"When these lines were written on the other side of the Channel, Mr. Leighton had already sent his 'pencil's' first representation to the Royal Academy, causing therein not a little surprise, fluttering the dovecots in Corioli. We beg he will construe our sincere anticipations into a hearty welcome."
In the early days of September 1855, Leighton was in Paris preparing to settle in for a winter's hard work. The following letters to his mother and father and to Steinle were written soon after his arrival. In that to Steinle, Leighton alludes to the serious work he has before him, in painting "The Triumph of Music":—
Hôtel Canterbury, Rue de la Paix,
Sunday, 1855.
Dearest Mamma,—Though I have, of course, nothing to tell you yet, still, as it is Sunday morning, I send you a few lines as a token of continued vegetation. Paris is bright and warm and sunny, and contrasts incredibly with the murkiness of London. I have already set to work to look for a studio, but shall have great difficulty in finding one, and shall have to pay about 1500 francs per annum unfurnished; my furniture I shall of course hire, not buy—ci vuol pazienza.
Hôtel Canterbury,
Saturday, 1855.
Dear Papa,—When one has bad news to swallow, there is nothing like taking the bull by the horns and engulphing the dose at once: this is the bull to be swallowed, horns and all. I have, after great trouble and manifold inquiries, taken the only studio that at all suited me, and for that I give unfurnished 150 francs a month. It is enormous, but unavoidable; nor have I been at a disadvantage from being an Englishman, for two artists of my acquaintance, one a Parisian just returning from Rome, the other a Frankfurter, have seen precisely the same, and only the same, studios as I did. It is the dearth of studios and the great demand for them that makes the price so high. Those who have had studios some time of course pay very much less, others put up with little holes far too small to paint a picture of any size. Carlo Perugini is painting in the studio of a friend, and that is a strip not large enough for one person. There was only one studio which I could for a moment think of besides this one I have taken, and that costs infinitely less; but not only was it too small—it had been built this summer, and is not yet finished painting, feels cold and damp, and would no doubt have laid me up with the rheumatism.
I have been advised and actually assisted in everything by Hébert, who is a friend as well as an old acquaintance, and than whom nobody knows the resources of Paris better. He took me about to get my furniture, &c., and I am happy to say that I have bought everything, including ample bedroom and table linen, crockery, and knives, spoons, &c., all under £30. I have quite a little fond de ménage; this is the only cheap thing I have done in Paris, everything is exactly as dear as London. It certainly is lucky I sold my picture.
My frame cost, with time and trouble of exhibition, 320 francs.
[Portion of letter to his father.]
21 Rue Pigalle, Tuesday.