Mr. Briton Rivière, the comrade whose nature was so worthily tuned to Leighton, writes:—
One of the last times that I met him actively employed was at a committee meeting of the Athenæum. He had some pain and difficulty in climbing the stairs to the committee-room, and evident pain in speaking; but because he felt that the candidate he proposed ought to be elected, and that no one else would propose him with more earnest conviction than he could (and he was the best proposer of a candidate I have ever heard), he came there at all risks to himself and would have done so against all opposition and all disadvantages, simply because he thought it his particular duty to do so. This is only a type of the manner in which he treated all his official work during those last years of physical suffering which he fought so bravely. Watching him, it was then I recognised that he was on the same plane as the seaman who never strikes his flag, and at the last goes down practically unvanquished.
Every day that grey pallor increased, and that sunken, indescribable look of waning life in the face. Nevertheless Leighton lived much as before, never making illness an excuse for avoiding any duty. As matters grew more serious his doctors enforced a rest—a voyage—an absence from the May Academy Banquet. At this juncture Leighton tendered his resignation as President of the Academy. It was not accepted.
To Mr. Briton Rivière he wrote:—
Dear Rivière,—Many thanks for your most kind words. I have been deeply touched by the generous, and, I must almost say, affectionate attitude of my brother members in this painful conjuncture. How much I value your friendship, you, I am sure, know.—Sincerely yours always,
Fred Leighton.
He decided on leaving England for two months, and fixed on Algiers as a dry climate likely to suit his health. It had lived in his memory also ever since the first visit in 1857, as a country singularly fascinating to him. Before leaving he fulfilled his duties as President in choosing the pictures for that year's Exhibition. These duties he had often described as the most wearing of the whole year. His intense sense of duty, and desire to judge in every case the interests of the individual artist together with those of art, fairly and adequately, inflicted a strain and entailed an indescribable fatigue, he said, even when he was well. During those days in 1895 he suffered acutely.
From Hotel Continental, Tangiers, 18th April 1895, Leighton wrote:—
Dear Wells,—Although letters do not leave these wilds daily and take an unconscionable time, as I now find, on the way, I trust this will reach you in time for the first varnishing day, on which I believe you hold the general meeting; it carries with it warm and grateful—and envious greetings to you all. These you will, I know, deliver to my brother members at lunch, for then only is the whole body gathered together. They, knowing me, will understand my humiliation at not being under arms and at my post at this season. I wish I could ask you to tell them that I see much sign of betterment in my condition: the slowness of my cure—if cure it be—is, of course, depressing; but I shall comfort myself on Thursday with the thought that perhaps, at some time between one and two, you are wishing well to one who claims to be a faithful friend to you all. I look forward keenly to what will, I feel sure, be the admirable performance of our dear old Millais. Unfortunately, I have not the remotest notion of where I shall be when the news might reach me—in Africa or in Europe—but reach me it will in time. You perhaps think of me as basking in the sun between blue skies and blue seas. How different are the facts! Blustering winds, occasionally rain, chilly atmosphere, everything murky and without colour! A change should not be far off, for this sort of thing has prevailed for a month and more. I did not bargain for it.
I hope, my dear Wells—and indeed I do not doubt—that you are getting on well and comfortably with your vice-regency, and am always yours sincerely,