Chapter 1 A Grateful People
    On the 20th of August, 1672, the city of the Hague, alwaysso lively, so neat, and so trim that one might believe everyday to be Sunday, with its shady park, with its tall trees,spreading over its Gothic houses, with its canals like largemirrors, in which its steeples and its almost Easterncupolas are reflected, -- the city of the Hague, the capitalof the Seven United Provinces, was swelling in all itsarteries with a black and red stream of hurried, panting,and restless citizens, who, with their knives in theirgirdles, muskets on their shoulders, or sticks in theirhands, were pushing on to the Buytenhof, a terrible prison,the grated windows of which are still shown, where, on thecharge of attempted murder preferred against him by thesurgeon Tyckelaer, Cornelius de Witt, the brother of theGrand Pensionary of Holland was confined.
　　If the history of that time, and especially that of the yearin the middle of which our narrative commences, were notindissolubly connected with the two names just mentioned,the few explanatory pages which we are about to add mightappear quite supererogatory; but we will, from the veryfirst, apprise the reader -- our old friend, to whom we arewont on the first page to promise amusement, and with whomwe always try to keep our word as well as is in our power --that this explanation is as indispensable to the rightunderstanding of our story as to that of the great eventitself on which it is based.
　　Cornelius de Witt, Ruart de Pulten, that is to say, wardenof the dikes, ex-burgomaster of Dort, his native town, andmember of the Assembly of the States of Holland, wasforty-nine years of age, when the Dutch people, tired of theRepublic such as John de Witt, the Grand Pensionary ofHolland, understood it, at once conceived a most violentaffection for the Stadtholderate, which had been abolishedfor ever in Holland by the "Perpetual Edict" forced by Johnde Witt upon the United Provinces.
　　As it rarely happens that public opinion, in its whimsicalflights, does not identify a principle with a man, thus thepeople saw the personification of the Republic in the twostern figures of the brothers De Witt, those Romans ofHolland, spurning to pander to the fancies of the mob, andwedding themselves with unbending fidelity to libertywithout licentiousness, and prosperity without the waste ofsuperfluity; on the other hand, the Stadtholderate recalledto the popular mind the grave and thoughtful image of theyoung Prince William of Orange.
　　The brothers De Witt humoured Louis XIV., whose moralinfluence was felt by the whole of Europe, and the pressureof whose material power Holland had been made to feel inthat marvellous campaign on the Rhine, which, in the spaceof three months, had laid the power of the United Provincesprostrate.
　　Louis XIV. had long been the enemy of the Dutch, whoinsulted or ridiculed him to their hearts' content, althoughit must be said that they generally used French refugees forthe mouthpiece of their spite. Their national pride held himup as the Mithridates of the Republic. The brothers De Witt,therefore, had to strive against a double difficulty, --against the force of national antipathy, and, besides,against the feeling of weariness which is natural to allvanquished people, when they hope that a new chief will beable to save them from ruin and shame.
　　This new chief, quite ready to appear on the politicalstage, and to measure himself against Louis XIV., howevergigantic the fortunes of the Grand Monarch loomed in thefuture, was William, Prince of Orange, son of William II.,and grandson, by his mother Henrietta Stuart, of Charles I.
　　of England. We have mentioned him before as the person bywhom the people expected to see the office of Stadtholderrestored.
　　This young man was, in 1672, twenty-two years of age. Johnde Witt, who was his tutor, had brought him up with the viewof making him a good citizen. Loving his country better thanhe did his disciple, the master had, by the Perpetual Edict,extinguished the hope which the young Prince might haveentertained of one day becoming Stadtholder. But God laughsat the presumption of man, who wants to raise and prostratethe powers on earth without consulting the King above; andthe fickleness and caprice of the Dutch combined with theterror inspired by Louis XIV., in repealing the PerpetualEdict, and re-establishing the office of Stadtholder infavour of William of Orange, for whom the hand of Providencehad traced out ulterior destinies on the hidden map of thefuture.
　　The Grand Pensionary bowed before the will of his fellowcitizens; Cornelius de Witt, however, was more obstinate,and notwithstanding all the threats of death from theOrangist rabble, who besieged him in his house at Dort, hestoutly refused to sign the act by which the office ofStadtholder was restored. Moved by the tears and entreatiesof his wife, he at last complied, only adding to hissignature the two letters V. C. (Vi Coactus), notifyingthereby that he only yielded to force.
　　It was a real miracle that on that day he escaped from thedoom intended for him.
　　John de Witt derived no advantage from his ready compliancewith the wishes of his fellow citizens. Only a few daysafter, an attempt was made to stab him, in which he wasseverely although not mortally wounded.
　　This by no means suited the views of the Orange faction. Thelife of the two brothers being a constant obstacle to theirplans, they changed their tactics, and tried to obtain bycalumny what they had not been able to effect by the aid ofthe poniard.
　　How rarely does it happen that, in the right moment, a greatman is found to head the execution of vast and nobledesigns; and for that reason, when such a providentialconcurrence of circumstances does occur, history is promptto record the name of the chosen one, and to hold him up tothe admiration of posterity. But when Satan interposes inhuman affairs to cast a shadow upon some happy existence, orto overthrow a kingdom, it seldom happens that he does notfind at his side some miserable tool, in whose ear he hasbut to whisper a word to set him at once about his task.
　　The wretched tool who was at hand to be the agent of thisdastardly plot was one Tyckelaer whom we have alreadymentioned, a surgeon by profession.
　　He lodged an information against Cornelius de Witt, settingforth that the warden -- who, as he had shown by the lettersadded to his signature, was fuming at the repeal of thePerpetual Edict -- had, from hatred against William ofOrange, hired an assassin to deliver the new Republic of itsnew Stadtholder; and he, Tyckelaer was the person thuschosen; but that, horrified at the bare idea of the actwhich he was asked to perpetrate, he had preferred rather toreveal the crime than to commit it.
　　This disclosure was, indeed, well calculated to call forth afurious outbreak among the Orange faction. The AttorneyGeneral caused, on the 16th of August, 1672, Cornelius deWitt to be arrested; and the noble brother of John de Witthad, like the vilest criminal, to undergo, in one of theapartments of the town prison, the preparatory degrees oftorture, by means of which his judges expected to force fromhim the confession of his alleged plot against William ofOrange.
　　But Cornelius was not only possessed of a great mind, butalso of a great heart. He belonged to that race of martyrswho, indissolubly wedded to their political convictions astheir ancestors were to their faith, are able to smile onpain: while being stretched on the rack, he recited with afirm voice, and scanning the lines according to measure, thefirst strophe of the "Justum ac tenacem" of Horace, and,making no confession, tired not only the strength, but eventhe fanaticism, of his executioners.
　　The judges, notwithstanding, acquitted Tyckelaer from everycharge; at the same time sentencing Cornelius to be deposedfrom all his offices and dignities; to pay all the costs ofthe trial; and to be banished from the soil of the Republicfor ever.
