Черный тюльпан
The Hymn of the Flowers
Idon’tsayitbeforealltheworld,becausetheymightburnmeforit,butaswearealone,Idon’tmindtellingyou.”
“Well,well,well,”answeredGryphus.“Butifasorcerercanchangeblackbreadintowhite,won’thedieofhungerifhehasnobreadatall?”
“What’sthat?”saidCornelius.
“Consequently,Ishallnotbringyouanybreadatall,andweshallseehowitwillbeaftereightdays.”
Corneliusgrewpale.
“And,”continuedGryphus,“we’llbeginthisveryday.Asyouaresuchacleversorcerer,why,youhadbetterchangethefurnitureofyourroomintobread;astomyself,Ishallpockettheeighteensouswhicharepaidtomeforyourboard.”
“Butthat’smurder,”criedCornelius,carriedawaybythefirstimpulseoftheverynaturalterrorwithwhichthishorriblemodeofdeathinspiredhim.
“Well,”Gryphuswenton,inhisjeeringway,“asyouareasorcerer,youwilllive,notwithstanding.”
Corneliusputonasmilingfaceagain,andsaid,—
“HaveyounotseenmemakethepigeonscomeherefromDort?”
“Well?”saidGryphus.
“Well,apigeonisaverydaintymorsel,andamanwhoeatsoneeverydaywouldnotstarve,Ithink.”
“Andhowaboutthefire?”saidGryphus.
“Fire!butyouknowthatI’minleaguewiththedevil.Doyouthinkthedevilwillleavemewithoutfire?Why,fireishisproperelement.”
“Aman,howeverhealthyhisappetitemaybe,wouldnoteatapigeoneveryday.Wagershavebeenlaidtodoso,andthosewhomadethemgavethemup
