Чорний тюльпан
The First Bulb
“Youmayhaveasmanytulipsasyoulike:Ihavethreehundredoftheminmyloft.”
“Tothedevilwithyourtulips!”criedCornelius;“youareworthyofeachother:hadIahundredthousandmillionsofthem,Iwouldgladlygivethemfortheonewhichyouhavejustdestroyed.”
“Oh,so!”Gryphussaid,inatoneoftriumph;“nowtherewehaveit.Itwasnotyourtulipyoucaredfor.Therewasinthatfalsebulbsomewitchcraft,perhapssomemeansofcorrespondencewithconspiratorsagainsthisHighnesswhohasgrantedyouyourlife.Ialwayssaidtheywerewronginnotcuttingyourheadoff.”
“Father,father!”criedRosa.
“Yes,yes!itisbetterasitisnow,”repeatedGryphus,growingwarm;“Ihavedestroyedit,andI’lldothesameagain,asoftenasyourepeatthetrick.Didn’tItellyou,myfinefellow,thatIwouldmakeyourlifeahardone?”
“Acurseonyou!”Corneliusexclaimed,quitebeyondhimselfwithdespair,ashegathered,withhistremblingfingers,theremnantsofthatbulbonwhichhehadrestedsomanyjoysandsomanyhopes.
“Weshallplanttheotherto-morrow,mydearMynheerCornelius,”saidRosa,inalowvoice,whounderstoodtheintensegriefoftheunfortunatetulip-fancier,andwho,withthepuresacredloveofherinnocentheart,pouredthesekindwords,likeadropofbalm,onthebleedingwoundsofCornelius.
