HAPPINESS CONSISTS IN REALITIES NOT IN DREAMS
When I reached the bank, Patrick and the skiff were hidden from view
behind the reeds which had closed in upon him. A few hundred yards
farther on the river made a bend and left the park. I had no hope of
overtaking my man, and after shouting a few offensive remarks at him,
to which he made no response, I returned to the château as quickly as I
could.
I ran and woke up Surdon telling him that the Englishman was in the
park and ordering him to get his gun out. He grasped the situation at
once.
“Don’t kill him if you can help it,” I cried, “but send a few shots
through him so as to make him feel sick of the place.”
“You can rely on me,” replied Surdon, adding: “That explains
everything.”
“Yes, Surdon, it explains everything.”
After that I went up to Cordélia’s room. She had just wakened. I was in
no way surprised.
“Do you know where you’ve been?” I asked, but she could make no reply.
On this occasion she remembered nothing; at all events she did not seem
to remember anything.
I then described what I had just witnessed. Events were taking such a
turn that we should have to face them together if we ever hoped to gain
the mastery over them. And moreover I realized quite clearly that I
should be powerless without Cordélia’s assistance. She was either on my
side or on _his_. If she was with me, she was bound to help me to wage
war on him and I did not doubt her.
I was sure of her. My intervention on the bank was so involuntary that
I had no time to perceive, from the mirror of the river, Cordélia’s
particular attitude towards him, but I was only too firmly convinced,
since Dr. Thurel’s visit, that she was under the spell of prolonged
magnetization, in other words, her astral body was held captive, so
that I could not find fault with her for not spurning the arm which
clasped her waist with too much affection, or for yielding to a kiss
which she was unable to avert.
When she learned of the thief’s audacity in setting foot into our
property and of his being, doubtless, still in the neighborhood, she
threw her arms round my neck and cried:
“Take me away. Take me a long, long way from here. He is capable of
anything. He is capable of keeping me with him for good.”
Dear, dear, dear Cordélia! I did not wait to be asked a second time,
and a hand-bag was soon packed. Moreover I left word for Surdon to join
us in Paris the following day with our luggage; and we went off in the
small car, which I drove myself.
I soon congratulated myself on introducing my beloved to the
distractions of Paris. She was so delighted that she forgot the strain
of the terrible forty-eight hours through which we had passed. She
entered into the spirit of everything. A walk in the Avenue des Acacias
in the Bois de Boulogne helped her to forget the amazing promenade
in the park in the moonlight; at least I preferred to think so. We
lunched at a smart restaurant in the country, and we emerged from it
laughing at the least thing like children carried away by their first
glass of wine.
Cordélia for the first time tried to smoke, and she discovered an
Egyptian brand of cigarettes which she liked so well that she consumed
a goodly number of them. The result was that when we returned to the
Palace Hotel she had to lie down and take a short rest. I left her
in the custody of Surdon. When I went out I could not repress an
exclamation, for I recognized, standing at the hotel entrance, Dr.
Thurel.
He was not less surprised than I was. He at once asked after Cordélia,
and was so greatly interested in my story of what happened on the
second night of my honeymoon, that he took me off with him to his flat.
Here, he got me to repeat the facts in detail, taking notes the while,
and then he said:
“The thing is quite logical. As long as your wife was under the direct
influence of the man who was close by, anything that I was able to do
to release her was bound, of course, to be reduced to naught as soon
as I left you. That is precisely what did happen, but it shows also
that your wife is subject to this influence only when the hypnotizer is
comparatively near. There are patients who are in worse case than she
is,” went on the doctor thoughtfully, “and you certainly must not lose
hope. You did well to bring her away from Vascoeuil. You must travel
about the world. The case will respond to treatment. Everything depends
on you.”
He repeated this last sentence with emphasis, and I could not help
giving vent to my impatience and ill-humor.
“Everything depends on me!” I cried. “That is easy enough to say. But
what influence, if you please, can I exert if every time my lips touch
hers she falls into a trance? You must be fair and admit that I am at
least as much to be pitied as she is.”
“I have advised you to kiss her as a brother.”
“Do you really believe that a brother’s influence will be enough to rid
her of that man?”
