Dumas, Alexandre – The Black Tulip

“Ah, yes, tulip,” replied the old man, “we know well the

shifts of prisoners.”

“But I vow to you —- ”

“Let go,” repeated Gryphus, stamping his foot, “let go, or I

shall call the guard.”

“Call whoever you like, but you shall not have this flower

except with my life.”

Gryphus, exasperated, plunged his finger a second time into

the soil, and now he drew out the bulb, which certainly

looked quite black; and whilst Van Baerle, quite happy to

have saved the vessel, did not suspect that the adversary

had possessed himself of its precious contents, Gryphus

hurled the softened bulb with all his force on the flags,

where almost immediately after it was crushed to atoms under

his heavy shoe.

Van Baerle saw the work of destruction, got a glimpse of the

juicy remains of his darling bulb, and, guessing the cause

of the ferocious joy of Gryphus, uttered a cry of agony,

which would have melted the heart even of that ruthless

jailer who some years before killed Pelisson’s spider.

The idea of striking down this spiteful bully passed like

lightning through the brain of the tulip-fancier. The blood

rushed to his brow, and seemed like fire in his eyes, which

blinded him, and he raised in his two hands the heavy jug

with all the now useless earth which remained in it. One

instant more, and he would have flung it on the bald head of

old Gryphus.

But a cry stopped him; a cry of agony, uttered by poor Rosa,

who, trembling and pale, with her arms raised to heaven,

made her appearance behind the grated window, and thus

interposed between her father and her friend.

Gryphus then understood the danger with which he had been

threatened, and he broke out in a volley of the most

terrible abuse.

“Indeed,” said Cornelius to him, “you must be a very mean

and spiteful fellow to rob a poor prisoner of his only

consolation, a tulip bulb.”

“For shame, my father,” Rosa chimed in, “it is indeed a

crime you have committed here.”

“Ah, is that you, my little chatter-box?” the old man cried,

boiling with rage and turning towards her; “don’t you meddle

with what don’t concern you, but go down as quickly as

possible.”

“Unfortunate me,” continued Cornelius, overwhelmed with

grief.

“After all, it is but a tulip,” Gryphus resumed, as he began

to be a little ashamed of himself. “You may have as many

Page 99

Dumas, Alexandre – The Black Tulip

tulips as you like: I have three hundred of them in my

loft.”

“To the devil with your tulips!” cried Cornelius; “you are

worthy of each other: had I a hundred thousand millions of

them, I would gladly give them for the one which you have

just destroyed.”

“Oh, so!” Gryphus said, in a tone of triumph; “now there we

have it. It was not your tulip you cared for. There was in

that false bulb some witchcraft, perhaps some means of

correspondence with conspirators against his Highness who

has granted you your life. I always said they were wrong in

not cutting your head off.”

“Father, father!” cried Rosa.

“Yes, yes! it is better as it is now,” repeated Gryphus,

growing warm; “I have destroyed it, and I’ll do the same

again, as often as you repeat the trick. Didn’t I tell you,

my fine fellow, that I would make your life a hard one?”

“A curse on you!” Cornelius exclaimed, quite beyond himself

with despair, as he gathered, with his trembling fingers,

the remnants of that bulb on which he had rested so many

joys and so many hopes.

“We shall plant the other to-morrow, my dear Mynheer

Cornelius,” said Rosa, in a low voice, who understood the

intense grief of the unfortunate tulip-fancier, and who,

with the pure sacred love of her innocent heart, poured

these kind words, like a drop of balm, on the bleeding

wounds of Cornelius.

Chapter 18

Rosa’s Lover

Rosa had scarcely pronounced these consolatory words when a

voice was heard from the staircase asking Gryphus how

matters were going on.

“Do you hear, father?” said Rosa.

“What?”

“Master Jacob calls you, he is uneasy.”