　　This judgment against not only an innocent, but also a greatman, was indeed some gratification to the passions of thepeople, to whose interests Cornelius de Witt had alwaysdevoted himself: but, as we shall soon see, it was notenough.
　　The Athenians, who indeed have left behind them a prettytolerable reputation for ingratitude, have in this respectto yield precedence to the Dutch. They, at least in the caseof Aristides, contented themselves with banishing him.
　　John de Witt, at the first intimation of the charge broughtagainst his brother, had resigned his office of GrandPensionary. He too received a noble recompense for hisdevotedness to the best interests of his country, takingwith him into the retirement of private life the hatred of ahost of enemies, and the fresh scars of wounds inflicted byassassins, only too often the sole guerdon obtained byhonest people, who are guilty of having worked for theircountry, and of having forgotten their own privateinterests.
　　In the meanwhile William of Orange urged on the course ofevents by every means in his power, eagerly waiting for thetime when the people, by whom he was idolised, should havemade of the bodies of the brothers the two steps over whichhe might ascend to the chair of Stadtholder.
　　Thus, then, on the 20th of August, 1672, as we have alreadystated in the beginning of this chapter, the whole town wascrowding towards the Buytenhof, to witness the departure ofCornelius de Witt from prison, as he was going to exile; andto see what traces the torture of the rack had left on thenoble frame of the man who knew his Horace so well.
　　Yet all this multitude was not crowding to the Buytenhofwith the innocent view of merely feasting their eyes withthe spectacle; there were many who went there to play anactive part in it, and to take upon themselves an officewhich they conceived had been badly filled, -- that of theexecutioner.
　　There were, indeed, others with less hostile intentions. Allthat they cared for was the spectacle, always so attractiveto the mob, whose instinctive pride is flattered by it, --the sight of greatness hurled down into the dust.
　　"Has not," they would say, "this Cornelius de Witt beenlocked up and broken by the rack? Shall we not see him pale,streaming with blood, covered with shame?" And was not thisa sweet triumph for the burghers of the Hague, whose envyeven beat that of the common rabble; a triumph in whichevery honest citizen and townsman might be expected toshare?
　　"Moreover," hinted the Orange agitators interspersed throughthe crowd, whom they hoped to manage like a sharp-edged andat the same time crushing instrument, -- "moreover, willthere not, from the Buytenhof to the gate of the town, anice little opportunity present itself to throw somehandfuls of dirt, or a few stones, at this Cornelius deWitt, who not only conferred the dignity of Stadtholder onthe Prince of Orange merely vi coactus, but who alsointended to have him assassinated?""Besides which," the fierce enemies of France chimed in, "ifthe work were done well and bravely at the Hague, Corneliuswould certainly not be allowed to go into exile, where hewill renew his intrigues with France, and live with his bigscoundrel of a brother, John, on the gold of the Marquis deLouvois."Being in such a temper, people generally will run ratherthan walk; which was the reason why the inhabitants of theHague were hurrying so fast towards the Buytenhof.
　　Honest Tyckelaer, with a heart full of spite and malice, andwith no particular plan settled in his mind, was one of theforemost, being paraded about by the Orange party like ahero of probity, national honour, and Christian charity.
　　This daring miscreant detailed, with all the embellishmentsand flourishes suggested by his base mind and his ruffianlyimagination, the attempts which he pretended Cornelius deWitt had made to corrupt him; the sums of money which werepromised, and all the diabolical stratagems plannedbeforehand to smooth for him, Tyckelaer, all thedifficulties in the path of murder.
　　And every phase of his speech, eagerly listened to by thepopulace, called forth enthusiastic cheers for the Prince ofOrange, and groans and imprecations of blind fury againstthe brothers De Witt.
　　The mob even began to vent its rage by inveighing againstthe iniquitous judges, who had allowed such a detestablecriminal as the villain Cornelius to get off so cheaply.
　　Some of the agitators whispered, "He will be off, he willescape from us!"Others replied, "A vessel is waiting for him at Schevening,a French craft. Tyckelaer has seen her.""Honest Tyckelaer! Hurrah for Tyckelaer!" the mob cried inchorus.
　　"And let us not forget," a voice exclaimed from the crowd,"that at the same time with Cornelius his brother John, whois as rascally a traitor as himself, will likewise make hisescape.""And the two rogues will in France make merry with ourmoney, with the money for our vessels, our arsenals, and ourdockyards, which they have sold to Louis XIV.""Well, then, don't let us allow them to depart!" advised oneof the patriots who had gained the start of the others.
　　"Forward to the prison, to the prison!" echoed the crowd.
　　Amid these cries, the citizens ran along faster and faster,cocking their muskets, brandishing their hatchets, andlooking death and defiance in all directions.
　　No violence, however, had as yet been committed; and thefile of horsemen who were guarding the approaches of theBuytenhof remained cool, unmoved, silent, much morethreatening in their impassibility than all this crowd ofburghers, with their cries, their agitation, and theirthreats. The men on their horses, indeed, stood like so manystatues, under the eye of their chief, Count Tilly, thecaptain of the mounted troops of the Hague, who had hissword drawn, but held it with its point downwards, in a linewith the straps of his stirrup.
　　This troop, the only defence of the prison, overawed by itsfirm attitude not only the disorderly riotous mass of thepopulace, but also the detachment of the burgher guard,which, being placed opposite the Buytenhof to support thesoldiers in keeping order, gave to the rioters the exampleof seditious cries, shouting, --"Hurrah for Orange! Down with the traitors!"The presence of Tilly and his horsemen, indeed, exercised asalutary check on these civic warriors; but by degrees theywaxed more and more angry by their own shouts, and as theywere not able to understand how any one could have couragewithout showing it by cries, they attributed the silence ofthe dragoons to pusillanimity, and advanced one step towardsthe prison, with all the turbulent mob following in theirwake.
　　In this moment, Count Tilly rode forth towards themsingle-handed, merely lifting his sword and contracting hisbrow whilst he addressed them: --"Well, gentlemen of the burgher guard, what are youadvancing for, and what do you wish?"The burghers shook their muskets, repeating their cry, --"Hurrah for Orange! Death to the traitors!""'Hurrah for Orange!' all well and good!" replied Tilly,"although I certainly am more partial to happy faces than togloomy ones. 'Death to the traitors!' as much of it as youlike, as long as you show your wishes only by cries. But, asto putting them to death in good earnest, I am here toprevent that, and I shall prevent it."Then, turning round to his men, he gave the word of command,--"Soldiers, ready!"The troopers obeyed orders with a precision whichimmediately caused the burgher guard and the people to fallback, in a degree of confusion which excited the smile ofthe cavalry officer.
　　"Holloa!" he exclaimed, with that bantering tone which ispeculiar to men of his profession; "be easy, gentlemen, mysoldiers will not fire a shot; but, on the other hand, youwill not advance by one step towards the prison.""And do you know, sir, that we have muskets?" roared thecommandant of the burghers.
