New Arabian Nights

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Роберт Стивенсон. New Arabian Nights

THE SUICIDE CLUB

STORY OF THE YOUNG MAN WITH THE CREAM TARTS

STORY OF THE PHYSICIAN AND THE SARATOGA TRUNK

THE ADVENTURE OF THE HANSOM CABS

THE RAJAH’S DIAMOND

STORY OF THE BANDBOX

STORY OF THE YOUNG MAN IN HOLY ORDERS

STORY OF THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN BLINDS

THE ADVENTURE OF PRINCE FLORIZEL AND A DETECTIVE

THE PAVILION ON THE LINKS

CHAPTER I. TELLS HOW I CAMPED IN GRADEN SEA-WOOD, AND BEHELD A LIGHT IN THE PAVILION

CHAPTER II. TELLS OF THE NOCTURNAL LANDING FROM THE YACHT

CHAPTER III. TELLS HOW I BECAME ACQUAINTED WITH MY WIFE

CHAPTER IV. TELLS IN WHAT A STARTLING MANNER I LEARNED THAT I WAS NOT ALONE IN GRADEN SEA-WOOD

CHAPTER V. TELLS OF AN INTERVIEW BETWEEN NORTHMOUR, CLARA, AND MYSELF

CHAPTER VI. TELLS OF MY INTRODUCTION TO THE TALL MAN

CHAPTER VII. TELLS HOW A WORD WAS CRIED THROUGH THE PAVILION WINDOW

CHAPTER VIII. TELLS THE LAST OF THE TALL MAN

CHAPTER IX. TELLS HOW NORTHMOUR CARRIED OUT HIS THREAT

A LODGING FOR THE NIGHT. A STORY OF FRANCIS VILLON

THE SIRE DE MALÊTROIT’S DOOR

PROVIDENCE AND THE GUITAR

CHAPTER I

CHAPTER II

CHAPTER III

CHAPTER IV

CHAPTER V

CHAPTER VI

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During his residence in London, the accomplished Prince Florizel of Bohemia gained the affection of all classes by the seduction of his manner and by a well-considered generosity. He was a remarkable man even by what was known of him; and that was but a small part of what he actually did. Although of a placid temper in ordinary circumstances, and accustomed to take the world with as much philosophy as any ploughman, the Prince of Bohemia was not without a taste for ways of life more adventurous and eccentric than that to which he was destined by his birth. Now and then, when he fell into a low humour, when there was no laughable play to witness in any of the London theatres, and when the season of the year was unsuitable to those field sports in which he excelled all competitors, he would summon his confidant and Master of the Horse, Colonel Geraldine, and bid him prepare himself against an evening ramble. The Master of the Horse was a young officer of a brave and even temerarious disposition. He greeted the news with delight, and hastened to make ready. Long practice and a varied acquaintance of life had given him a singular facility in disguise; he could adapt not only his face and bearing, but his voice and almost his thoughts, to those of any rank, character, or nation; and in this way he diverted attention from the Prince, and sometimes gained admission for the pair into strange societies. The civil authorities were never taken into the secret of these adventures; the imperturbable courage of the one and the ready invention and chivalrous devotion of the other had brought them through a score of dangerous passes; and they grew in confidence as time went on.

One evening in March they were driven by a sharp fall of sleet into an Oyster Bar in the immediate neighbourhood of Leicester Square. Colonel Geraldine was dressed and painted to represent a person connected with the Press in reduced circumstances; while the Prince had, as usual, travestied his appearance by the addition of false whiskers and a pair of large adhesive eyebrows. These lent him a shaggy and weather-beaten air, which, for one of his urbanity, formed the most impenetrable disguise. Thus equipped, the commander and his satellite sipped their brandy and soda in security.

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“Hammersmith,” said Florizel, “I may leave the champagne to you.”

And with that he turned away and began to go round among the guests. Accustomed to play the host in the highest circles, he charmed and dominated all whom he approached; there was something at once winning and authoritative in his address; and his extraordinary coolness gave him yet another distinction in this half maniacal society. As he went from one to another he kept both his eyes and ears open, and soon began to gain a general idea of the people among whom he found himself. As in all other places of resort, one type predominated: people in the prime of youth, with every show of intelligence and sensibility in their appearance, but with little promise of strength or the quality that makes success. Few were much above thirty, and not a few were still in their teens. They stood, leaning on tables and shifting on their feet; sometimes they smoked extraordinarily fast, and sometimes they let their cigars go out; 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 trouser pockets, pale, visibly moist with perspiration, saying never a word, a very 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; and Florizel thought he had never seen a man more naturally hideous, nor one more ravaged by disease and ruinous excitements. 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.

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