(At the Tate Gallery, London)
One of the most fascinating of Leighton's classic compositions. It was
painted six years before his death, and represents perfectly the art of
his later period, when his powers had fully matured and he had acquired
complete control over refinements of practice. Exhibited in the Royal
Academy in 1890. Purchased by the Chantrey Trustees in 1890.
[Illustration: PLATE V.--THE BATH OF PSYCHE]
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Four years after Leighton became a British artist, by residence as well
as by birth, he was elected an Associate of the Royal Academy. In this
same year, 1864, he exhibited a picture, "Golden Hours," which is
notable as one of the most successful examples of his Italian manner.
But though the memories of his youth were still powerful, and had, even
at that date, an influence upon his art, there was a definite change
coming over his practice. Whether this change was due to closer
contact with the traditions of English painting, or simply to the
inevitable maturing of his convictions as he drew near to middle age,
it is hard to say; but certainly as years went on he inclined more and
more away from the sumptuousness of Italy, towards the purer and less
emotional dignity of Greece. He sought more persistently for the
classic atmosphere, his idealism became more severe, and his decoration
more reticent, and he turned more frequently for his subjects to the
Greek myths. As an illustration of his new view, it is interesting to
compare his "Syracusan Bride leading Wild Animals for Sacrifice to the
Temple of Diana," exhibited in 1866, with the "Cimabue's Madonna," by
which his reputation had been established eleven years before. Both
are processional compositions of large size, both have the same sort of
decorative intention; but while there is in the first some kind of
story, and some attempt to realise the atmosphere of a particular
period of history, in the second there is little more than a purely
fanciful pattern of forms and colours, which is interesting solely on
account of its beauty. A similar comparison might be made between the
"Dante going forth into Exile," which belongs to the same year as the
"Golden Hours," and the "Venus Disrobing for the Bath" of 1867, or the
"Helios and Rhodes," "Electra at the Tomb of Agamemnon," and "Daedalus
and Icarus," of 1869. In this latter year he exhibited also his
diploma picture, "St. Jerome in the Desert"--as he had been elected a
Royal Academician in 1868--but this, a study of strong action, and
vehemently dramatic in effect, is neither Italian nor classic, and
belongs really to a class of art into which he only occasionally
digressed. As time went on the statuesque repose of his canvases
increased, and the classic severity became perceptible even when he
treated subjects which had no Grecian allusion. It is quite apparent
in his large picture of "Hercules Wrestling with Death for the Body of
Alcestis" (1871), though in this there is no lack of vigorous movement;
it gave a particular charm to his conception of the exquisite "Summer
Moon" (1872), perhaps the most perfect work he ever produced; and it is
felt most of all in the vast composition, "The Daphnephoria," which,
exhibited in 1876, rounds off significantly that important decade in
his career which opened with the "Syracusan Bride."
Henceforth Leighton must be counted among the many artists of
distinction who have, in this country, striven assiduously to keep
alive the Greek tradition. He never sank into a mere pictorial
archaeologist, and rarely tried to produce those cold and lifeless
reconstructions of ancient life which are too often put forth by
painters who depend for their inspiration upon book-learning and museum
study rather than imagination. But the beauty of Greek art, its
strength and delicacy, its dignity and ideal grace, absorbed him as
they did Fred Walker and Albert Moore, and, like these two British
masters, he allowed its influence to determine the way in which the
whole of his painting was treated. Even in such pictures as "The
Slinger," an Egyptian subject, or "Gathering Citrons; a Court in
Damascus," which was one of the results of his Eastern travel, both of
which belong to this period, he made no pretence of avoiding, for the
sake of what may be called local exactness, the antique preconception;
both are as evidently statuesque in design, and classic in manner, as
any of his Grecian fantasies; and, to take another instance, it is
instructive to note how, in his "Noble Lady of Venice," a subject which
seemingly demanded a purely Italian quality, the sumptuousness of
effect has been refined and purified by a kind of simplicity of
statement borrowed obviously from antique art.
It is curious, however, that in the first important piece of sculpture
for which he was responsible, the "Athlete Struggling with a Python,"
which was at the Academy in 1877, he should have avoided almost
entirely any hint of Greek spirit. This statue is essentially Italian,
both in its general design and in its details of modelling. It has
none of the firmness of line, and little of the largeness of method,
which are so decisively characteristic of antique sculpture, and owes
plainly more to Donatello than to Phidias. Yet it has great and
distinguished merits, and can be placed in the company of the few great
things which have been produced in this branch of art during modern
times. As an anatomical study it is most convincing, for it reveals an
astonishingly complete knowledge of the construction of the human form,
and is exceedingly true in its realisation of muscular action. Perhaps
the chief objection that can be urged against it as a work of art is
that it records an impossibility--a snake of the size represented would
be more than a match for a man even with the fine physique of the
athlete, and the ending of such a struggle, the difficulty of which the
statue hardly suggests, would be prompt and disastrous. But Leighton's
fine craftsmanship has made even an impossibility seem credible, and
his work must not be condemned because it involves an error in natural
history.
He exhibited another large statue, "The Sluggard," in 1886, which, like
the "Athlete Struggling with a Python," has found a permanent home in
the Tate Gallery. It is again a study of action which, if less violent
than that of the earlier figure, is still vigorous enough to show how
well the artist understood anatomy; and it is again Italian rather than
Greek. It is also open to criticism because there is an apparent
contradiction between the suggestion of the title and the physical
character of the "Sluggard." This well knit, muscular youth,
stretching himself in an attitude of graceful freedom, could have lived
no slothful life. Activity and the capacity for strong exertion are
evident in every line, and his condition is too good to have been
obtained without exercises which the sleepy, sluggish man would not
have cared to perform. The title, indeed, is unfortunate because it
implies an intention on the artist's part to illustrate a particular
motive which he has failed to express, though what he has actually
given us is artistically admirable and full of noble beauty.
In the interval between 1876 and 1886 Leighton's pictorial production
continued without intermission, and without any abatement in the
loftiness of his aim. "The Music Lesson" (1877), "Winding the Skein"
(1878), and "Nausicaa," in the same year, "Psamathe" (1880), "The
Idyll" (1881), and "Cymon and Iphigenia" (1884), are all typical
examples of his mature performance, and with them must be included
"Cleoboulos Instructing his Daughter Cleobouline," which though an
earlier picture--it was exhibited in 1871--is in style and character
closely allied to the "Music Lesson." Nor must his "Phryne at Eleusis"
(1882) be overlooked, though this is scarcely one of his happiest
achievements, and is a little too pedantic in style. It claims
consideration chiefly for its richness of colour and fine drawing of
the nude female figure.
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