Kitabı oku: «Клуб самоубийц. Уровень 2 / The Suicide Club»

© А. И. Смирнова, адаптация текста, коммент., упраж. и словарь, 2023

© ООО «Издательство АСТ», 2023

The Suicide Club

Story of the young man with the cream tarts¹

During his residence in London, the famous Prince Florizel of Bohemia gained the affection of all classes by his manners and by his generosity. He was a remarkable man even by what was known of him. Although he had an even temper and a philosophy of a ploughman, the Prince of Bohemia also had a taste for the adventurous and eccentric life. Now and then², when he felt blue, when there was no laughable play in any of the London theatres, and when the season of the year was unsuitable for his favourite sports, he asked his confidant and Master of the Horse³, Colonel Geraldine, to a walk. The Master of the Horse was a young officer of a brave and even hot temper. He was glad to take a walk and hastened to make ready. Long practice and a varied experience of life gave him an ability to disguise. He could adapt, not only his face and manners, but his voice and almost his thoughts, to those of any rank, character, or nation. In this way he distracted attention from the Prince, and sometimes used it in order to make their way into strange societies. Of course, they never told of these secrets to the civil authorities. The strong courage of the one and the ready invention and devotion of the other brought them through many dangerous adventures. They grew in confidence as time went on.

One evening in March hard rain drove them into an Oyster Bar in the neighbourhood of Leicester Square. Colonel Geraldine was dressed and painted to represent a person connected with the Press. The Prince, as usual, changed his appearance by the addition of false whiskers and a pair of large eyebrows. These lent him a shaggy and weather-beaten air, which formed the strongest disguise. So the commander and his companion sipped their brandy and soda in security.

The bar was full of guests, male and female; but none of them wanted to talk with our adventurers. None of them was interested in a nearer acquaintance. Nothing happened, and the Prince was yawning, and was beginning tired of the whole walk. Suddenly the doors were pushed violently open. A young man, followed by a couple of commissionaires, entered the bar. Each of the commissionaires carried a large dish of cream tarts under a cover, which they at once removed. Then the young man made the round of the company, and offered these tarts to everyone with an exaggerated courtesy.⁴ Sometimes the offer was laughingly accepted; sometimes it was firmly, or even harshly, rejected. In these latter cases the man always ate the tart himself, with some more or less humorous commentary.

At last he approached Prince Florizel.

“Sir,” said he and bowed. Holding the tart between his thumb and forefinger, he said, “will you honour a stranger? I can answer for the quality of the pastry. I have eaten two dozen and three of them myself since five o'clock.”

“I prefer,” replied the Prince, “to look not so much at the nature of a gift as to the spirit in which it is offered.”

“The spirit, sir,” returned the young man, with another bow, “is one of mockery.”

“Mockery!” repeated Florizel. “And whom do you propose to mock?”

“I am not here to explain my philosophy,” replied the other, “but to give away these cream tarts. If I mention that I heartily mock myself here, I hope you will consider honour satisfied. If not, you will make me to eat my twenty-eighth tart, and I am tired of the exercise.”

“I am sorry for you,” said the Prince, “and I want to rescue you from this dilemma, but upon one condition. If my friend and I eat your cakes-for which we have neither of us any natural love – we shall expect you to join us at supper. The recompense, you know.”

The young man seemed to reflect.

“I have still several dozen upon hand,” he said at last; “and that means I have to visit several more bars before my great affair is finished. This will take some time; and if you are hungry…”

The Prince interrupted him with a polite gesture.

“My friend and I will accompany you,” he said; “for we have already a deep interest in your mode of passing an evening. And now allow me to sign the treaty for both.”

And the Prince swallowed the tart with the best grace imaginable.

“It is delicious,” said he.

“I see you are a connoisseur⁵,” replied the young man.

Colonel Geraldine likewise did honour⁶ to the pastry. Everyone in that bar either accepted or refused his delicacies, and the young man with the cream tarts led the way to another and similar place. The two commissionaires followed immediately after. The Prince and the Colonel, arm-in-arm, and smiling to each other, went behind. In this order the company visited two other taverns, where some were refusing, some were accepting the favours of this bum hospitality. The young man himself ate each rejected tart.

After the third saloon the young man counted his store. There were nine tarts, three in one tray and six in the other.

“Gentlemen,” said he, addressing himself to his two new followers, “I don't want to delay your supper. I am sure you must be hungry. I feel that I owe you something special. And on this great day for me, when I am closing a career of folly by my silly action, I wish to behave handsomely to all who supported me. Gentlemen, you will not wait long. Although my health is ruined by previous excesses, at the risk of my life, I am ready to act.”

With these words he crushed the nine remaining tarts into his mouth, and swallowed them at a single movement each. Then, turning to the commissionaires, he gave them a couple of coins.

“Thank you,” said he, “for your extraordinary patience.”

And he let them go with a bow apiece. For some seconds he stood looking at the purse, then, with a laugh, he tossed it into the middle of the street, and said that he was ready for supper.

