Dumas, Alexandre – The Black Tulip

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