　　"I must know it, by Jove, you have made them glitter enoughbefore my eyes; but I beg you to observe also that we on ourside have pistols, that the pistol carries admirably to adistance of fifty yards, and that you are only twenty-fivefrom us.""Death to the traitors!" cried the exasperated burghers.
　　"Go along with you," growled the officer, "you always crythe same thing over again. It is very tiresome."With this, he took his post at the head of his troops,whilst the tumult grew fiercer and fiercer about theBuytenhof.
　　And yet the fuming crowd did not know that, at that verymoment when they were tracking the scent of one of theirvictims, the other, as if hurrying to meet his fate, passed,at a distance of not more than a hundred yards, behind thegroups of people and the dragoons, to betake himself to theBuytenhof.
　　John de Witt, indeed, had alighted from his coach with hisservant, and quietly walked across the courtyard of theprison.
　　Mentioning his name to the turnkey, who however knew him, hesaid, --"Good morning, Gryphus; I am coming to take away my brother,who, as you know, is condemned to exile, and to carry himout of the town."Whereupon the jailer, a sort of bear, trained to lock andunlock the gates of the prison, had greeted him and admittedhim into the building, the doors of which were immediatelyclosed again.
　　Ten yards farther on, John de Witt met a lovely young girl,of about seventeen or eighteen, dressed in the nationalcostume of the Frisian women, who, with pretty demureness,dropped a curtesy to him. Chucking her under the chin, hesaid to her, --"Good morning, my good and fair Rosa; how is my brother?""Oh, Mynheer John!" the young girl replied, "I am not afraidof the harm which has been done to him. That's all overnow.""But what is it you are afraid of?""I am afraid of the harm which they are going to do to him.""Oh, yes," said De Witt, "you mean to speak of the peopledown below, don't you?""Do you hear them?""They are indeed in a state of great excitement; but whenthey see us perhaps they will grow calmer, as we have neverdone them anything but good.""That's unfortunately no reason, except for the contrary,"muttered the girl, as, on an imperative sign from herfather, she withdrew.
　　"Indeed, child, what you say is only too true."Then, in pursuing his way, he said to himself, --"Here is a damsel who very likely does not know how to read,who consequently has never read anything, and yet with oneword she has just told the whole history of the world."And with the same calm mien, but more melancholy than he hadbeen on entering the prison, the Grand Pensionary proceededtowards the cell of his brother.
Chapter 2 The Two Brothers
    As the fair Rosa, with foreboding doubt, had foretold, so ithappened. Whilst John de Witt was climbing the narrowwinding stairs which led to the prison of his brotherCornelius, the burghers did their best to have the troop ofTilly, which was in their way, removed.
　　Seeing this disposition, King Mob, who fully appreciated thelaudable intentions of his own beloved militia, shouted mostlustily, --"Hurrah for the burghers!"As to Count Tilly, who was as prudent as he was firm, hebegan to parley with the burghers, under the protection ofthe cocked pistols of his dragoons, explaining to thevaliant townsmen, that his order from the States commandedhim to guard the prison and its approaches with threecompanies.
　　"Wherefore such an order? Why guard the prison?" cried theOrangists.
　　"Stop," replied the Count, "there you at once ask me morethan I can tell you. I was told, 'Guard the prison,' and Iguard it. You, gentlemen, who are almost military menyourselves, you are aware that an order must never begainsaid.""But this order has been given to you that the traitors maybe enabled to leave the town.""Very possibly, as the traitors are condemned to exile,"replied Tilly.
　　"But who has given this order?""The States, to be sure!""The States are traitors.""I don't know anything about that!""And you are a traitor yourself!""I?""Yes, you.""Well, as to that, let us understand each other gentlemen.
　　Whom should I betray? The States? Why, I cannot betray them,whilst, being in their pay, I faithfully obey their orders."As the Count was so indisputably in the right that it wasimpossible to argue against him, the mob answered only byredoubled clamour and horrible threats, to which the Countopposed the most perfect urbanity.
　　"Gentlemen," he said, "uncock your muskets, one of them maygo off by accident; and if the shot chanced to wound one ofmy men, we should knock over a couple of hundreds of yours,for which we should, indeed, be very sorry, but you evenmore so; especially as such a thing is neither contemplatedby you nor by myself.""If you did that," cried the burghers, "we should have a popat you, too.""Of course you would; but suppose you killed every man Jackof us, those whom we should have killed would not, for allthat, be less dead.""Then leave the place to us, and you will perform the partof a good citizen.""First of all," said the Count, "I am not a citizen, but anofficer, which is a very different thing; and secondly, I amnot a Hollander, but a Frenchman, which is more differentstill. I have to do with no one but the States, by whom I ampaid; let me see an order from them to leave the place toyou, and I shall only be too glad to wheel off in aninstant, as I am confoundedly bored here.""Yes, yes!" cried a hundred voices; the din of which wasimmediately swelled by five hundred others; "let us march tothe Town-hall; let us go and see the deputies! Come along!
　　come along!""That's it," Tilly muttered between his teeth, as he saw themost violent among the crowd turning away; "go and ask for ameanness at the Town-hall, and you will see whether theywill grant it; go, my fine fellows, go!"The worthy officer relied on the honour of the magistrates,who, on their side, relied on his honour as a soldier.
　　"I say, Captain," the first lieutenant whispered into theear of the Count, "I hope the deputies will give thesemadmen a flat refusal; but, after all, it would do no harmif they would send us some reinforcement."In the meanwhile, John de Witt, whom we left climbing thestairs, after the conversation with the jailer Gryphus andhis daughter Rosa, had reached the door of the cell, whereon a mattress his brother Cornelius was resting, afterhaving undergone the preparatory degrees of the torture. Thesentence of banishment having been pronounced, there was nooccasion for inflicting the torture extraordinary.
　　Cornelius was stretched on his couch, with broken wrists andcrushed fingers. He had not confessed a crime of which hewas not guilty; and now, after three days of agony, he oncemore breathed freely, on being informed that the judges,from whom he had expected death, were only condemning him toexile.
　　Endowed with an iron frame and a stout heart, how would hehave disappointed his enemies if they could only have seen,in the dark cell of the Buytenhof, his pale face lit up bythe smile of the martyr, who forgets the dross of this earthafter having obtained a glimpse of the bright glory ofheaven.
　　The warden, indeed, had already recovered his full strength,much more owing to the force of his own strong will than toactual aid; and he was calculating how long the formalitiesof the law would still detain him in prison.
　　This was just at the very moment when the mingled shouts ofthe burgher guard and of the mob were raging against the twobrothers, and threatening Captain Tilly, who served as arampart to them. This noise, which roared outside of thewalls of the prison, as the surf dashing against the rocks,now reached the ears of the prisoner.
　　But, threatening as it sounded, Cornelius appeared not todream it worth his while to inquire after its cause; nor didhe get up to look out of the narrow grated window, whichgave access to the light and to the noise of the worldwithout.