“No, I don’t say that, but I believe that it is absolutely necessary,
if you wish to risk a kiss, to remove your wife’s recollection from
that man’s power of suggestion through time and space. Travel about,
and have patience until you both feel yourselves the master of her ‘O’
and have nothing more to fear from her ‘polygon.’”
I held my head in my hands. For the second time this geometrical term
occurred when Dr. Thurel was speaking. What was this “polygon” and what
did he mean by the “O” of which it was incumbent upon me to obtain the
mastery?
The doctor vouchsafed the explanation that these were figures of
psychical speech employed by Dr. Grasset in his work entitled
“Spiritualism in relation to Science” in order to explain fully certain
characteristics. I should like, in my turn, to enable the reader to
understand them as the kindly old gentleman explained them to me. I
should not attempt to do so if it were not that he had the goodness to
lend me certain books to read; so that I might become acquainted with
a science which would prove useful to me in Cordélia’s condition of
mind—books which I strove to assimilate from love of her without her
knowledge.
It would seem, then, that there is a superior psychicism, that is
to say, there are psychic acts which are deliberate and carried out
by the free will of a person, and preceded by thought which Dr.
Grasset symbolizes by the letter O, and an inferior psychicism which
is quasi-automatic and symbolized by the nervous centers which are
connected together in the shape of a polygon.
This polygon must be regarded either in its physiological
condition—absent-mindedness, sleep, dreams—or its extra-physical
condition—artificially induced hypnotism—or its pathological
condition—somnambulism, ambulatory automatism and so forth.
When the O is no longer concerned with the polygon, the latter
does more or less what it pleases, and thus one can do with it
almost what one wills. For this reason it suffices for the O to
be absent-minded—for instance I am thinking of one thing while I
continue with my polygon to pour from a jug into a glass which is
already full—and it suffices also for the mind of another to take
possession for the time being of the O. In that case the polygon can be
transmitted to a remote distance.
All this seemed to me as clear as noonday, so lucidly did the doctor
explain it, and I exclaimed:
“You can rely on me, Doctor. I will keep a watch over Cordélia’s
polygon! And it won’t be my fault if it slips away from me!”
“Meanwhile take the train,” returned the worthy doctor. “And be quick
about it. You might possibly meet that man here as you met me. This
Palace Hotel is not a place where one can prevent one’s self from being
seen. And besides, no city in the world is so small as Paris!”
I hastened to the station and inquired about sleeping-cars, and that
same evening we caught the train for Rome. We took Surdon with us.
When two days later we beheld the walls of Servius Tullius, Cordélia
uttered shouts of joy. On alighting from the train she had a mind to
make for the Forum, but by hurrying her a little I soon managed—the
thing was to acquire some influence over her—to make her forget for
the time being all those old things, and give her a taste of more
modern pleasures such as are found in the thorough comfort of the best
hotel in Rome. We lunched in the Italian manner at the Castello di
Constantino, where we were served on the terrace from which the eye
took in a landscape of rare loveliness, though it was somewhat marred
by the sight of ruins which are supposed to be impressive but which,
for my part, I have always found tedious.
We had, however, to visit some of the ancient monuments. The Colosseum
greatly attracted Cordélia, who told me mournful stories about the
martyrdom of the early Christians. I hastened to take her away to less
dismal scenes. A promenade at the fashionable hour in the gardens of
Pincio, iced-drinks in a café in the Corso, and in the evening, after
dinner, the tarantella danced by pretty girls in the grand hall of the
hotel, threw us into the vortex of life in Rome.
Cordélia took an immense pleasure in these elegant displays of Italian
manners. I was myself greatly stirred to see her eyes shining with
happiness. She never seemed to me more beautiful. When we returned to
our rooms I held her close and told her so, but I acted cautiously,
and at the same time with a feeling of great anxiety. Had I become
sufficient master of her O to be no longer in fear of the whims of her
polygon? The thought that if I kissed her she might at once fall into
a trance, in my arms, brought beads of perspiration trickling down my
forehead.
“Good gracious, how hot you are, Hector!” she cried as with an adorable
gesture she wiped my forehead with her handkerchief.
I no longer knew what I was doing. Her lips smiled at me. The fragrance
that clung to her carried me away, and, in truth, I forgot all my good
resolutions and kissed her passionately.
Marvel of marvels, she did not fall into a sleep!