CHAPTER XIV

HAPPY DAYS

Dear, dear, dear Cordélia! What splendid weeks were ours and how completely we forgot the doleful Patrick! I am bound to say that I neglected nothing to bring about this result. I proceeded to overwhelm my Cordélia with every attention that a husband in love could offer to his young wife in order to divert her thoughts.

Entertainment followed entertainment, and I wanted my beloved to be the best-dressed and the most beautiful woman of them all. We made a few acquaintances. By the good offices of a Secretary to an Embassy who was a friend of mine, the most exclusive drawing-rooms were open to us, and Cordélia was the queen of them. She no longer worried me about visits to ancient ruins. I acted in such a way that her whole time was taken up by our life of amusement. The museums were forgotten. I had very good reason to be suspicious of pictures!

When she was weary of Rome we set out for Naples where new joys awaited us. The wonderful bay with its most beautiful seashore was a witness to our love. We went to Capri Sorrento and Castellammare. The boatmen sang as they plied their oars. I burned those little works which are called “guides,” for I had observed that when Cordélia was carrying them with her wherever she went, she spoke of nothing but the dead, which was anything but cheerful.

My holocaust spared us many a story about Tiberius, Claudius, Nero and the rest of them. That was something to the good. We could not, of course, escape Pompeii, which, however, is not a tiresome promenade. Always a great concourse of people is wandering about the ruins; tourists dressed in such a way that one feels inclined to laugh, and they alone are worth the trouble....

Dear, dear, dear Cordélia! She was all mine in those happy hours when we thought only of rejoicing at the beauty of the day, and of our love, without concerning ourselves with what had existed before our time and would exist after we were gone. Was not that the essential condition of happiness? We must not let ourselves give way to too much thought. No, no, we must not let ourselves think too much.

Observe how happy we had both become since we began to think as little as possible. In point of fact, though we were always together, facing each other, we had no occasion to ask the question: “What are you thinking of?” It is during fits of abstraction, when the mind is preoccupied, that the “polygon” is up to its tricks. The best method of preventing one’s thoughts from wandering is to refuse to think at all. I know what I am talking about.

But the mind must be occupied. After Naples we retraced our steps to Florence, and finally we reached Venice which I had reserved for the last. A disastrous town! But let us not anticipate events.