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

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.