Dumas, Alexandre – The Black Tulip

“Then follow me.”

“Oh! oh!” said Cornelius, whose heart felt oppressed by the

first dread of death. “What quick work they make here in the

fortress of Loewestein. And the rascal talked to me of

twelve hours!”

“Ah! what did I tell you?” whispered the communicative guard

in the ear of the culprit.

“A lie.”

“How so?”

“You promised me twelve hours.”

“Ah, yes, but here comes to you an aide-de-camp of his

Highness, even one of his most intimate companions Van

Deken. Zounds! they did not grant such an honour to poor

Mathias.”

“Come, come!” said Cornelius, drawing a long breath. “Come,

I’ll show to these people that an honest burgher, godson of

Cornelius de Witt, can without flinching receive as many

musket-balls as that Mathias.”

Saying this, he passed proudly before the clerk, who, being

interrupted in his work, ventured to say to the officer, —

“But, Captain van Deken, the protocol is not yet finished.”

“It is not worth while finishing it,” answered the officer.

“All right,” replied the clerk, philosophically putting up

his paper and pen into a greasy and well-worn writing-case.

“It was written,” thought poor Cornelius, “that I should not

in this world give my name either to a child to a flower, or

to a book, — the three things by which a man’s memory is

perpetuated.”

Repressing his melancholy thoughts, he followed the officer

with a resolute heart, and carrying his head erect.

Cornelius counted the steps which led to the Esplanade,

regretting that he had not asked the guard how many there

were of them, which the man, in his official complaisance,

would not have failed to tell him.

What the poor prisoner was most afraid of during this walk,

which he considered as leading him to the end of the journey

of life, was to see Gryphus and not to see Rosa. What savage

satisfaction would glisten in the eyes of the father, and

what sorrow dim those of the daughter!

How Gryphus would glory in his punishment! Punishment?

Rather savage vengeance for an eminently righteous deed,

which Cornelius had the satisfaction of having performed as

a bounden duty.

But Rosa, poor girl! must he die without a glimpse of her,

without an opportunity to give her one last kiss, or even to

say one last word of farewell?

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Dumas, Alexandre – The Black Tulip

And, worst of all, must he die without any intelligence of

the black tulip, and regain his consciousness in heaven with

no idea in what direction he should look to find it?

In truth, to restrain his tears at such a crisis the poor

wretch’s heart must have been encased in more of the aes

triplex — “the triple brass” — than Horace bestows upon

the sailor who first visited the terrifying Acroceraunian

shoals.

In vain did Cornelius look to the right and to the left; he

saw no sign either of Rosa or Gryphus.

On reaching the Esplanade, he bravely looked about for the

guards who were to be his executioners, and in reality saw a

dozen soldiers assembled. But they were not standing in

line, or carrying muskets, but talking together so gayly

that Cornelius felt almost shocked.

All at once, Gryphus, limping, staggering, and supporting

himself on a crooked stick, came forth from the jailer’s

lodge; his old eyes, gray as those of a cat, were lit up by

a gleam in which all his hatred was concentrated. He then

began to pour forth such a torrent of disgusting

imprecations against Cornelius, that the latter, addressing

the officer, said, —

“I do not think it very becoming sir, that I should be thus

insulted by this man, especially at a moment like this.”

“Well! hear me,” said the officer, laughing, “it is quite

natural that this worthy fellow should bear you a grudge, —

you seem to have given it him very soundly.”

“But, sir, it was only in self-defence.”

“Never mind,” said the Captain, shrugging his shoulders like

a true philosopher, “let him talk; what does it matter to

you now?”

The cold sweat stood on the brow of Cornelius at this

answer, which he looked upon somewhat in the light of brutal