In a small French restaurant in Soho, which had a bad reputation, in a private room up stairs, the three companions made a very elegant supper. They drank three or four bottles of champagne. First we were talking. The young man was fluent and full of life, but he laughed louder than was natural in a well-mannered person. His hands trembled violently, and his voice took sudden and surprising tones, which were independent of his will. The dessert was cleared away, and all three lighted their cigars. Then the Prince addressed the man in these words:

“You will, I am sure, pardon my curiosity. What I have seen of you has greatly pleased but even more puzzled me. And though it might sound immodest, I must tell you that my friend and I are persons very well worthy to be entrusted with a secret. We have many of our own, which we are continually revealing to strangers. And if, as I suppose, your story is a silly one, you need have no delicacy with us. We are two of the silliest men in England. My name is Godall, Theophilus Godall. My friend is Major Alfred Hammersmith. We pass our lives entirely in the search for extravagant adventures.”

“I like you, Mr. Godall,” returned the young man; “you inspire me with a natural confidence. I have not the slightest objection to your friend the Major, who, I think, is a nobleman in masquerade. At least, I am sure he is no soldier.”

The Colonel smiled at this compliment to the perfection of his art. The young man went on.

“There are many reasons why I must not tell you my story. Perhaps that is just the reason why I am going to do so. At least, you seem so well prepared to hear a tale of silliness. In spite of your example, I shall keep my name to myself. My age is not essential to the narrative. I come from ancestors by ordinary generation, and they left me the descent apartment house. I still occupy it and have a fortune of three hundred pounds a year. I suppose they also handed on to me a strange sense of humour. I received a good education, too. I can play the violin well enough to earn money in the orchestra. The same remark applies to the flute and the French horn. I learned whist – to lose about a hundred a year at that scientific game. My French was enough to enable me to squander money in Paris with almost with the same ease as in London. In short, I am a person full of manly accomplishments. I have had every sort of adventure, including a duel about nothing. Only two months ago I met a young lady exactly suited to my taste in mind and body. My heart was melting. I saw that I came upon my fate at last. I fell in love. But when I reckoned up what remained to me of my capital, I found something less than four hundred pounds! I ask you fairly-can a man who respects himself fall in love on four hundred pounds? I concluded, certainly not. I left my charmer, and came this morning to my last eighty pounds. This I divided into two equal parts; forty I reserved for a particular purpose; the remaining forty I wanted to spend before the night. I have passed a very entertaining day, and played many farces besides that of the cream tarts. I was determined, as I told you, to bring a foolish career to a still more foolish conclusion. When I threw my purse into the street the forty pounds were at an end. Now you know me as well as I know myself: a fool, but consistent in his folly, neither a whimperer nor a coward.”

From the speech of the young man, it was plain that he had very bitter thoughts about himself. His listeners imagined that his love affair was nearer his heart than he admitted. Was he going to kill himself? The farce of the cream tarts began look like a tragedy.

“Why, is this not odd,” said Geraldine, “that we three fellows met by the merest accident in so large a wilderness as London? And we are so nearly in the same condition!”

“How?” cried the young man. “Are you, too, ruined? Is this supper a folly like my cream tarts? Has the devil brought three of his own together for a last party?”

“The devil can sometimes do a very gentlemanly thing,” returned Prince Florizel; “and I am so much touched by this coincidence that, although we are not entirely in the same case, I am going to put an end to the inequality. Your heroic treatment of the last cream tarts will be my example.”

The Prince drew out his purse and took from it a small bundle of bank-notes.

“You see, I was a week or so behind you, but I want to catch you up⁷,” he continued. “This,” laying one of the notes upon the table, “will suffice for the bill. As for the rest…”

He tossed them into the fire, and they went up the chimney in a blaze.

The young man tried to catch his arm, but as the table was between them his move came too late.

“Unhappy man,” he cried, “why have you burned our money? You will need forty pounds.”

“Forty pounds!” repeated the Prince. “Why forty pounds?”

“Why not eighty?” cried the Colonel;

“It was only forty pounds he needed,” said the young man gloomily. “But without them there is no admission. The rule is strict. Forty pounds for each. Accursed life, where a man cannot even die without money!”

The Prince and the Colonel exchanged glances.

“Explain yourself,” said the latter. “I have still some money. But I must know: you must certainly tell us what you mean.”

The young awoke: he looked uneasily from one to the other, and his face flushed deeply.

“You are not fooling me?” he asked. “You are indeed ruined men like me?”

“Indeed, I am for sure,” replied the Colonel.

“And I,” said the Prince, “I have given you proof. Who but a ruined man will throw his money into the fire? The action speaks for itself.”

“A ruined man, yes,” returned the other suspiciously, “or else a millionaire.”

“Enough, sir,” said the Prince; “I have said so, and no doubt.”

“Ruined?” said the young man. “Are you ruined, like me? Are you, after a life of indulgence, indeed ruined? Can you only indulge yourself in one thing more? Are you going to give yourselves that last indulgence? Are you going to avoid the consequences of your folly by the one infallible and easy path? Are you going to run away from the sheriff's officers⁸ through one open door?”

Suddenly he stopped and attempted to laugh.

“Here is your health!⁹” he cried and emptied his glass, “and good-night to you, my merry ruined men.”

Colonel Geraldine caught him by the arm as he was about to rise.

“You don't trust us,” he said, “and you are wrong. To all your questions I make answer in the affirmative. But I am not so timid, and can speak English plainly. We too, like yourself, have had enough of life, and are determined to die. Sooner or later, alone or together, we will seek death. Since we have met you, and your case is more pressing, let it be tonight-and at once-and all three together. Such a penniless trio must go arm-in-arm into the halls of Pluto!”

The Prince was disturbed, and looked at his confidant with a shade of doubt. As for the young man, the flush came back darkly into his cheek, and his eyes threw out a spark of light.

