Чорний тюльпан
Cornelius van Baerle’s Will
Don’tinterruptme,Rosadear,Ihaveonlyafewminutesmore.”
Thepoorgirlwasnearlychokingwithhersobs.
Corneliustookherbythehand.
“Listentome,”hecontinued:“I’lltellyouhowtomanageit.GotoDortandaskButruysheim,mygardener,forsoilfrommybordernumbersix,filladeepboxwithit,andplantinitthesethreebulbs.TheywillflowernextMay,thatistosay,insevenmonths;and,whenyouseetheflowerformingonthestem,becarefulatnighttoprotectthemfromthewind,andbydaytoscreenthemfromthesun.Theywillflowerblack,Iamquitesureofit.YouarethentoapprisethePresidentoftheHaarlemSociety.Hewillcausethecoloroftheflowertobeprovedbeforeacommitteeandthesehundredthousandguilderswillbepaidtoyou.”
Rosaheavedadeepsigh.
“Andnow,”continuedCornelius,—wipingawayatearwhichwasglisteninginhiseye,andwhichwasshedmuchmoreforthatmarvellousblacktulipwhichhewasnottoseethanforthelifewhichhewasabouttolose,—“Ihavenowishleft,exceptthatthetulipshouldbecalledRosaBarlœnsis,thatistosay,thatitsnameshouldcombineyoursandmine;andas,ofcourse,youdonotunderstandLatin,andmightthereforeforgetthisname,trytogetformepencilandpaper,thatImaywriteitdownforyou.”
Rosasobbedafresh,andhandedtohimabook,boundinshagreen,whichboretheinitialsC.W.
“Whatisthis?”askedtheprisoner.
“Alas!”repliedRosa,“itistheBibleofyourpoorgodfather,CorneliusdeWitt.
