Greatest of all was discovering Moliere. I had plodded through some of his plays in history of literature seminars, but had understood nothing and considered him musty and unexciting.

So now the village genius from Sweden was sitting at the Comedie Franchise watching The Misanthrope in a youthful, beautiful and emotional performance. The experience was indescribable. The dry alexandrines blossomed and thrived. The people on the stage stepped through my senses into my heart. That was what it was like. I know it sounds ridiculous, but that’s what it was like. Moliere stepped into my heart to remain there for the rest of my life. The spiritual circulation of my blood, previously linked to Strindberg, now opened an artery to Moliere.