Although my letter (and I am afraid a very unpleasant one) must have reached you as soon as the other was fairly out of the house, yet I write a line in answer to all the kind and considerate things you wrote in the idea I might be ill or irritable. I value your kind solicitude, dear Mamma, as much as you can wish, I assure you, and should indeed be heartily sorry in any way to give you pain or make you in any way unhappy—and talking of that, dear Mamma, I sincerely hope you have completely got over your first annoyance about my fiasco, which, except of course in a pecuniary point of view, is in point of fact a fortunate event for my future progress, in the élan it gives to my application and particularly to my obstinacy. I am very busy now at "Pan" and "Venus," but have not decided what I shall do next year. I think it is very characteristic of the critics that they none of them mention "Romeo and Juliet," which is, I know, universally liked. Dear Mamma, never fear, your boy will walk over all that—depend upon it. How does Papa take it? How the girls?—Give to all my best love, and believe me, your very devoted son,
Fred.
Tuesday, 1856.
Dear Papa,—In the hope that I should receive to-day Ruskin's pamphlet on the Institution, I delayed until now answering your kind letter. It has, however, not arrived, and as there is great uncertainty whether it really is already published or no, I think it better not to keep you longer without news from me. The criticisms in the papers are, as far as I can judge, partly from the little I have read and partly from what my friends tell me, singularly injudicious, leaving almost entirely untouched the really vulnerable parts of the picture, and attacking almost exclusively that which is least objectionable—the execution.
Ruskin does not much like the picture, and prefers the "Romeo" considerably, but he will write of course in a serious spirit and like an intelligent man. I have just made the acquaintance of Robert Fleury—the best French colourist, in my opinion—and he received me with the greatest kindness and simplicity, showing all that he had, and explaining anything that I wished to know; this is a valuable acquaintance which I owe to Montfort. I have made the acquaintance of a highly talented young German genre painter of whom I had heard in Frankfurt; he is my age, and paints with greater facility, but my talent is of a higher order I think. Ary Scheffer has been very amiable and pleasant to me about my fiasco, telling me what he went through himself, and telling me to think nothing of it. I sent to Wild shortly after you left, and was able to render him a little service in the way of some Venetian costumes, still I hesitate to ask him to introduce me to Paul Delaroche. We shall see about all that next autumn when I come back from Italy, when the Viardots will also introduce me to Delacroix.
Pan and Venus are progressing tout doucement.
I have written to Watts to ask his leave to put my pictures in his studio (Pan and Venus) in Little Holland House. I read carefully all you said, dear Mamma, about the critics, &c. &c. I honestly think that my ill-luck is in no way attributable to over-hurrying. Those things in my picture which were really most open to discussion, I did all with my eyes open and deliberately, and they were the only ones that the discerning scribblers seem not to have noticed. Again, with regard to the said critics, I think, dear Mamma, you see things "en noir." Who reports me to have sneered at ——? I did internally, as I do at all snobs. However, I have long since banished the whole subject. If ever I attain real excellence, the public will in the long run find it out; and if they don't pay me they will at least acknowledge me, especially when the pre-Raphaelite "engouement" has calmed a little. In a fortnight I shall go to England; by that time Pan and Venus will be done, and I think they promise well. I am very anxious to get to London. I mean to enjoy it very much—take my fill, and then go for a short time to Italy to renew my profession of faith before Raphael and Michael Angelo. I am very glad to hear that you are enjoying yourselves, and that you remember me in the midst of your jonquils and anemones.