85] It was during this last visit to Malinmore Leighton made those sketches of the sea thistle (see