“You are the men for me!” he cried, with an almost terrible excitement. “Shake hands upon the bargain!” (his hand was cold and wet). “You little know in what a company you will begin the march! You little know in what a happy moment for yourselves you partook of my cream tarts! I am only a soldier, but I am a soldier in an army. I know Death's private door. I am Death's friend, and can show you the way into eternity without ceremony and without scandal.”

They called upon him eagerly to explain his meaning.

“Can you have eighty pounds?” he demanded.

Geraldine ostentatiously consulted his pocket-book, and replied in the affirmative.

“Fortunate beings!” cried the young man. “Forty pounds is the entry-money¹⁰ of the Suicide Club.”

“The Suicide Club,” said the Prince, “why, what the devil is that?”

“Listen,” said the young man; “this is the age of conveniences, and I will tell you of the last convenience. We have affairs in different places; and hence railways were invented. Railways separated us from our friends. So telegraphs were made to communicate speedily at great distances. Even in hotels we have lifts to spare us a climb of some hundred steps. Now, we know that life is only a stage to play the fool¹¹ upon as long as it amuses us. But what about one more important convenience? A decent, easy way to quit that stage; the back stairs to liberty; or, as I said this moment, Death's private door. This, my two fellow-rebels, is supplied by the Suicide Club. Do not suppose that you and I are alone, or even exceptional, in this highly reasonable desire. A large number of our fellowmen, who have grown heartily sick of the performance in which they are expected to join daily, and all their lives long! But some have families who will be shocked, or even blamed, if the matter became public. Others have a weakness at heart and recoil from the circumstances of death. That is, to some extent, my own experience. I cannot put a pistol to my head and draw the trigger; for something stronger than myself withholds the act. Although I hate life, I have not strength enough in my body to take hold of death. For such as I, and for all who desire to be out of the coil without a scandal, the Suicide Club has been created. How it works, what is its history, I am myself uninformed. What I know of its constitution, but I can't tell you. To this extent, however, I am at your service. If you are truly tired of life, I will introduce you tonight to a meeting. If not tonight, at least some time within the week, you will be easily relieved of your existences. It is now eleven. By half-past, at latest, we must leave this place; so that you have half an hour before you to consider my proposal. It is more serious than a cream tart,” he added, with a smile; “and I suspect more delicious.”

“More serious, certainly,” returned Colonel Geraldine; “and as it is so much more so, will you allow me five minutes' speech in private with my friend Mr. Godall?”

“Of course,” answered the young man. “And I will retire.”

“You are very kind,” said the Colonel.

As soon as the two were alone, Prince Florizel said,

“What is the use of this chatter, Geraldine? I see you are anxious, whereas my mind is very still. I want to see the end of this.”

“Your Highness,” said the Colonel, turning pale; “let me ask you to consider the importance of your life, not only to your friends, but to the public interest. 'If not tonight,' said this madman; but if tonight some irreparable disaster overtakes your Highness's person, what, let me ask you, what will be my despair, and the concern and disaster of a great nation?”

“I want to see the end of this,” repeated the Prince; “and have the kindness, Colonel Geraldine, to remember and respect your word of honour as a gentleman. Under no circumstances, recollect, nor without my special authority, you can betray the incognito under which I choose to go abroad. These were my commands, which I now repeat. And now,” he added, “let me ask you to call for the bill.”

Colonel Geraldine bowed in submission; but he had a very white face as he called the waiter. The Prince described a Palais-Royal farce to the young suicide with great humour and pleasure. He avoided the Colonel's appealing looks without ostentation, and selected another cheroot with more than usual care. Indeed, he was now the only man of the party who kept any command over his nerves.

The bill was discharged, and the Prince gave the whole change of the note¹² to the astonished waiter. Then the three drove off in a cab. They were not long upon the way before the cab stopped at the entrance to a rather dark court. Here all descended.

Geraldine paid the fare. Then the young man turned and addressed Prince Florizel as follows:

“It is still time, Mr. Godall, to return to your thraldom. And for you too, Major Hammersmith. Reflect well before you take another step; and if your hearts say no-here are the cross-roads.”

“Lead on, sir,” said the Prince, “I am not the man to go back from a thing once said.”

“Your coolness does me good¹³,” replied their guide. “I have never seen anyone so unmoved at this conjuncture. Yet you are not the first whom I have escorted to this door. More than one of my friends has preceded me, where I knew I must shortly follow. But this is of no interest to you. Wait me here for only a few moments. I shall return as soon as I have arranged the preliminaries of your introduction.”

And with that the young man waved his hand to his companions, turned into the court, entered a doorway and disappeared.

“Of all our follies,” said Colonel Geraldine in a low voice, “this is the wildest and most dangerous.”

“I perfectly believe so,” returned the Prince.

“We have still,” pursued the Colonel, “a moment to ourselves. Let me beseech your Highness and retire. The consequences of this step are dark, and may be grave.”

“Do I understand that Colonel Geraldine is afraid?” asked his Highness, taking his cheroot from his lips, and looking keenly into the other's face.

“My fear is certainly not personal,” replied the other proudly.

“I think so,” returned the Prince; “but I was unwilling to remind you of the difference in our stations. No more – no more,” he added; “you are excused.”

And he smoked placidly, leaning against a railing, until the young man returned.

“Well,” he asked, “is our reception arranged?”