　　He was so absorbed in his never-ceasing pain that it hadalmost become a habit with him. He felt with such delightthe bonds which connected his immortal being with hisperishable frame gradually loosening, that it seemed to himas if his spirit, freed from the trammels of the body, werehovering above it, like the expiring flame which rises fromthe half-extinguished embers.
　　He also thought of his brother; and whilst the latter wasthus vividly present to his mind the door opened, and Johnentered, hurrying to the bedside of the prisoner, whostretched out his broken limbs and his hands tied up inbandages towards that glorious brother, whom he nowexcelled, not in services rendered to the country, but inthe hatred which the Dutch bore him.
　　John tenderly kissed his brother on the forehead, and puthis sore hands gently back on the mattress.
　　"Cornelius, my poor brother, you are suffering great pain,are you not?""I am suffering no longer, since I see you, my brother.""Oh, my poor dear Cornelius! I feel most wretched to see youin such a state.""And, indeed, I have thought more of you than of myself; andwhilst they were torturing me, I never thought of uttering acomplaint, except once, to say, 'Poor brother!' But now thatyou are here, let us forget all. You are coming to take meaway, are you not?""I am.""I am quite healed; help me to get up, and you shall see howI can walk.""You will not have to walk far, as I have my coach near thepond, behind Tilly's dragoons.""Tilly's dragoons! What are they near the pond for?""Well," said the Grand Pensionary with a melancholy smilewhich was habitual to him, "the gentlemen at the Town-hallexpect that the people at the Hague would like to see youdepart, and there is some apprehension of a tumult.""Of a tumult?" replied Cornelius, fixing his eyes on hisperplexed brother; "a tumult?""Yes, Cornelius.""Oh! that's what I heard just now," said the prisoner, as ifspeaking to himself. Then, turning to his brother, hecontinued, --"Are there many persons down before the prison.""Yes, my brother, there are.""But then, to come here to me ---- ""Well?""How is it that they have allowed you to pass?""You know well that we are not very popular, Cornelius,"said the Grand Pensionary, with gloomy bitterness. "I havemade my way through all sorts of bystreets and alleys.""You hid yourself, John?""I wished to reach you without loss of time, and I did whatpeople will do in politics, or on the sea when the wind isagainst them, -- I tacked."At this moment the noise in the square below was heard toroar with increasing fury. Tilly was parleying with theburghers.
　　"Well, well," said Cornelius, "you are a very skilful pilot,John; but I doubt whether you will as safely guide yourbrother out of the Buytenhof in the midst of this gale, andthrough the raging surf of popular hatred, as you did thefleet of Van Tromp past the shoals of the Scheldt toAntwerp.""With the help of God, Cornelius, we'll at least try,"answered John; "but, first of all, a word with you.""Speak!"The shouts began anew.
　　"Hark, hark!" continued Cornelius, "how angry those peopleare! Is it against you, or against me?""I should say it is against us both, Cornelius. I told you,my dear brother, that the Orange party, while assailing uswith their absurd calumnies, have also made it a reproachagainst us that we have negotiated with France.""What blockheads they are!""But, indeed, they reproach us with it.""And yet, if these negotiations had been successful, theywould have prevented the defeats of Rees, Orsay, Wesel, andRheinberg; the Rhine would not have been crossed, andHolland might still consider herself invincible in the midstof her marshes and canals.""All this is quite true, my dear Cornelius, but still morecertain it is, that if at this moment our correspondencewith the Marquis de Louvois were discovered, skilful pilotas I am, I should not be able to save the frail barque whichis to carry the brothers De Witt and their fortunes out ofHolland. That correspondence, which might prove to honestpeople how dearly I love my country, and what sacrifices Ihave offered to make for its liberty and glory, would beruin to us if it fell into the hands of the Orange party. Ihope you have burned the letters before you left Dort tojoin me at the Hague.""My dear brother," Cornelius answered, "your correspondencewith M. de Louvois affords ample proof of your having beenof late the greatest, most generous, and most able citizenof the Seven United Provinces. I rejoice in the glory of mycountry; and particularly do I rejoice in your glory, John.
　　I have taken good care not to burn that correspondence.""Then we are lost, as far as this life is concerned,"quietly said the Grand Pensionary, approaching the window.
　　"No, on the contrary, John, we shall at the same time saveour lives and regain our popularity.""But what have you done with these letters?""I have intrusted them to the care of Cornelius van Baerle,my godson, whom you know, and who lives at Dort.""Poor honest Van Baerle! who knows so much, and yet thinksof nothing but of flowers and of God who made them. You haveintrusted him with this fatal secret; it will be his ruin,poor soul!""His ruin?""Yes, for he will either be strong or he will be weak. If heis strong, he will, when he hears of what has happened tous, boast of our acquaintance; if he is weak, he will beafraid on account of his connection with us: if he isstrong, he will betray the secret by his boldness; if he isweak, he will allow it to be forced from him. In either casehe is lost, and so are we. Let us, therefore, fly, fly, aslong as there is still time."Cornelius de Witt, raising himself on his couch, andgrasping the hand of his brother, who shuddered at the touchof his linen bandages, replied, --"Do not I know my godson? have not I been enabled to readevery thought in Van Baerle's mind, and every sentiment inhis heart? You ask whether he is strong or weak. He isneither the one nor the other; but that is not now thequestion. The principal point is, that he is sure not todivulge the secret, for the very good reason that he doesnot know it himself."John turned round in surprise.
　　"You must know, my dear brother, that I have been trained inthe school of that distinguished politician John de Witt;and I repeat to you, that Van Baerle is not aware of thenature and importance of the deposit which I have intrustedto him.""Quick then," cried John, "as there is still time, let usconvey to him directions to burn the parcel.""Through whom?""Through my servant Craeke, who was to have accompanied uson horseback, and who has entered the prison with me, toassist you downstairs.""Consider well before having those precious documents burnt,John!""I consider, above all things, that the brothers De Wittmust necessarily save their lives, to be able to save theircharacter. If we are dead, who will defend us? Who will havefully understood our intentions?""You expect, then, that they would kill us if those paperswere found?"John, without answering, pointed with his hand to thesquare, whence, at that very moment, fierce shouts andsavage yells made themselves heard.
　　"Yes, yes," said Cornelius, "I hear these shouts veryplainly, but what is their meaning?"John opened the window.
　　"Death to the traitors!" howled the populace.
　　"Do you hear now, Cornelius?""To the traitors! that means us!" said the prisoner, raisinghis eyes to heaven and shrugging his shoulders.
　　"Yes, it means us," repeated John.
　　"Where is Craeke?""At the door of your cell, I suppose.""Let him enter then."John opened the door; the faithful servant was waiting onthe threshold.
　　"Come in, Craeke, and mind well what my brother will tellyou.""No, John; it will not suffice to send a verbal message;unfortunately, I shall be obliged to write.""And why that?""Because Van Baerle will neither give up the parcel nor burnit without a special command to do so.""But will you be able to write, poor old fellow?" Johnasked, with a look on the scorched and bruised hands of theunfortunate sufferer.
