I knew nothing of
women, of their point of view and different code of honor, and
was very far from the attitude of Guy de Maupassant who said he
liked women all the better for their charmingly deceitful ways.
A. wanted to see me and had taken the surest means to ensure my
coming. I was angry at first, but she looked so well and was so
loving that I could not be angry long.
One day when I was working the landlady came in and began talking
about A. and her conduct before I came. She had gone into the
actors' rooms at all hours, the woman said, and drank and been as
bad as the rest in her conversation. It was the second time a
married woman had run her down to me, and I commenced to think
there might be something in it, and suffered all my mad jealousy
over again. Not knowing the freedom actors and actresses allow
themselves on tour, without there being necessarily anything in
it, I worried till I thought I had nothing to do but die. And
then one of the great struggles of my life occurred. Walking the
country roads, I asked myself: "If it _is_ true, if she has been
unfaithful, will you forgive her and help her to arrive at her
best?" For a long time the answer was "No!" But perhaps my
striving for unity with myself had done some good, and the final
resolution was for forgiveness.
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