“Follow me,” was the reply. “The President will see you in the cabinet. And let me warn you to be frank in your answers. The club requires a searching inquiry before admission. The indiscretion of a single member will lead to the dispersion of the whole society for ever.”

The Prince and Geraldine put their heads together for a moment.

“I will tell this,” said the one; and “I will tell that,” said the other.

They came to an agreement and were ready to follow their guide into the President's cabinet.

There were no formidable obstacles to pass. The outer door stood open; the door of the cabinet was ajar; and there, in a small but very high apartment, the young man left them once more.

“He will be here immediately,” he said with a nod, as he disappeared.

Voices were audible in the cabinet through the doors. Now and then the noise of a champagne cork, followed by a burst of laughter, intervened among the sounds of conversation. A single tall window looked out upon the river and the embankment. They were not far from Charing Cross station. The furniture was scanty; and there was nothing except a hand-bell in the centre of a round table, and the hats and coats hung round the wall on pegs.

“What sort of a den is this?” said Geraldine.

“That is what I have come to see,” replied the Prince. “If they have devils, the adventure will be amusing.”

Just then the door was opened. There entered a louder buzz of talk, and the redoubtable President of the Suicide Club. The President was a man of fifty or upwards; large and rambling in his gait, with shaggy side whiskers, a bald top to his head, and a veiled grey eye, which now and then emitted a twinkle. He looked sagaciously and coldly at the strangers. He was dressed in light tweeds and carried a book under one arm.

“Good-evening,” said he and closed the door behind him. “They told me you wished to speak with me.”

“We have a desire, sir, to join the Suicide Club,” replied the Colonel.

The President rolled his cigar about in his mouth.

“What is that?” he said abruptly.

“Pardon me,” returned the Colonel, “but I believe you can give us information on that point.”

“I?” cried the President. “A Suicide Club? Come, come! This is a frolic for All Fools' Day. I can understand the gentlemen drank too much; but let there be an end to this.”

“Call your club what you will,” said the Colonel; “you have some company behind these doors, and we insist on joining it.”

“Sir,” returned the President curtly, “you have made a mistake. This is a private house, and you must leave it instantly.”

The Prince remained quietly in his seat throughout this little colloquy. The Colonel looked over to him, as much as to say, “You see, come away, for God's sake!” The Prince drew his cheroot from his mouth, and spoke,

“I have come here,” said he, “upon the invitation of a friend of yours. He has doubtless informed you of my intention. Let me remind you that a person in my circumstances is not at all likely to tolerate much rudeness. I am a very quiet man; but, my dear sir, you are either going to oblige me, or you will very bitterly repent that you ever admitted me to your chamber.”

The President laughed aloud.

“Oh, I see” said he, “you are a man! You know the way to my heart, and can do what you like with me. Will you,” he continued, addressing Geraldine, “will you step aside for a few minutes? I shall finish first with your companion, and some of the club's formalities require to be fulfilled in private.”

With the words he opened the door of a small closet, into which he shut the Colonel.

“I believe in you,” he said to Florizel, as soon as they were alone; “but are you sure of your friend?”

“Not so sure as I am of myself, though he has more cogent reasons,” answered Florizel, “but sure enough to bring him here without alarm. He was cashiered¹⁴ the other day for cheating at cards.”

“A good reason, I daresay,” replied the President; “at least, we have another in the same case, and I feel sure of him. Have you also been in the Service, may I ask?”

“I have,” was the reply; “but I was too lazy-I left it early.”

“What is your reason for being tired of life?” pursued the President.

“The same,” answered the Prince: “unadulterated laziness.”

The President started.

“Damn it,” said he, “you must have something better than that.”

“I have no more money,” added Florizel. “That is also a vexation, without doubt.”

The President rolled his cigar round in his mouth for some seconds, directing his gaze straight into the eyes of this unusual neophyte. But the Prince supported his scrutiny with good temper.

“I know the world,” said the President at last, “and that the most frivolous excuses for a suicide are often the toughest to stand by.”

The Prince and the Colonel, one after the other, were subjected to a long and particular interrogatory: the Prince alone; but Geraldine in the presence of the Prince. The result was satisfactory; and the President produced a form of oath to be accepted. Nothing can be more passive than the obedience promised, or more stringent than the terms.

Florizel signed the document, but not without a shudder. The Colonel followed his example with an air of great depression. Then the President received the entry money; and without more ado, introduced the two friends into the smoking-room of the Suicide Club.

The smoking-room of the Suicide Club was the same height as the cabinet into which it opened, but much larger. A large and cheerful fire illuminated the company of sixteen people. They were smoking, and drinking champagne.

“Is this a full meeting?” asked the Prince.

“More or less,” said the President. “By the way,” he added, “if you have any money, it is usual to offer some champagne.”

