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Updated: June 11, 2025
The strings by which this was effected he had found means to cover with that moss which generally grows on tiles, or in the crannies of the walls. Gryphus suspected nothing, and the device succeeded for eight days.
In the meantime Boxtel, under the assumed name of Jacob Gisels, had made his way to Loewenstein in pursuit of the bulbs, and had ingratiated himself with Gryphus, offering to marry his daughter. Rosa's tulip had to be guarded from Gisels, who was always spying on her movements.
Outside, in the market-place, the bodies of the De Witts were hanging, and Van Baerle read with horror the inscription, "Here hang that great rascal John de Witt and the little rascal Cornelius de Witt, enemies of their country." Gryphus laughed when the prisoner asked him what it meant, and replied, "That's what happens to those that write secret letters to the enemies of the Prince of Orange."
It was very easy for Cornelius to wait for twelve at midday, as he was already waiting for nine at night. It struck twelve, and there were heard on the staircase not only the steps of Gryphus, but also those of three or four soldiers, who were coming up with him. The door opened. Gryphus entered, led his men in, and shut the door after them. "There, now search!"
And at the bottom, quite in the shade, where the details are absorbed in the obscurity, the mastiff, with his eyes glistening like carbuncles, and shaking his chain, on which the double light from the lamp of Rosa and the lantern of Gryphus threw a brilliant glitter.
"Well, a pigeon is a very dainty morsel, and a man who eats one every day would not starve, I think." "And how about the fire?" said Gryphus. "Fire! but you know that I'm in league with the devil. Do you think the devil will leave me without fire? Why, fire is his proper element." "A man, however healthy his appetite may be, would not eat a pigeon every day.
This song, the placid melancholy of which was still heightened by its calm and sweet melody, exasperated Gryphus. He struck his stick on the stone pavement of the cell, and called out, "Halloa! my warbling gentleman, don't you hear me?" Cornelius turned round, merely saying, "Good morning," and then began his song again:
"For heaven is our home, Our true home, as from thence comes our soul, As thither our soul returns, Our soul, that is to say, our perfume." Gryphus went up to the prisoner and said, "But you don't see that I have taken means to get you under, and to force you to confess your crimes." "Are you mad, my dear Master Gryphus?" asked Cornelius.
But Gryphus, obstinate, like an old man, and more and more convinced that he was discovering here a conspiracy against the Prince of Orange, rushed up to his prisoner, raising his stick; seeing, however, the impassible resolution of the captive to protect his flower-pot he was convinced that Cornelius trembled much less for his head than for his jug.
"'Any jailer, inspector, or turnkey who lays hands upon any prisoner of State will be dismissed." "Yes, who lays hands," said Gryphus, mad with rage, "but there is not a word about a stick in the regulation." "And the second," continued Cornelius, "which is not written in the regulation, but which is to be found elsewhere: "'Whosoever takes up the stick will be thrashed by the stick."
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