Черный тюльпан

The Hymn of the Flowers

           

           Heheldinhishandahugestick,hiseyesglisteningwithspitefulthoughts,amalignantsmileplayedroundhislips,andthewholeofhiscarriage,andevenallhismovements,betokenedbadandmaliciousintentions.

           Corneliusheardhimenter,andguessedthatitwashe,butdidnotturnround,asheknewwellthatRosawasnotcomingafterhim.

           Thereisnothingmoregallingtoangrypeoplethanthecoolnessofthoseonwhomtheywishtoventtheirspleen.

           Theexpensebeingonceincurred,onedoesnotliketoloseit;one’spassionisroused,andone’sbloodboiling,soitwouldbelabourlostnottohaveatleastanicelittlerow.

           Gryphus,therefore,onseeingthatCorneliusdidnotstir,triedtoattracthisattentionbyaloud

           “Umph,umph!”

           Corneliuswashummingbetweenhisteeththe“HymnofFlowers,”asadbutverycharmingsong,

           “WearethedaughtersofthesecretfireOfthefirewhichrunsthroughtheveinsoftheearth;WearethedaughtersofAuroraandofthedew;Wearethedaughtersoftheair;Wearethedaughtersofthewater;Butweare,aboveall,thedaughtersofheaven.”

           Thissong,theplacidmelancholyofwhichwasstillheightenedbyitscalmandsweetmelody,exasperatedGryphus.

           Hestruckhisstickonthestonepavementofthecell,andcalledout,

           “Halloa!mywarblinggentleman,don’tyouhearme?”

           Corneliusturnedround,merelysaying,“Goodmorning,”andthenbeganhissongagain:

           “Mendefileusandkilluswhilelovingus,Wehangtotheearthbyathread;Thisthreadisourroot,thatistosay,ourlife,Butweraiseonhighourarmstowardsheaven.

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