Florizel turned away and began to go round among the guests. He charmed and dominated all whom he approached. As he went from one to another he kept both his eyes and ears open. Soon he began to gain a general idea of the people among whom he found himself. As in all other places, one type predominated: youth people, with much intelligence and sensibility in their appearance, but with little promise of strength or the quality that makes success. Few were much above thirty, and some were even younger. They stood, leaning on tables; sometimes they smoked extraordinarily fast, and sometimes not. Some talked well, but the conversation of others was plainly the result of nervous tension, and was equally without wit or purport. As each new bottle of champagne was opened, there was a manifest improvement in gaiety. Only two were seated-one in a chair in the recess of the window, with his head hanging and his hands plunged deep into his trousers pockets, pale, visibly moist with perspiration. He was not saying a word, this wreck of soul and body. The other sat on the divan close by the chimney, and attracted notice by a trenchant dissimilarity from all the rest. He was probably upwards of forty, but he looked fully ten years older. Florizel has never seen a man more naturally hideous, ravaged by disease and ruinous. He was no more than skin and bone, was partly paralysed, and wore spectacles of such unusual power that his eyes appeared through the glasses greatly magnified and distorted in shape. Except the Prince and the President, he was the only person in the room who preserved the composure of ordinary life.

Some members of the club boasted of the disgraceful actions, the consequences of which brought them here. The others listened without disapproval. Whoever passed the club doors enjoyed already some of the immunities of the tomb. They drank to each other's memories, and to those of notable suicides in the past. They compared and developed their different views of death. Some were declaring that it was no more than blackness and cessation. Others were full of a hope to scale the stars and join the mighty dead.

“To the eternal memory of Baron Trenck, the spirit of suicides!” cried one. “He went out of a small cell into a smaller. And he came forth again to freedom!”

“For my part,” said a second, “I wish no more than a bandage for my eyes and cotton for my ears. But where can I find it in this world?”

A third was for reading the mysteries of life in a future state. A fourth professed that he joined the club because of Mr. Darwin.

“I could not bear,” said this remarkable suicide, “to be descended from an ape.”

Altogether, the Prince was disappointed by the bearing and conversation of the members.

“It does not seem to me very important,” he thought. “If a man has made up his mind to kill himself, let him do it, in God's name, like a gentleman. This flutter and big talk is out of place¹⁵.”

In the meanwhile Colonel Geraldine was a prey to the blackest apprehensions. The club and its rules were still a mystery, and he looked round the room for someone who could set his mind at rest. In this survey his eye lighted on the paralytic person with the strong spectacles. That person was exceedingly tranquil. He besought the President, who was going in and out of the room, to present him to the gentleman on the divan.

The functionary explained the needlessness of all such formalities within the club, but nevertheless presented Mr. Hammersmith to Mr. Malthus.

Mr. Malthus looked at the Colonel curiously, and then requested him to take a seat upon his right.

“You are a new-comer,” he said, “and wish information? You have come to the proper source. It is two years since I first visited this charming club.”

The Colonel breathed again. If Mr. Malthus frequents the place for two years there is little danger for the Prince tonight. Geraldine was astonished, and began to suspect a mystification.

“What!” cried he, “two years! I thought… Is this a pleasantry?”

“By no means,” replied Mr. Malthus mildly. “My case is peculiar. I am not, properly speaking, a suicide at all; but, as it were, an honorary member. I rarely visit the club twice in two months. My infirmity and the kindness of the President have procured me these little immunities, for which besides I pay at an advanced rate. Moreover, my luck is extraordinary.”

“I am afraid,” said the Colonel, “that I must ask you to be more explicit. You must remember that I am still most imperfectly acquainted with the rules of the club.”

“An ordinary member who comes here in search of death, like yourself,” replied the paralytic, “returns every evening until fortune favours him. He can even, if he is penniless, get board and lodging from the President. Very fair, I believe, and clean, although, of course, not luxurious. And then the President's company is a delicacy in itself.”

“Indeed!” cried Geraldine, “I don't think so.”

“Ah!” said Mr. Malthus, “you do not know the man: the drollest fellow! What stories! What cynicism! He knows life, and, between ourselves, is probably the most corrupt rogue in the world.”

“And he also,” asked the Colonel, “is a permanency – like yourself?”

“Indeed, he is a permanency in a very different sense from me,” replied Mr. Malthus. “I must go at last. And he never plays. He shuffles and deals¹⁶ for the club, and makes the necessary arrangements. That man, my dear Mr. Hammersmith, is very ingenuous. For three years he has used in London his artistic talents; and not a whisper of suspicion has been once aroused. I believe himself to be inspired. You doubtless remember the celebrated case, six months ago, of the gentleman who was accidentally poisoned in a chemist's shop? That was one of the least rich, one of the least racy, of his notions; but then, how simple! and how safe!”

“You astound me,” said the Colonel. “Was that unfortunate gentleman one of the…” He was about to say “victims“; but he substituted “members of the club?”

In the same flash of thought it occurred to him that Mr. Malthus himself did not at all speak in the tone of one who was in love with death; and he added hurriedly,

“But I perceive I am still in the dark. You speak of shuffling and dealing; pray, for what end? And since you seem rather unwilling to die than otherwise, I must own that I cannot conceive what brings you here at all.”

“You say truly that you are in the dark,” replied Mr. Malthus. “Why, my dear sir, this club is the temple of intoxication. If my enfeebled health can support the excitement more often, I will be more often here. It requires all the sense of duty and careful regimen, to keep me from excess in this, which is, I may say, my last dissipation. I have tried them all, sir,” he went on, laying his hand on Geraldine's arm, “all, without exception, and I declare to you, upon my honour, there is not one of them that has not been grossly and untruthfully overrated. People trifle with love. Now, I deny that love is a strong passion. Fear is the strong passion; it is with fear that you must trifle if you wish to taste the intensest joys of living. Envy me – envy me, sir,” he added with a chuckle, “I am a coward!”

