The Black Tulip by Alexandre Dumas (i like reading books txt) 📕

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?

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 irony, especially as coming from an officer of whom he had heard it said that he was attached to the person of the Prince.

The unfortunate tulip-fancier then felt that he had no more resources, and no more friends, and resigned himself to his fate.

“God’s will be done,” he muttered, bowing his head; then, turning towards the officer, who seemed complacently to wait until he had finished his meditations he asked⁠—

“Please, sir, tell me now, where am I to go?”

The officer pointed to a carriage, drawn by four horses, which reminded him very strongly of that which, under similar circumstances, had before attracted his attention at Buytenhof.

“Enter,” said the officer.

“Ah!” muttered Cornelius to himself, “it seems they are not going to treat me to the honours of the Esplanade.”

He uttered these words loud enough for the chatty guard, who was at his heels, to overhear him.

That kind soul very likely thought it his duty to give Cornelius some new information; for, approaching the door of the carriage, whilst the officer, with one foot on the step, was still giving some orders, he whispered to Van Baerle⁠—

“Condemned prisoners have sometimes been taken to their own town to be made an example of, and have then been executed before the door of their own house. It’s all according to circumstances.”

Cornelius thanked him by signs, and then said to himself⁠—

“Well, here is a fellow who never misses giving consolation whenever an opportunity presents itself. In truth, my friend, I’m very much obliged to you. Goodbye.”

The carriage drove away.

“Ah! you villain, you brigand,” roared Gryphus, clinching his fists at the victim who was escaping from his clutches, “is it not a shame that this fellow gets off without having restored my daughter to me?”

“If they take me to Dort,” thought Cornelius, “I shall see, in passing my house, whether my poor borders have been much spoiled.”

XXX Wherein the Reader Begins to Guess the Kind of Execution That Was Awaiting Van Baerle

The carriage rolled on during the whole day; it passed on the right of Dort, went through Rotterdam, and reached Delft. At five o’clock in the evening, at least twenty leagues had been travelled.

Cornelius addressed some questions to the officer, who was at the same time his guard and his companion; but, cautious as were his inquiries, he had the disappointment of receiving no answer.

Cornelius regretted that he had no longer by his side the chatty soldier, who would talk without being questioned.

That obliging person would undoubtedly have given him as pleasant details and exact explanations concerning