　　"If I had pen and ink you would soon see," said Cornelius.
　　"Here is a pencil, at any rate.""Have you any paper? for they have left me nothing.""Here, take this Bible, and tear out the fly-leaf.""Very well, that will do.""But your writing will be illegible.""Just leave me alone for that," said Cornelius. "Theexecutioners have indeed pinched me badly enough, but myhand will not tremble once in tracing the few lines whichare requisite."And really Cornelius took the pencil and began to write,when through the white linen bandages drops of blood oozedout which the pressure of the fingers against the pencilsqueezed from the raw flesh.
　　A cold sweat stood on the brow of the Grand Pensionary.
　　Cornelius wrote: --"My dear Godson, --"Burn the parcel which I have intrusted to you. Burn itwithout looking at it, and without opening it, so that itscontents may for ever remain unknown to yourself. Secrets ofthis description are death to those with whom they aredeposited. Burn it, and you will have saved John andCornelius de Witt.
　　"Farewell, and love me.
　　"Cornelius de Witt"August 20th, 1672."John, with tears in his eyes, wiped off a drop of the nobleblood which had soiled the leaf, and, after having handedthe despatch to Craeke with a last direction, returned toCornelius, who seemed overcome by intense pain, and nearfainting.
　　"Now," said he, "when honest Craeke sounds his coxswain'swhistle, it will be a signal of his being clear of thecrowd, and of his having reached the other side of the pond.
　　And then it will be our turn to depart."Five minutes had not elapsed, before a long and shrillwhistle was heard through the din and noise of the square ofthe Buytenhof.
　　John gratefully raised his eyes to heaven.
　　"And now," said he, "let us off, Cornelius."
Chapter 3 The Pupil of John de Witt
    Whilst the clamour of the crowd in the square of Buytenhof,which grew more and more menacing against the two brothers,determined John de Witt to hasten the departure of hisbrother Cornelius, a deputation of burghers had gone to theTown-hall to demand the withdrawal of Tilly's horse.
　　It was not far from the Buytenhof to Hoogstraet (HighStreet); and a stranger, who since the beginning of thisscene had watched all its incidents with intense interest,was seen to wend his way with, or rather in the wake of, theothers towards the Town-hall, to hear as soon as possiblethe current news of the hour.
　　This stranger was a very young man, of scarcely twenty-twoor three, with nothing about him that bespoke any greatenergy. He evidently had his good reasons for not makinghimself known, as he hid his face in a handkerchief of fineFrisian linen, with which he incessantly wiped his brow orhis burning lips.
　　With an eye keen as that of a bird of prey, -- with a longaquiline nose, a finely cut mouth, which he generally keptopen, or rather which was gaping like the edges of a wound,-- this man would have presented to Lavater, if Lavater hadlived at that time, a subject for physiognomicalobservations which at the first blush would not have beenvery favourable to the person in question.
　　"What difference is there between the figure of theconqueror and that of the pirate?" said the ancients. Thedifference only between the eagle and the vulture, --serenity or restlessness.
　　And indeed the sallow physiognomy, the thin and sickly body,and the prowling ways of the stranger, were the very type ofa suspecting master, or an unquiet thief; and a policeofficer would certainly have decided in favour of the lattersupposition, on account of the great care which themysterious person evidently took to hide himself.
　　He was plainly dressed, and apparently unarmed; his arm waslean but wiry, and his hands dry, but of an aristocraticwhiteness and delicacy, and he leaned on the shoulder of anofficer, who, with his hand on his sword, had watched thescenes in the Buytenhof with eager curiosity, very naturalin a military man, until his companion drew him away withhim.
　　On arriving at the square of the Hoogstraet, the man withthe sallow face pushed the other behind an open shutter,from which corner he himself began to survey the balcony ofthe Town-hall.
　　At the savage yells of the mob, the window of the Town-hallopened, and a man came forth to address the people.
　　"Who is that on the balcony?" asked the young man, glancingat the orator.
　　"It is the Deputy Bowelt," replied the officer.
　　"What sort of a man is he? Do you know anything of him?""An honest man; at least I believe so, Monseigneur."Hearing this character given of Bowelt, the young man showedsigns of such a strange disappointment and evidentdissatisfaction that the officer could not but remark it,and therefore added, --"At least people say so, Monseigneur. I cannot say anythingabout it myself, as I have no personal acquaintance withMynheer Bowelt.""An honest man," repeated he who was addressed asMonseigneur; "do you mean to say that he is an honest man(brave homme), or a brave one (homme brave)?""Ah, Monseigneur must excuse me; I would not presume to drawsuch a fine distinction in the case of a man whom, I assureyour Highness once more, I know only by sight.""If this Bowelt is an honest man," his Highness continued,"he will give to the demand of these furibund petitioners avery queer reception."The nervous quiver of his hand, which moved on the shoulderof his companion as the fingers of a player on the keys of aharpsichord, betrayed his burning impatience, so illconcealed at certain times, and particularly at that moment,under the icy and sombre expression of his face.
　　The chief of the deputation of the burghers was then heardaddressing an interpellation to Mynheer Bowelt, whom herequested to let them know where the other deputies, hiscolleagues, were.
　　"Gentlemen," Bowelt repeated for the second time, "I assureyou that in this moment I am here alone with Mynheerd'Asperen, and I cannot take any resolution on my ownresponsibility.""The order! we want the order!" cried several thousandvoices.
　　Mynheer Bowelt wished to speak, but his words were notheard, and he was only seen moving his arms in all sorts ofgestures, which plainly showed that he felt his position tobe desperate. When, at last, he saw that he could not makehimself heard, he turned round towards the open window, andcalled Mynheer d'Asperen.
　　The latter gentleman now made his appearance on the balcony,where he was saluted with shouts even more energetic thanthose with which, ten minutes before, his colleague had beenreceived.
　　This did not prevent him from undertaking the difficult taskof haranguing the mob; but the mob preferred forcing theguard of the States -- which, however, offered no resistanceto the sovereign people -- to listening to the speech ofMynheer d'Asperen.
　　"Now, then," the young man coolly remarked, whilst the crowdwas rushing into the principal gate of the Town-hall, "itseems the question will be discussed indoors, Captain. Comealong, and let us hear the debate.""Oh, Monseigneur! Monseigneur! take care!""Of what?""Among these deputies there are many who have had dealingswith you, and it would be sufficient, that one of themshould recognize your Highness.""Yes, that I might be charged with having been theinstigator of all this work, indeed, you are right," saidthe young man, blushing for a moment from regret of havingbetrayed so much eagerness. "From this place we shall seethem return with or without the order for the withdrawal ofthe dragoons, then we may judge which is greater, MynheerBowelt's honesty or his courage.""But," replied the officer, looking with astonishment at thepersonage whom he addressed as Monseigneur, "but yourHighness surely does not suppose for one instant that thedeputies will order Tilly's horse to quit their post?""Why not?" the young man quietly retorted.