Geraldine scarcely repressed a movement of repulsion for this deplorable wretch. But he commanded himself with an effort, and continued his inquiries.

“How, sir,” he asked, “can you so artfully prolong the process? Is there any element of uncertainty?”

“I must tell you how the victim for every evening is selected,” returned Mr. Malthus; “and not only the victim, but another member, who will be the instrument in the club's hands, and death's high priest for that occasion.”

“Good God!” said the Colonel, “do they then kill each other?”

“The trouble of suicide is removed in that way,” returned Malthus with a nod.

“Merciful heavens!” ejaculated the Colonel, “and may you – may I – may the – my friend, I mean-may any of us this evening be the slayer of another man's body and immortal spirit? Can such things be possible among men born of women? Oh! infamy of infamies!”

He was about to rise in his horror, when he caught the Prince's eye. It was fixed upon him from across the room. And in a moment Geraldine recovered his composure.

“After all,” he added, “why not? and since you say the game is interesting, I follow the club!”

Mr. Malthus keenly enjoyed the Colonel's amazement and disgust. He had the vanity of wickedness; and it pleased him to see another man give way to a generous movement, while he felt himself, in his entire corruption, superior to such emotions.

“You now, after your first moment of surprise,” said he, “can appreciate the delights of our society. You can see how it combines the excitement of a gaming-table, a duel, and a Roman amphitheatre. The Pagans did well enough; I cordially admire the refinement of their minds. But it was reserved for a Christian country to attain this extreme, this quintessence, this absolute of poignancy. You will understand how vapid are all amusements to a man who has acquired a taste for this one. The game we play,” he continued, “is one of extreme simplicity. A full pack – but I perceive you will see everything yourself. Will you lend me your arm? I am unfortunately paralysed.”

Indeed, just as Mr. Malthus was beginning his description, another pair of doors was thrown open, and the whole club began to pass into the adjoining room. It was similar in every respect to the one from which it was entered, but somewhat differently furnished. The centre was occupied by a long green table, at which the President sat. He was shuffling a pack of cards with great particularity. Even with the stick and the Colonel's arm, Mr. Malthus walked with so much difficulty that everyone was seated before this pair and the Prince, who was waiting for them, entered the apartment. The three took seats at the lower end of the board.

“It is a pack of fifty-two cards,” whispered Mr. Malthus. “Watch for the ace of spades, which is the sign of death, and the ace of clubs, which designates the official of the night. Happy, happy young men!” he added. “You have good eyes, and can follow the game. Alas! I cannot tell an ace from a deuce across the table.”

And he proceeded to equip himself with a second pair of spectacles.

“I must at least watch the faces,” he explained.

The Colonel rapidly informed his friend of all that he learned from the honorary member, and of the horrible alternative that lay before them. The Prince swallowed with difficulty, and looked from side to side like a man in a maze.

“One bold stroke,” whispered the Colonel, “and we may still escape.”

But the suggestion recalled the Prince's spirits.

“Silence!” said he. “Let me see that you can play like a gentleman.”

And he looked about him. His heart beat thickly, and he was conscious of an unpleasant heat in his bosom. The members were all very quiet and intent. Everyone was pale, but none so pale as Mr. Malthus. His eyes protruded; his head was nodding involuntarily upon his spine. His hands found their way, one after the other, to his mouth, where they made clutches at his tremulous and ashen lips. It was plain that the honorary member enjoyed his membership rather strangely.

“Attention, gentlemen!” said the President.

And he began slowly dealing the cards about the table in the reverse direction. He was pausing until each man showed his card. Nearly everyone hesitated. Sometimes you could see a player's fingers stumble more than once before he could turn over the momentous slip of pasteboard. As the Prince's turn drew nearer, he was conscious of a growing and almost suffocating excitement. But he had the gambler's nature, and recognised almost with astonishment that there was a degree of pleasure in his sensations. The nine of clubs fell to his lot; the three of spades was dealt to Geraldine; and the queen of hearts to Mr. Malthus, who was unable to suppress a sob of relief. The young man of the cream tarts almost immediately afterwards turned over the ace of clubs, and remained frozen with horror. The card was still resting on his finger; he was there not to kill, but to be killed. The Prince in his generous sympathy almost forgot the peril that still hung over himself and his friend.

The deal was coming round again, and still Death's card did not come out. The players held their respiration, and only breathed by gasps. The Prince received another club; Geraldine had a diamond; but when Mr. Malthus turned up his card a horrible noise, like that of something breaking, issued from his mouth. He rose from his seat and sat down again, with no sign of his paralysis. It was the ace of spades.

Conversation broke out again almost at once. The players began to rise from the table and stroll back by twos and threes into the smoking-room. The President stretched his arms and yawned, like a man who has finished his day's work. But Mr. Malthus sat in his place, with his head in his hands, and his hands upon the table, drunk and motionless.

The Prince and Geraldine made their escape at once. In the cold night air their horror was redoubled.

“Alas!” cried the Prince, “to be bound by an oath in such a matter! to allow this wholesale trade in murder to be continued with profit and impunity! If I could forfeit my pledge!”

“That is impossible for your Highness,” replied the Colonel, “whose honour is the honour of Bohemia. But I dare, and may with propriety, forfeit mine.”

“Geraldine,” said the Prince, “if your honour suffers in any of the adventures into which you follow me, not only will I never pardon you, but-what is more terrible-I shall never forgive myself.”

