LORD LEIGHTON
The sketch I made of Henry Irving shows that he was a Jew, and an amusing story connected with this is related in his monograph.
I cannot say that my first impression of Lord Leighton, the day Onslow Ford took me to his house, in Holland Park Road, was favourable to him. He was courteous and affable, but I cannot say he was kindly. Very few people are kindly; and no assumption of that virtue, in face, manner, or tone, will deceive anyone to whom real kindliness is necessary. Many kindly men are, at times, distant, cold, forbidding, and rude; in fact, the kind man can be cruel. The man who is proverbially courteous to all, and at all times, is a hollow and selfish mask.
And I did not like his appearance or his dress, the mode of his hair, a certain kind of classical beauty—or imitation of it. The cut of his clothes created the impression that he had no real tradition behind him. At that time—and ever after—Leighton looked upon Whistler as a queer fish, amusing no doubt, but to be suspected, both in his manners and in his Art. The odd part of all this is that the two men, though so entirely different, were alike in their differences. Recalling them now, as two figures, standing side by side, the stamp of complete unconventionality is upon each. Both wore long hair, one in curls, the other in ringlets; one had a white lock, the other white streaks; the hats, coats, trousers, and shoes all differed, but then they differed from all other hats, coats, trousers, and shoes. This unity of purpose, diversely expressed, had a similar impulse in dissimilar minds, the impulse to be artists in everything, even in appearance. Here were two men of similar tastes, who could not savour each other's food. Leighton stood for English respectability, and sought the homage of the great.
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