surely kill myself, I should be picked up maimed and
crippled; I should be labelled, and put on exhibition in the
museum at the Hague between the blood-stained doublet of
William the Taciturn and the female walrus captured at
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Stavesen, and the only result of my enterprise will have
been to procure me a place among the curiosities of Holland.
“But no; and it is much better so. Some fine day Gryphus
will commit some atrocity. I am losing my patience, since I
have lost the joy and company of Rosa, and especially since
I have lost my tulip. Undoubtedly, some day or other Gryphus
will attack me in a manner painful to my self-respect, or to
my love, or even threaten my personal safety. I don’t know
how it is, but since my imprisonment I feel a strange and
almost irresistible pugnacity. Well, I shall get at the
throat of that old villain, and strangle him.”
Cornelius at these words stopped for a moment, biting his
lips and staring out before him; then, eagerly returning to
an idea which seemed to possess a strange fascination for
him, he continued, —
“Well, and once having strangled him, why should I not take
his keys from him, why not go down the stairs as if I had
done the most virtuous action, why not go and fetch Rosa
from her room, why not tell her all, and jump from her
window into the Waal? I am expert enough as a swimmer to
save both of us. Rosa, — but, oh Heaven, Gryphus is her
father! Whatever may be her affection for me, she will never
approve of my having strangled her father, brutal and
malicious as he has been.
“I shall have to enter into an argument with her; and in the
midst of my speech some wretched turnkey who has found
Gryphus with the death-rattle in his throat, or perhaps
actually dead, will come along and put his hand on my
shoulder. Then I shall see the Buytenhof again, and the
gleam of that infernal sword, — which will not stop
half-way a second time, but will make acquaintance with the
nape of my neck.
“It will not do, Cornelius, my fine fellow, — it is a bad
plan. But, then, what is to become of me, and how shall I
find Rosa again?”
Such were the cogitations of Cornelius three days after the
sad scene of separation from Rosa, at the moment when we
find him standing at the window.
And at that very moment Gryphus entered.
He held in his hand a huge stick, his eyes glistening with
spiteful thoughts, a malignant smile played round his lips,
and the whole of his carriage, and even all his movements,
betokened bad and malicious intentions.
Cornelius heard him enter, and guessed that it was he, but
did not turn round, as he knew well that Rosa was not coming
after him.
There is nothing more galling to angry people than the
coolness of those on whom they wish to vent their spleen.
The expense being once incurred, one does not like to lose
it; one’s passion is roused, and one’s blood boiling, so it
would be labour lost not to have at least a nice little row.
Gryphus, therefore, on seeing that Cornelius did not stir,
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tried to attract his attention by a loud —
“Umph, umph!”
Cornelius was humming between his teeth the “Hymn of
Flowers,” — a sad but very charming song, —
“We are the daughters of the secret fire
Of the fire which runs through the veins of the earth;
We are the daughters of Aurora and of the dew;
We are the daughters of the air;
We are the daughters of the water;
But we are, above all, the daughters of heaven.”
This song, the placid melancholy of which was still
heightened by its calm and sweet melody, exasperated Gryphus.
He struck his stick on the stone pavement of the cell,
and called out, —
“Halloa! my warbling gentleman, don’t you hear me?”
Cornelius turned round, merely saying, “Good morning,” and