　　"Because doing so would simply be signing the death warrantof Cornelius and John de Witt.""We shall see," his Highness replied, with the most perfectcoolness; "God alone knows what is going on within thehearts of men."The officer looked askance at the impassible figure of hiscompanion, and grew pale: he was an honest man as well as abrave one.
　　From the spot where they stood, his Highness and hisattendant heard the tumult and the heavy tramp of the crowdon the staircase of the Town-hall. The noise thereuponsounded through the windows of the hall, on the balcony ofwhich Mynheers Bowelt and D'Asperen had presentedthemselves. These two gentlemen had retired into thebuilding, very likely from fear of being forced over thebalustrade by the pressure of the crowd.
　　After this, fluctuating shadows in tumultuous confusion wereseen flitting to and fro across the windows: the councilhall was filling.
　　Suddenly the noise subsided, and as suddenly again it rosewith redoubled intensity, and at last reached such a pitchthat the old building shook to the very roof.
　　At length, the living stream poured back through thegalleries and stairs to the arched gateway, from which itwas seen issuing like waters from a spout.
　　At the head of the first group, man was flying rather thanrunning, his face hideously distorted with satanic glee:
　　this man was the surgeon Tyckelaer.
　　"We have it! we have it!" he cried, brandishing a paper inthe air.
　　"They have got the order!" muttered the officer inamazement.
　　"Well, then," his Highness quietly remarked, "now I knowwhat to believe with regard to Mynheer Bowelt's honesty andcourage: he has neither the one nor the other."Then, looking with a steady glance after the crowd which wasrushing along before him, he continued, --"Let us now go to the Buytenhof, Captain; I expect we shallsee a very strange sight there."The officer bowed, and, without making any reply, followedin the steps of his master.
　　There was an immense crowd in the square and about theneighbourhood of the prison. But the dragoons of Tilly stillkept it in check with the same success and with the samefirmness.
　　It was not long before the Count heard the increasing din ofthe approaching multitude, the first ranks of which rushedon with the rapidity of a cataract.
　　At the same time he observed the paper, which was wavingabove the surface of clenched fists and glittering arms.
　　"Halloa!" he said, rising in his stirrups, and touching hislieutenant with the knob of his sword; "I really believethose rascals have got the order.""Dastardly ruffians they are," cried the lieutenant.
　　It was indeed the order, which the burgher guard receivedwith a roar of triumph. They immediately sallied forth, withlowered arms and fierce shouts, to meet Count Tilly'sdragoons.
　　But the Count was not the man to allow them to approachwithin an inconvenient distance.
　　"Stop!" he cried, "stop, and keep off from my horse, or Ishall give the word of command to advance.""Here is the order!" a hundred insolent voices answered atonce.
　　He took it in amazement, cast a rapid glance on it, and saidquite aloud, --"Those who have signed this order are the real murderers ofCornelius de Witt. I would rather have my two hands cut offthan have written one single letter of this infamous order."And, pushing back with the hilt of his sword the man whowanted to take it from him, he added, --"Wait a minute, papers like this are of importance, and areto be kept."Saying this, he folded up the document, and carefully put itin the pocket of his coat.
　　Then, turning round towards his troop, he gave the word ofcommand, --"Tilly's dragoons, wheel to the right!"After this, he added, in an undertone, yet loud enough forhis words to be not altogether lost to those about him, --"And now, ye butchers, do your work!"A savage yell, in which all the keen hatred and ferocioustriumph rife in the precincts of the prison simultaneouslyburst forth, and accompanied the departure of the dragoons,as they were quietly filing off.
　　The Count tarried behind, facing to the last the infuriatedpopulace, which advanced at the same rate as the Countretired.
　　John de Witt, therefore, had by no means exaggerated thedanger, when, assisting his brother in getting up, hehurried his departure. Cornelius, leaning on the arm of theEx-Grand Pensionary, descended the stairs which led to thecourtyard. At the bottom of the staircase he found littleRosa, trembling all over.
　　"Oh, Mynheer John," she said, "what a misfortune!""What is it, my child?" asked De Witt.
　　"They say that they are gone to the Town-hall to fetch theorder for Tilly's horse to withdraw.""You do not say so!" replied John. "Indeed, my dear child,if the dragoons are off, we shall be in a very sad plight.""I have some advice to give you," Rosa said, trembling evenmore violently than before.
　　"Well, let us hear what you have to say, my child. Whyshould not God speak by your mouth?""Now, then, Mynheer John, if I were in your place, I shouldnot go out through the main street.""And why so, as the dragoons of Tilly are still at theirpost?""Yes, but their order, as long as it is not revoked, enjoinsthem to stop before the prison.""Undoubtedly.""Have you got an order for them to accompany you out of thetown?""We have not?""Well, then, in the very moment when you have passed theranks of the dragoons you will fall into the hands of thepeople.""But the burgher guard?""Alas! the burgher guard are the most enraged of all.""What are we to do, then?""If I were in your place, Mynheer John," the young girltimidly continued, "I should leave by the postern, whichleads into a deserted by-lane, whilst all the people arewaiting in the High Street to see you come out by theprincipal entrance. From there I should try to reach thegate by which you intend to leave the town.""But my brother is not able to walk," said John.
　　"I shall try," Cornelius said, with an expression of mostsublime fortitude.
　　"But have you not got your carriage?" asked the girl.
　　"The carriage is down near the great entrance.""Not so," she replied. "I considered your coachman to be afaithful man, and I told him to wait for you at thepostern."The two brothers looked first at each other, and then atRosa, with a glance full of the most tender gratitude.
　　"The question is now," said the Grand Pensionary, "whetherGryphus will open this door for us.""Indeed, he will do no such thing," said Rosa.
　　"Well, and how then?""I have foreseen his refusal, and just now whilst he wastalking from the window of the porter's lodge with adragoon, I took away the key from his bunch.""And you have got it?""Here it is, Mynheer John.""My child," said Cornelius, "I have nothing to give you inexchange for the service you are rendering us but the Biblewhich you will find in my room; it is the last gift of anhonest man; I hope it will bring you good luck.""I thank you, Master Cornelius, it shall never leave me,"replied Rosa.
　　And then, with a sigh, she said to herself, "What a pitythat I do not know how to read!""The shouts and cries are growing louder and louder," saidJohn; "there is not a moment to be lost.""Come along, gentlemen," said the girl, who now led the twobrothers through an inner lobby to the back of the prison.
　　Guided by her, they descended a staircase of about a dozensteps; traversed a small courtyard, which was surrounded bycastellated walls; and, the arched door having been openedfor them by Rosa, they emerged into a lonely street wheretheir carriage was ready to receive them.
　　"Quick, quick, my masters! do you hear them?" cried thecoachman, in a deadly fright.
　　Yet, after having made Cornelius get into the carriagefirst, the Grand Pensionary turned round towards the girl,to whom he said, --"Good-bye, my child! words could never express ourgratitude. God will reward you for having saved the lives oftwo men."Rosa took the hand which John de Witt proffered to her, andkissed it with every show of respect.
