Part 1 (1/2)

The Dynamiter.

by Robert Louis Stevenson, et al.

TO MESSRS. COLE AND c.o.x, POLICE OFFICERS

_Gentlemen,-In the volume now in your hands_, _the authors have touched upon that ugly devil of crime_, _with which it is your glory to have contended_. _It were a waste of ink to do so in a serious spirit_. _Let us dedicate our horror to acts of a more mingled strain_, _where crime preserves some features of n.o.bility_, _and where reason and humanity can still relish the temptation_. _Horror_, _in this case_, _is due to Mr.

Parnell_: _he sits before posterity silent_, _Mr. Forster's appeal echoing down the ages_. _Horror is due to ourselves_, _in that we have so long coquetted with political crime_; _not seriously weighing_, _not acutely following it from cause to consequence_; _but with a generous_, _unfounded heat of sentiment_, _like the schoolboy with the penny tale_, _applauding what was specious_. _When it touched ourselves_ (_truly in a vile shape_), _we proved false to the imaginations_; _discovered_, _in a clap_, _that crime was no less cruel and no less ugly under sounding names_; _and recoiled from our false deities_.

_But seriousness comes most in place when we are to speak of our defenders_. _Whoever be in the right in this great and confused war of politics_; _whatever elements of greed_, _whatever traits of the bully_, _dishonour both parties in this inhuman contest_;-_your side_, _your part_, _is at least pure of doubt_. _Yours is the side of the child_, _of the breeding woman_, _of individual pity and public trust_. _If our society were the mere kingdom of the devil_ (_as indeed it wears some of his colours_) _it yet embraces many precious elements and many innocent persons whom it is a glory to defend_. _Courage and devotion_, _so common in the ranks of the police_, _so little recognised_, _so meagrely rewarded_, _have at length found their commemoration in an historical act_. _History_, _which will represent Mr. Parnell sitting silent under the appeal of Mr. Forster_, _and Gordon setting forth upon his tragic enterprise_, _will not forget Mr. Cole carrying the dynamite in his defenceless hands_, _nor Mr. c.o.x coming coolly to his aid_.

_ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON_

_f.a.n.n.y VAN DE GRIFT STEVENSON_

A NOTE FOR THE READER

It is within the bounds of possibility that you may take up this volume, and yet be unacquainted with its predecessor: the first series of NEW ARABIAN NIGHTS. The loss is yours-and mine; or to be more exact, my publishers'. But if you are thus unlucky, the least I can do is to pa.s.s you a hint. When you shall find a reference in the following pages to one Theophilus G.o.dall of the Bohemian Cigar Divan in Rupert Street, Soho, you must be prepared to recognise, under his features, no less a person than Prince Florizel of Bohemia, formerly one of the magnates of Europe, now dethroned, exiled, impoverished, and embarked in the tobacco trade.

R. L. S.

_PROLOGUE OF THE CIGAR DIVAN_

In the city of encounters, the Bagdad of the West, and, to be more precise, on the broad northern pavement of Leicester Square, two young men of five- or six-and-twenty met after years of separation. The first, who was of a very smooth address and clothed in the best fas.h.i.+on, hesitated to recognise the pinched and shabby air of his companion.

'What!' he cried, 'Paul Somerset!'

'I am indeed Paul Somerset,' returned the other, 'or what remains of him after a well-deserved experience of poverty and law. But in you, Challoner, I can perceive no change; and time may be said, without hyperbole, to write no wrinkle on your azure brow.'

'All,' replied Challoner, 'is not gold that glitters. But we are here in an ill posture for confidences, and interrupt the movement of these ladies. Let us, if you please, find a more private corner.'

'If you will allow me to guide you,' replied Somerset, 'I will offer you the best cigar in London.'

And taking the arm of his companion, he led him in silence and at a brisk pace to the door of a quiet establishment in Rupert Street, Soho. The entrance was adorned with one of those gigantic Highlanders of wood which have almost risen to the standing of antiquities; and across the window-gla.s.s, which sheltered the usual display of pipes, tobacco, and cigars, there ran the gilded legend: 'Bohemian Cigar Divan, by T.

G.o.dall.' The interior of the shop was small, but commodious and ornate; the salesman grave, smiling, and urbane; and the two young men, each puffing a select regalia, had soon taken their places on a sofa of mouse-coloured plush and proceeded to exchange their stories.

'I am now,' said Somerset, 'a barrister; but Providence and the attorneys have hitherto denied me the opportunity to s.h.i.+ne. A select society at the Ches.h.i.+re Cheese engaged my evenings; my afternoons, as Mr. G.o.dall could testify, have been generally pa.s.sed in this divan; and my mornings, I have taken the precaution to abbreviate by not rising before twelve.

At this rate, my little patrimony was very rapidly, and I am proud to remember, most agreeably expended. Since then a gentleman, who has really nothing else to recommend him beyond the fact of being my maternal uncle, deals me the small sum of ten s.h.i.+llings a week; and if you behold me once more revisiting the glimpses of the street lamps in my favourite quarter, you will readily divine that I have come into a fortune.'

'I should not have supposed so,' replied Challoner. 'But doubtless I met you on the way to your tailors.'

'It is a visit that I purpose to delay,' returned Somerset, with a smile.

'My fortune has definite limits. It consists, or rather this morning it consisted, of one hundred pounds.'

'That is certainly odd,' said Challoner; 'yes, certainly the coincidence is strange. I am myself reduced to the same margin.'