The weather, which was very beautiful at the beginning—indeed during the greater part of my stay in the Island—was not faithful to me to the end; it broke up a few days before my departure, and, to my very great regret, prevented my painting certain studies which I was very anxious to take home: on the other hand, I had opportunities of studying effects of a different nature, so that I can hardly call myself much the loser as far as my work in Rhodes was concerned. In Athens, however, the effect of the absolute instability of the weather (an instability of which I have never seen the like anywhere) was that I left that place almost empty-handed, although I stayed there a week longer than I had originally intended. If, however, I got through little or no work, I had infinite enjoyment in the frequent and unvaried study and contemplation of the ruins on the Acropolis. Familiar as I was, from casts and photographs, with the sculptures and some part of the architecture which I found there, my expectations were very highly wrought, but it is impossible to anticipate, nor shall I attempt to describe, the impression which these magnificent works produce when seen together and under their own sky. Indeed, it is quite strange how one seems to read with new eyes things which one conceived oneself to have understood thoroughly before. The scenery about Athens, depending a good deal on effects of light, only rarely displayed its full beauty during my stay; sufficiently often, however, for me to see that it is of exquisite beauty, and that that part of it described by Byron in certain favourite lines of yours does not receive full justice at his hands. I had letters, as you probably knew, to Mr. Erskine, our Minister, and to Mr. Finlay, the historian; both of them received me with the greatest cordiality and kindness, as did also two or three other persons with whom I became acquainted, so that my stay was socially agreeable as well as artistically delightful; but herewith ends my journey, for heavy weather, rain, sleet, fog and the rest prevented my seeing any of the scenery of the Gulf of Lepanto, which I might as well not have visited, and although I passed Zante, Cephalonia, and Corfu under rather more favourable skies, I did not see them to advantage—ce sera pour une autrefois. Your letter, which I have found on my arrival, and for which thanks, does not call for any particular reply beyond that I have painted no figures, though I might have been tempted by several fine heads I saw, but time only sufficed for my landscape studies, which in this journey were my chief care. The extract from the Saturday Review, which is highly flattering, was shown me by Mr. Finlay in Athens.
Of Venice I have nothing to say, except that my first impression of the Gallery, coming as I did straight from the Parthenon, was that everything but the very finest pictures was wanting in dignity and beauty, and was artificial. I was much surprised myself, as the Venetian school always exercises a great fascination over me. You may infer from that what an impression of beauty Athenian Art has left on me. I was incessantly reminded, in looking both at the sculpture and architecture of the Acropolis, of the admirable words which Thucydides puts into the mouth of Pericles: those are the beginning and the end of the Greek artistic nature.
I shall be in London by the 10th, and right glad to get home again—meanwhile, with best love to Taily.—I remain, your affectionate son,
Fred.
Venice, Hotel De L'Europe.
SKETCH WITH DONKEY. EGYPT. 1868[ToList]
Respecting the knowledge Leighton possessed of the Greek language, he wrote in a letter to a friend, "In Greek I never got beyond Homer and Anacreon. I have just retained this, that, having read a passage in a translation (I generally read Homer in German or Latin), I am able to feel, on referring to the original, its superiority to the foreign rendering."
In 1868 the great desire which Leighton for many years had felt to see Egypt was gratified. In October of that year he wrote to his father from Cairo:—