He managed to sleep for several hours, and as the dinner hour came and went, with Stanley only taking a few sips of broth in bed, Dolly, as was her habit when he was indisposed, came to sit by his bedside and read aloud from whatever he might desire. Lately he had wanted to hear passages from his book about Livingstone, but that evening, Stanley could barely sit up and open his eyes, and though she had begun to read to him, Dolly decided there was no point in continuing, as he had hardly noticed that Denzil had come into the room to sit beside him. When he asked, “Is there something wrong with Daddy?” she thought it best to tell him that he was simply napping; then, as Stanley indeed had seemed to have fallen asleep, she left him in the company of their nurse and went off to attend to Denzil’s bath.
Later she sat down in her small study to write several letters, and then, at around ten, when most of the servants had gone to bed and with silence prevailing, save for the ticking of the mansion’s many clocks, she also retired for the night, in the large boudoir next to Stanley’s, hopeful that he would be better in the morning.
May 22, 1903
Dear Samuel,
I know that you have your own ongoing difficulties with Livy’s health, but I feel it my duty to inform you that last month my beloved husband suffered a stroke. It came to him at Furze Hill in the middle of the night, his cry for help awakening our household: Of course, we sent for a doctor, who arrived at four in the morning, but as with such things there was little that could be done save for the usual recommendation of a sustained period of rest. If I have not informed you sooner, or if Mother has not, it is because we had hoped for a sudden turn for the better, but for the last month Stanley has been unable to speak with coherence and unable to move — my great and brave explorer as helpless as an infant. The doctors say that time will perhaps restore his energies, but it is hard to look at him; one side of his face seems normal, the other dreadfully still or else pinched. I have spent many an hour administering massages to the afflicted areas, as per Dr. Kellgren’s methods, but there has been no result so far. Still, we have tried to make him as comfortable as possible; more frustrating is that he knows not who is attending to him and seems lost to the world. That is what is hardest to endure.
For my part, however, I remain hopeful. Not long ago I consulted a London doctor who also happens to be a spiritualist, and he has assured me that Stanley will greatly improve in the coming months; surely once this recovery begins we will have much to celebrate. In the meantime, on behalf of Stanley, I send you and your family much affection.
Yours always,
Dolly
June 1, 1903
Dearest Lady Dolly,
I am truly sorry to hear about Stanley’s illness; believe me, I can commiserate, for we are both tethered to the same burden of seeing a loved one suffer. As you know, Livy has been laid low these past few years — with gout, a weak heart, and a general malaise of the spirit that has its origins in Susy’s passing and our daughter Jean’s worsening epilepsy and fainting spells. Worries about Jean’s condition have been a great drain on Livy, and so as a rule we have tried to keep Jean’s continuing seizures a secret. Our decision to finally sell our old house in Hartford has not helped matters, because it is filled with Susy’s spirit. It is impossible for us to return there — we closed on the sale, at a considerable loss, just a few weeks ago — but I am also much vexed by the fact that some doctors seem to think my moods have somehow aggravated Livy’s condition of “nervous prostration.” And so for a good part of the past seven months I have only been allowed to see her for a few minutes a day — and sometimes not at all. Even when I do visit her, the nurse stands by with a stopwatch, restricting me to two minutes a day. On our wedding anniversary we were allowed five minutes, and just this past February, when Livy seemed to improve somewhat, this was increased to fifteen minutes — though by then our Riverdale house had been turned into something of a sick ward. Back in December, Jean had come down with pneumonia (which we kept a secret from Livy) and then, once she finally recovered, both Clara and Jean came down with measles and our house was quarantined; it was one of those ironies that on top of it all, even as Livy seemed to improve, yours truly fell into an agony of toothaches, bronchitis, and rheumatism, all of which left me in bed for five weeks. It was only a few weeks ago that I was up and about again.
In the meantime, Livy has been well enough for our servants to occasionally bring her downstairs to our front lawn to take in the sun; and although she cannot get around without a wheelchair, it is our hope that a change of scenery to a warmer clime may help extend her life. We have been considering a move to sunny Italy, perhaps by the fall, if she is well enough to endure the crossing. But am I optimistic or hopeful? The truth is that my wife is slowly dying — that is clear to us all — and as a result, when I contemplate it I am drawn to the conclusion that sooner or later, in a sunny clime or not, I will become one of the loneliest men in the world.
Forgive my maudlin ramblings — I turned sixty-seven last autumn, and if I cannot be frank at this time of my life, when will I ever be? I am feeling more than a little upset to hear about Stanley; I hope you do not mind that I did not share your letter with Livy, for I know she would be greatly saddened to hear about him, and that is why she has not written to you herself. I am simply trying to protect her from anything that would bring further aches to her heart. Stanley remains one of the lights we both look to, and whatever controversies have swirled about him in recent times, I think him a very great man and count myself lucky that he is a good friend. So when he comes around, as I am sure he will, please tell him that Samuel Clemens looks forward to the day when the two of us will sit out in some sunny place, sipping drinks and swapping stories.
And please do keep us apprised of Stanley’s health, as I will keep you informed about Livy.
With all best wishes and love,
S. L. Clemens
THE MONTHS PASSED, and slowly Stanley began to come around, an improvement that Dolly attributed to the stream of spiritualist healers whom she had brought to his bedside — their hands passing over the ailing magnetic fields of his body, their voices summoning the spirits of the great healers of the past to breathe new life into him — or perhaps he had been heartened by the continuous attentions of Dolly herself, who rarely left his bedside and often spoke to him sweetly or read aloud from his favorite books. Denzil, too, entirely bewildered by his father’s condition but obedient to his mother’s wishes, sat with him for at least an hour a day. Then, after many weeks of the deepest unconsciousness, some movement came back to him: He could open his left eye, had some feeling in that hand, and slowly began to emerge from the dark and claustrophobic room. With the movement of his eyes, there slowly returned the faculty of his speech, although his words were slurred and labored.
His first full phrase consisted of a question: “Where am I?”
“Oh, Stanley, my love, you are at home, safe and sound!”
“Safe and sound?”