　　"Go! for Heaven's sake, go!" she said; "it seems they aregoing to force the gate."John de Witt hastily got in, sat himself down by the side ofhis brother, and, fastening the apron of the carriage,called out to the coachman, --"To the Tol-Hek!"The Tol-Hek was the iron gate leading to the harbor ofSchevening, in which a small vessel was waiting for the twobrothers.
　　The carriage drove off with the fugitives at the full speedof a pair of spirited Flemish horses. Rosa followed themwith her eyes until they turned the corner of the street,upon which, closing the door after her, she went back andthrew the key into a cell.
　　The noise which had made Rosa suppose that the people wereforcing the prison door was indeed owing to the mobbattering against it after the square had been left by themilitary.
　　Solid as the gate was, and although Gryphus, to do himjustice, stoutly enough refused to open it, yet evidently itcould not resist much longer, and the jailer, growing verypale, put to himself the question whether it would not bebetter to open the door than to allow it to be forced, whenhe felt some one gently pulling his coat.
　　He turned round and saw Rosa.
　　"Do you hear these madmen?" he said.
　　"I hear them so well, my father, that in your place ---- ""You would open the door?""No, I should allow it to be forced.""But they will kill me!""Yes, if they see you.""How shall they not see me?""Hide yourself.""Where?""In the secret dungeon.""But you, my child?""I shall get into it with you. We shall lock the door andwhen they have left the prison, we shall again come forthfrom our hiding place.""Zounds, you are right, there!" cried Gryphus; "it'ssurprising how much sense there is in such a little head!"Then, as the gate began to give way amidst the triumphantshouts of the mob, she opened a little trap-door, and said,--"Come along, come along, father.""But our prisoners?""God will watch over them, and I shall watch over you."Gryphus followed his daughter, and the trap-door closed overhis head, just as the broken gate gave admittance to thepopulace.
　　The dungeon where Rosa had induced her father to hidehimself, and where for the present we must leave the two,offered to them a perfectly safe retreat, being known onlyto those in power, who used to place there importantprisoners of state, to guard against a rescue or a revolt.
　　The people rushed into the prison, with the cry --"Death to the traitors! To the gallows with Cornelius deWitt! Death! death!"
Chapter 4 The Murderers
     The young man with his hat slouched over his eyes, stillleaning on the arm of the officer, and still wiping fromtime to time his brow with his handkerchief, was watching ina corner of the Buytenhof, in the shade of the overhangingweather-board of a closed shop, the doings of the infuriatedmob, a spectacle which seemed to draw near its catastrophe.
　　"Indeed," said he to the officer, "indeed, I think you wereright, Van Deken; the order which the deputies have signedis truly the death-warrant of Master Cornelius. Do you hearthese people? They certainly bear a sad grudge to the two DeWitts.""In truth," replied the officer, "I never heard suchshouts.""They seem to have found out the cell of the man. Look,look! is not that the window of the cell where Cornelius waslocked up?"A man had seized with both hands and was shaking the ironbars of the window in the room which Cornelius had left onlyten minutes before.
　　"Halloa, halloa!" the man called out, "he is gone.""How is that? gone?" asked those of the mob who had not beenable to get into the prison, crowded as it was with the massof intruders.
　　"Gone, gone," repeated the man in a rage, "the bird hasflown.""What does this man say?" asked his Highness, growing quitepale.
　　"Oh, Monseigneur, he says a thing which would be veryfortunate if it should turn out true!""Certainly it would be fortunate if it were true," said theyoung man; "unfortunately it cannot be true.""However, look!" said the officer.
　　And indeed, some more faces, furious and contorted withrage, showed themselves at the windows, crying, --"Escaped, gone, they have helped them off!"And the people in the street repeated, with fearfulimprecations, --"Escaped gone! After them, and catch them!""Monseigneur, it seems that Mynheer Cornelius has reallyescaped," said the officer.
　　"Yes, from prison, perhaps, but not from the town; you willsee, Van Deken, that the poor fellow will find the gateclosed against him which he hoped to find open.""Has an order been given to close the town gates,Monseigneur?""No, -- at least I do not think so; who could have givensuch an order?""Indeed, but what makes your Highness suppose?""There are fatalities," Monseigneur replied, in an offhandmanner; "and the greatest men have sometimes fallen victimsto such fatalities."At these words the officer felt his blood run cold, assomehow or other he was convinced that the prisoner waslost.
　　At this moment the roar of the multitude broke forth likethunder, for it was now quite certain that Cornelius de Wittwas no longer in the prison.
　　Cornelius and John, after driving along the pond, had takenthe main street, which leads to the Tol-Hek, givingdirections to the coachman to slacken his pace, in order notto excite any suspicion.
　　But when, on having proceeded half-way down that street, theman felt that he had left the prison and death behind, andbefore him there was life and liberty, he neglected everyprecaution, and set his horses off at a gallop.
　　All at once he stopped.
　　"What is the matter?" asked John, putting his head out ofthe coach window.
　　"Oh, my masters!" cried the coachman, "it is ---- "Terror choked the voice of the honest fellow.
　　"Well, say what you have to say!" urged the GrandPensionary.
　　"The gate is closed, that's what it is.""How is this? It is not usual to close the gate by day.""Just look!"John de Witt leaned out of the window, and indeed saw thatthe man was right.
　　"Never mind, but drive on," said John, "I have with me theorder for the commutation of the punishment, the gate-keeperwill let us through."The carriage moved along, but it was evident that the driverwas no longer urging his horses with the same degree ofconfidence.
　　Moreover, as John de Witt put his head out of the carriagewindow, he was seen and recognized by a brewer, who, beingbehind his companions, was just shutting his door in allhaste to join them at the Buytenhof. He uttered a cry ofsurprise, and ran after two other men before him, whom heovertook about a hundred yards farther on, and told themwhat he had seen. The three men then stopped, looking afterthe carriage, being however not yet quite sure as to whom itcontained.
　　The carriage in the meanwhile arrived at the Tol-Hek.
　　"Open!" cried the coachman.
　　"Open!" echoed the gatekeeper, from the threshold of hislodge; "it's all very well to say 'Open!' but what am I todo it with?""With the key, to be sure!" said the coachman.
　　"With the key! Oh, yes! but if you have not got it?""How is that? Have not you got the key?" asked the coachman.
