The seriousness of his illness in 1898 was never really known. He nearly
died.
"I am still fearfully anxious about H.," I wrote to my daughter at
the time. "It will be a long time at the best before he gains
strength.... But now I do hope for the best. I'm fairly well so
far. All he wants is for me to keep my health, not my _head_. He
knows I'm doing that! Last night I did three acts of 'Sans-Gene'
and 'Nance Oldfield' thrown in! That is a bit too much--awful
work--and I can't risk it again."
"A telegram just come: 'Steadily improving....' You should have
seen Norman[1] as Shylock! It was not a bare 'get-through.' It
was--the first night--an admirable performance, as well as a plucky
one.... H. is more seriously ill than anyone dreams.... His look!
Like the last act of Louis XI."
[Footnote 1: Mr. Norman Forbes-Robertson.]
In 1902, on the last provincial tour that we ever went together, he was
ill again, but he did not give in. One night when his cough was rending
him, and he could hardly stand up from weakness, he acted so brilliantly
and strongly that it was easy to believe in the triumph of mind over
matter--in Christian Science, in fact!
Strange to say, a newspaper man noticed the splendid power of his
performance that night and wrote of it with uncommon discernment--a
_provincial_ critic, by the way.
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