(In the possession of Mr. Mildmay, M.P.)
Few of Leighton's paintings of Eastern subjects illustrate better than
this one the certainty and precision of his draughtsmanship and his
power of dealing with architectural details. But this "Old
Damascus--Jews' Quarter"--as it was called when it was first exhibited
in 1874--is much more than a simple study of architecture; it sums up
many of the artist's best qualities as a craftsman and a shrewd
observer of Nature.
[Illustration: PLATE III.--GATHERING CITRONS]
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But in an analysis of Leighton's art this famous composition claims a
place of even greater importance than in the historical summary of his
life's work. That it has faults in draughtsmanship, and that in
certain details its composition is open to criticism, can be frankly
admitted; these defects, however, are but what might have been expected
in so ambitious an effort by an artist whose years did not number more
than four-and-twenty, and who necessarily lacked that comprehensive
grasp of executive processes which comes only with long experience and
exhaustive practice in the mechanism of painting. When the
circumstances of its production are taken into account it must always
rank as one of the most triumphant demonstrations of youthful genius
which have ever been recorded. That its reception at the 1855 Academy
was really enthusiastic can well be understood; it must have come as a
welcome surprise to the people who were growing impatient of the
atmosphere of mediocrity by which at that period nearly the whole of
British art was pervaded.
Now, the significance of such an example of Leighton's early
achievement is made more emphatic by comparison with the long series of
his later works. At twenty-four the Italian influence was strong upon
him, and the impressions of his boyhood, modified but not effaced by
the teaching of Steinle, had still power to control his artistic
intelligence. The triviality of Italian art, its love of detail, and
its seeking after superficialities of expression, did not appeal to
him, but in its sumptuousness and sensuous charm he found something
with which he could fully sympathise. In yielding to this sympathy,
however, he was kept by his fastidious taste and innate love of
refinement from running to extremes. He worked in the Italian spirit,
but the spirit was that of the older masters rather than that of the
modern men, and even then it underwent a kind of transmutation in his
mind. For the greater qualities of the picture were not simply the
outcome of his imitation of the mannerisms of the school to which at
that time he belonged by association, rather were they due to his
personal conception of the functions which the imaginative painter was
called upon to fulfil--to an independent belief which was capable of
being asserted in many ways. This belief, formed in his early manhood,
persisted, indeed, in all its essentials to the end of his days, and
was as surely evidenced in his later classicism as in the first few
examples of his Italian adaptations.
It was founded upon the idea that a work of art to be really great must
be rightly decorative, that whatever the pictorial motive chosen, it
must be treated as the basis of a studied arrangement of form and
colour, and must be brought as near to perfection of design as is
possible by the exercise of all the devices of craftsmanship. Leighton
undoubtedly saw in decoration the only permissible application of
painting, but he saw also that decoration could be made much more than
a narrow and unreal convention, and that so far from hampering the
artist with high ideals, it offered him the greatest opportunities of
satisfying his aspirations. He appreciated, too, the fact that the
most exquisite naturalism could be attained in every part of a picture
which was designed purely to express an ideal fancy. Therefore, he did
not hesitate to select, for many of his most exactly reasoned
compositions, subjects which had either an historical allusion, or
which illustrated some myth or legend. He was so sure of the principle
of his art that he did not fear that in telling the story, and in
embroidering it with a wealth of minutely perfected detail, he would
lose the vitality or the purity of his decoration.
To this confidence was due emphatically both the power and the charm of
the Cimabue picture. The subject, in itself merely episodical, was one
capable of just that refinement of design, and balance of colour, which
the decorator who is adequately conscious of his responsibility regards
as indispensable; and Leighton, spurred to emulation by the noble
examples of decorative painting with which he had been familiar from
his childhood, and endowed with a just appreciation of his own great
gifts, had no hesitation in attempting to turn this incident from art
history into a painting which would be an avowal of all the articles of
his aesthetic creed, and a profession of the faith to which he had sworn
allegiance. It is characteristic of his courage that he should have
chosen to make in this manner his first appearance in an English
exhibition; a man of less independence would probably have hesitated to
stake so much upon a piece of work which, by the very frankness of its
revelation of the artist's intention to go his own way, was quite as
likely to excite opposition as to be received with approval. But it
was no part of his scheme of existence to tout for popularity by coming
down to a lower level, and he valued consistency more than the
adulation of the public.
Indeed, by his very next picture, "The Triumph of Music," which was
exhibited in 1856, he brought himself into conflict with the critics
and students of what was accepted as correct art. "The Triumph of
Music" represented Orpheus playing a violin to Pluto and Proserpine,
and the combination of figures from a classic story with an instrument
invented only in the Middle Ages was resented by every one who did not
understand, or did not sympathise with the artist's decorative and
symbolical intention. But in this instance also he was following the
lead of the great Italian masters, who had provided him with many
precedents for such a pictorial combination; and it is quite probable
that he knew beforehand what would be the effect upon a modern public
of his attempt to give new life to an ancient tradition. At least, he
proved that he was quite ready to go to all necessary lengths in his
advocacy of freedom of practice, and showed that he was not likely to
enrol himself among the conventionalists and the followers of the
mid-Victorian fashion.
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