“I receive your Highness's commands,” replied the Colonel. “Shall we go from this accursed spot?”

“Yes,” said the Prince. “Call a cab in Heaven's name, and let me try to forget in slumber the memory of this night's disgrace.”

But it was notable that he carefully read the name of the court before he left it.

The next morning, as soon as the Prince was stirring, Colonel Geraldine brought him a daily newspaper, with the following paragraph marked:

“Melancholy Accident¹⁷

This morning, about two o'clock, Mr. Bartholomew Malthus, of 16 Chepstow Place, 30Westbourne Grove, on his way home from a party at a friend's house, fell over the upper parapet in Trafalgar Square, fracturing his skull and breaking a leg and an arm. Death was instantaneous. Mr. Malthus, accompanied by a friend, was engaged in looking for a cab at the time of the unfortunate occurrence. As Mr. Malthus was paralytic, and his fall was occasioned by another seizure. The unhappy gentleman was well known in the most respectable circles, and his loss will be widely and deeply deplored.”

“If Hell exists,” said Geraldine solemnly, “that paralytic man is there.”

The Prince buried his face in his hands, and remained silent.

“I am almost rejoiced,” continued the Colonel, “to know that he is dead. But for our young man of the cream tarts I confess my heart bleeds.”

“Geraldine,” said the Prince, raising his face, “that unhappy lad was last night as innocent as you and I. This morning the guilt of blood is on his soul. When I think of the President, my heart grows sick within me. I do not know how it will be done, but that scoundrel will repent! What an experience, what a lesson, was that game of cards!”

“One,” said the Colonel, “never to be repeated.”

The Prince did not say a word. Geraldine was alarmed.

“You cannot mean to return,” he said. “You have suffered too much and seen too much horror already. The duties of your high position forbid the repetition of the hazard.”

“There is much in what you say,” replied Prince Florizel, “and I am not altogether pleased with my own determination. Alas! In the clothes of the greatest potentate what is there but a man? I never felt my weakness more acutely than now, Geraldine, but it is stronger than I. Can I cease to interest myself in the fortunes of the unhappy young man who supped with us some hours ago? Can I leave the President to follow his nefarious career unwatched? Can I begin an adventure, and not follow it to an end? No, Geraldine, you ask of the Prince more than the man is able to perform. Tonight, once more, we take our places at the table of the Suicide Club.”

Colonel Geraldine fell upon his knees.

“Will your Highness take my life?” he cried. “It is his-his freely; but do not, O do not! let him ask me to countenance so terrible a risk.”

“Colonel Geraldine,” replied the Prince, with some haughtiness, “your life is absolutely your own. I only looked for obedience. When that is unwillingly rendered, I don't need it. I add one word: your importunity in this affair has been sufficient.”

The Master of the Horse regained his feet at once.

“Your Highness,” he said, “may I be excused in my attendance this afternoon? I dare not, as an honourable man, venture a second time into that fatal house until I have perfectly ordered my affairs. Your Highness shall meet, I promise him, with no more opposition from the most devoted and grateful of his servants.”

“My dear Geraldine,” returned Prince Florizel, “I always regret when you oblige me to remember my rank. Dispose of your day as you think fit, but be here before eleven in the same disguise.”

The club, on this second evening, was not so fully attended. When Geraldine and the Prince arrived there were not above half a dozen persons in the smoking-room. His Highness took the President aside and congratulated him warmly on the demise of Mr. Malthus.

“I like,” he said, “to meet the capable man. Your profession is of a very delicate nature, but I see you are well qualified to conduct it with success and secrecy.”

The President was affected by these compliments. He acknowledged them almost with humility.

“Poor Malthy!” he added, “the club will continue its activity without him. The most of my patrons are boys, sir, and poetical boys, who are not much company for me. Malthy had some poetry too; but it was of a kind that I can understand.”

“I can readily imagine you liked Mr. Malthus,” returned the Prince. “He was a man of a very original disposition.”

The young man of the cream tarts was in the room, but painfully depressed and silent. His late companions sought in vain to lead him into conversation.

“I repent,” he cried, “that I brought you to this infamous den! Begone, while you are clean-handed. The old man was screaming as he was falling. The noise of his bones upon the pavement! Wish me, if you have any kindness – wish the ace of spades for me tonight!”

A few more members dropped in as the evening went on, but the club did not muster more than the devil's dozen when they took their places at the table. The Prince was astonished to see Geraldine so much more self-possessed than on the night before.

“It is extraordinary,” thought the Prince, “that a will, made or unmade, should so greatly influence a young man's spirit.”

“Attention, gentlemen!” said the President, and he began to deal.

Three times the cards went all round the table, and neither of the marked cards fell from his hand. The excitement as he began the fourth distribution was overwhelming. There were just cards enough to go once more entirely round. The Prince sat second from the dealer's left. So Florizel will receive the second last card. The third player turned up a black ace – it was the ace of clubs. The next received a diamond, the next a heart, and so on; but the ace of spades was still undelivered. At last Geraldine, who sat upon the Prince's left, turned his card; it was an ace, but the ace of hearts.

When Prince Florizel saw his fate upon the table in front of him, his heart stood still. He was a brave man, but the sweat poured off his face. There were exactly fifty chances out of a hundred that he was doomed. He reversed the card; it was the ace of spades. A loud roaring filled his brain, and the table swam before his eyes. He heard the player on his right break into a fit of laughter. It sounded between mirth and disappointment. The company was rapidly dispersing, but his mind was full of other thoughts. He recognised how foolish, how criminal, was his conduct. In perfect health, the heir to a throne, he has gambled away his future and that of a brave and loyal country.

