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create a sensation; it should be one of those spectacular
plays which delight audiences; my purpose, of course,
was to help my wife to a re-engagement. It was a
repugnant task, for one of my most cherished dreams was the
reform of the drama. In writing my new play I sacrificed
my literary faith. But I meant to force my wife on a
hostile public, throw her at their heads with all the means
in my power, move heaven and earth to make her popular.
All my efforts were in vain. The public would have none
of the divorced wife who had married a second time; the
manager hastened to cancel a contract which brought him
no advantage.
“Well, was that my fault?” I asked myself,
voluptuously stretching my limbs, well satisfied with the result
of this first self-examination. Was there a greater
blessing than a good conscience?
With a lighter heart I continued my musing—
A miserable year passed, was wept away, despite the
happiness it brought us in the birth of a little girl.
And all of a sudden my wife had another attack of
stage mania, more violent than the previous one. We
besieged the agencies, stormed the managerial offices,
advertised ourselves hugely—but everywhere we failed, all
doors were closed to us, everybody threw cold water on
our schemes.
Disillusioned by the failure of my drama, and on the
point of making a name in science, I had sworn never
again to write a play round an actress, more especially as
this sort of work had no attraction for me. In addition,
I was little disposed to break up our home merely to
satisfy a passing whim of my wife’s, and therefore I
resigned myself to bearing my share of the incurable
sorrow.
But after a time I found the task beyond my strength.
I made use of my connections with a theatre in Finland,
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