Fred.
P.S.—I wrote to the P. of W.'s secretary, asking him to say how much H.R.H.'s kind words had gratified me—I enclose the answer, which is nice, I think.
On Leighton's return to London he resumed his duties as President. He tried to believe what Sir Lauder Brunton hoped, but found it somewhat difficult to do so in the face of facts, he used to say. He, however, assumed that he was mending. On 19th July 1895 he wrote:—
Dear Briton Rivière,—Very many thanks for your kind and thoughtful note. Do not think of postponing your motion; I have already been the innocent cause of the postponement of two very contentious motions in Council; I could not think of standing further in the way—pray, therefore, proceed with it. I had a nasty attack at that meeting but have felt no after effects, and am no doubt slowly mending. In haste, yours ever sincerely,
Fred Leighton.
"THE FAIR PERSIAN"
(Unfinished at the time of Lord Leighton's death.) 1896
By permission of Sir Elliott Lees[ToList]
From his account to his friends after his return, his health had varied while abroad in an unaccountable manner, except in one instance where, as my husband and I knew from personal experience, the conditions were normally unhealthy. This evidently was the cause for his having had specially violent attacks at Morlaix in Brittany, which he visited on his journey home—and where, some years previously, our whole party had become more or less ill, owing, it was thought, to the unhealthiness of the place. His condition was much the same as when he left England. He worked steadily in his studio, and received the guests at the Annual Soirée of the Royal Academy. At the conclusion of the function a friend asked him how it had really fared with him—for apparently his vitality had appeared, as usual, inexhaustible. "I think the attacks must be greatly a matter of nerves," he answered. "I have stood here three hours and a quarter and have not had one,—while I was dressing and fearing how I should get through it, I had three."
Leighton did not go to Scotland that autumn but to the wild west coast of Ireland, again to that Malinmore that had so greatly fascinated him, and whose wild beauty he had longed for his sister to enjoy, "taking her courage in one hand, her goloshes in a second, and umbrella in the third."[85] On his way there he wrote to Mrs. Orr:—