“God,” he cried, “God forgive me!”

To his surprise, Geraldine has disappeared. There was no one in the card-room but his butcher was consulting with the President. The young man of the cream tarts slipped up to the Prince and whispered in his ear,

“I could give a million, if I had it, for your luck.”

His Highness wanted to answer that he could sell his opportunity for a much more moderate sum.

The conference now came to an end. The holder of the ace of clubs left the room with a look of intelligence. The President approached the unfortunate Prince, and proffered him his hand.

“I am pleased to meet you, sir,” said he, “and pleased to serve you. At least, you cannot complain of delay. On the second evening – what a stroke of luck!”

The Prince endeavoured in vain to articulate something in response, but his mouth was dry and his tongue seemed paralysed.

“You feel a little sickish?” asked the President. “Most gentlemen do. Will you take a little brandy?”

The Prince signified in the affirmative.

“Poor old Malthy!” ejaculated the President, as the Prince drained the glass. “He drank near upon a pint, and little enough good it seemed to do him!”

“I am more amenable to treatment,” said the Prince. “And let me ask you, what are my directions?”

“You will proceed along the Strand in the direction of the City, and on the left-hand pavement, until you meet the gentleman who has just left the room. He will continue your instructions. You will obey him. And now,” added the President, “I wish you a pleasant walk.”

Florizel acknowledged the salutation rather awkwardly, and left. He passed through the smoking-room, where the bulk of the players were still consuming champagne. He was surprised to curse them in his heart. He put on his hat and greatcoat in the cabinet, and selected his umbrella from a corner. The familiarity of these acts caused a burst of laughter which sounded unpleasantly in his own ears. He dud not want to leave the cabinet, and turned instead to the window.

“Come, come, I must be a man,” he thought.

At the corner three men caught Prince Florizel, and he was unceremoniously thrust into a carriage, which at once drove rapidly away. There was already an occupant.

“Will your Highness pardon my zeal?” said a well-known voice.

The Prince threw himself upon the Colonel's neck in a passion of relief.

“How can I ever thank you?” he cried. “And how did you do that?”

He was overjoyed to return once more to life and hope.

“You can thank me effectually enough,” replied the Colonel, “by avoiding all such dangers in the future. And as for your second question, all is simple. I met this afternoon a celebrated detective. I paid for the secrecy. Your own servants are principally engaged in the affair. The house was surrounded since nightfall, and this, which is one of your own carriages, was awaiting you for there.”

“And the miserable creature who will slay me – what of him?” inquired the Prince.

“He left the club and was pinioned,” replied the Colonel, “and now awaits your sentence at the Palace.”

“Geraldine,” said the Prince, “you have saved me, and you have done well. I owe you not only my life, but a lesson. I shall be unworthy of my rank if I do not show myself grateful to my teacher.”

There was a pause, during which the carriage continued to speed through the streets. The two men were each buried in his own reflections. The silence was broken by Colonel Geraldine.

“Your Highness,” said he, “has by this time many prisoners. There is one criminal among them to whom justice must be dealt. Our oath forbids us all recourse to law. May I inquire your Highness's intention?”

“It is decided,” answered Florizel; “the President must fall in duel. It only remains to choose his adversary.”

“Your Highness has permitted me to name my own recompense,” said the Colonel. “Will he permit me to ask the appointment of my brother?”

“You ask me an ungracious favour,” said the Prince, “but I must refuse you nothing.”

The Colonel kissed his hand with the greatest affection. At that moment the carriage rolled under the archway of the Prince's splendid residence.

An hour after, Florizel in his official robes, and covered with all the orders of Bohemia, received the members of the Suicide Club.

“Foolish and wicked men,” said he, “those of you who were driven into this position by the lack of fortune. You will receive employment and remuneration from my officers. Those who suffer under a sense of guilt must address a higher and more generous Potentate than I. I feel pity for all of you, deeper than you can imagine. Tomorrow you will tell me your stories. If you answer frankly, I shall be able to remedy your misfortunes. As for you,” he added, turning to the President, “I have something to propose to you. Here,” laying his hand on the shoulder of Colonel Geraldine's young brother, “is an officer of mine who desires to make a little tour to Europe. I ask you, as a favour, to accompany him. Do you,” he went on, changing his tone, “do you shoot well with the pistol? Because you may need it. When two men go travelling together, it is best to be prepared for all. Let me add that, if by any chance you lose young Mr. Geraldine upon the way, I shall always have another member of my household to offer. And, Mr. President, I have long arms.”

With these words, said with much sternness, the Prince concluded his speech. Next morning the members of the club were suitably provided for by his munificence. The President set forth upon his travels, under the supervision of Mr. Geraldine, and a pair of faithful and adroit lackeys, well trained in the Prince's household. Not content with this, he put discreet agents in possession of the house in Box Court, and all letters or visitors for the Suicide Club were examined by Prince Florizel in person.

Here (says my Arabian author) ends The Story of the Young Man with the Cream Tarts, who is now a comfortable householder in Wigmore Street, Cavendish Square.

Those who want to pursue the adventures of Prince Florizel and the President of the Suicide Club, may read the history of the physician and the Saratoga trunk.