　　"No, I haven't.""What has become of it?""Well, they have taken it from me.""Who?""Some one, I dare say, who had a mind that no one shouldleave the town.""My good man," said the Grand Pensionary, putting out hishead from the window, and risking all for gaining all; "mygood man, it is for me, John de Witt, and for my brotherCornelius, who I am taking away into exile.""Oh, Mynheer de Witt! I am indeed very much grieved," saidthe gatekeeper, rushing towards the carriage; "but, upon mysacred word, the key has been taken from me.""When?""This morning.""By whom?""By a pale and thin young man, of about twenty-two.""And wherefore did you give it up to him?""Because he showed me an order, signed and sealed.""By whom?""By the gentlemen of the Town-hall.""Well, then," said Cornelius calmly, "our doom seems to befixed.""Do you know whether the same precaution has been taken atthe other gates?""I do not.""Now then," said John to the coachman, "God commands man todo all that is in his power to preserve his life; go, anddrive to another gate."And whilst the servant was turning round the vehicle theGrand Pensionary said to the gatekeeper, --"Take our thanks for your good intentions; the will mustcount for the deed; you had the will to save us, and that,in the eyes of the Lord, is as if you had succeeded in doingso.""Alas!" said the gatekeeper, "do you see down there?""Drive at a gallop through that group," John called out tothe coachman, "and take the street on the left; it is ouronly chance."The group which John alluded to had, for its nucleus, thosethree men whom we left looking after the carriage, and who,in the meanwhile, had been joined by seven or eight others.
　　These new-comers evidently meant mischief with regard to thecarriage.
　　When they saw the horses galloping down upon them, theyplaced themselves across the street, brandishing cudgels intheir hands, and calling out, --"Stop! stop!"The coachman, on his side, lashed his horses into increasedspeed, until the coach and the men encountered.
　　The brothers De Witt, enclosed within the body of thecarriage, were not able to see anything; but they felt asevere shock, occasioned by the rearing of the horses. Thewhole vehicle for a moment shook and stopped; butimmediately after, passing over something round and elastic,which seemed to be the body of a prostrate man set off againamidst a volley of the fiercest oaths.
　　"Alas!" said Cornelius, "I am afraid we have hurt some one.""Gallop! gallop!" called John.
　　But, notwithstanding this order, the coachman suddenly cameto a stop.
　　"Now, then, what is the matter again?" asked John.
　　"Look there!" said the coachman.
　　John looked. The whole mass of the populace from theBuytenhof appeared at the extremity of the street alongwhich the carriage was to proceed, and its stream movedroaring and rapid, as if lashed on by a hurricane.
　　"Stop and get off," said John to the coachman; "it isuseless to go any farther; we are lost!""Here they are! here they are!" five hundred voices werecrying at the same time.
　　"Yes, here they are, the traitors, the murderers, theassassins!" answered the men who were running after thecarriage to the people who were coming to meet it. Theformer carried in their arms the bruised body of one oftheir companions, who, trying to seize the reins of thehorses, had been trodden down by them.
　　This was the object over which the two brothers had felttheir carriage pass.
　　The coachman stopped, but, however strongly his master urgedhim, he refused to get off and save himself.
　　In an instant the carriage was hemmed in between those whofollowed and those who met it. It rose above the mass ofmoving heads like a floating island. But in another instantit came to a dead stop. A blacksmith had with his hammerstruck down one of the horses, which fell in the traces.
　　At this moment, the shutter of a window opened, anddisclosed the sallow face and the dark eyes of the youngman, who with intense interest watched the scene which waspreparing. Behind him appeared the head of the officer,almost as pale as himself.
　　"Good heavens, Monseigneur, what is going on there?"whispered the officer.
　　"Something very terrible, to a certainty," replied theother.
　　"Don't you see, Monseigneur, they are dragging the GrandPensionary from the carriage, they strike him, they tear himto pieces!""Indeed, these people must certainly be prompted by a mostviolent indignation," said the young marl, with the sameimpassible tone which he had preserved all along.
　　"And here is Cornelius, whom they now likewise drag out ofthe carriage, -- Cornelius, who is already quite broken andmangled by the torture. Only look, look!""Indeed, it is Cornelius, and no mistake."The officer uttered a feeble cry, and turned his head away;the brother of the Grand Pensionary, before having set footon the ground, whilst still on the bottom step of thecarriage, was struck down with an iron bar which broke hisskull. He rose once more, but immediately fell again.
　　Some fellows then seized him by the feet, and dragged himinto the crowd, into the middle of which one might havefollowed his bloody track, and he was soon closed in amongthe savage yells of malignant exultation.
　　The young man -- a thing which would have been thoughtimpossible -- grew even paler than before, and his eyes werefor a moment veiled behind the lids.
　　The officer saw this sign of compassion, and, wishing toavail himself of this softened tone of his feelings,continued, --"Come, come, Monseigneur, for here they are also going tomurder the Grand Pensionary."But the young man had already opened his eyes again.
　　"To be sure," he said. "These people are really implacable.
　　It does no one good to offend them.""Monseigneur," said the officer, "may not one save this poorman, who has been your Highness's instructor? If there beany means, name it, and if I should perish in the attempt---- "William of Orange -- for he it was -- knit his brows in avery forbidding manner, restrained the glance of gloomymalice which glistened in his half-closed eye, and answered,--"Captain Van Deken, I request you to go and look after mytroops, that they may be armed for any emergency.""But am I to leave your Highness here, alone, in thepresence of all these murderers?""Go, and don't you trouble yourself about me more than I domyself," the Prince gruffly replied.
　　The officer started off with a speed which was much lessowing to his sense of military obedience than to hispleasure at being relieved from the necessity of witnessingthe shocking spectacle of the murder of the other brother.
　　He had scarcely left the room, when John -- who, with analmost superhuman effort, had reached the stone steps of ahouse nearly opposite that where his former pupil concealedhimself -- began to stagger under the blows which wereinflicted on him from all sides, calling out, --"My brother! where is my brother?"One of the ruffians knocked off his hat with a blow of hisclenched fist.
　　Another showed to him his bloody hands; for this fellow hadripped open Cornelius and disembowelled him, and was nowhastening to the spot in order not to lose the opportunityof serving the Grand Pensionary in the same manner, whilstthey were dragging the dead body of Cornelius to the gibbet.
　　John uttered a cry of agony and grief, and put one of hishands before his eyes.
　　"Oh, you close your eyes, do you?" said one of the soldiersof the burgher guard; "well, I shall open them for you."And saying this he stabbed him with his pike in the face,and the blood spurted forth.
　　"My brother!" cried John de Witt, trying to see through thestream of blood which blinded him, what had become ofCornelius; "my brother, my brother!""Go and run after him!" bellowed another murderer, puttinghis musket to his temples and pulling the trigger.
　　But the gun did not go off.
　　The fellow then turned his musket round, and, taking it bythe barrel with both hands, struck John de Witt down withthe butt-end. John staggered and fell down at his feet, but,raising himself with a last effort, he once more called out,--"My brother!" with a voice so full of anguish that the youngman opposite closed the shutter.
　　There remained little more to see; a third murderer fired apistol with the muzzle to his face; and this time the shottook effect, blowing out his brains. John de Witt fell torise no more.
　　On this, every one of the miscreants, emboldened by hisfall, wanted to fire his gun at him, or strike him withblows of the sledge-hammer, or stab him with a knife orswords, every one wanted to draw a drop of blood from thefallen hero, and tear off a shred from his garments.
　　And after having mangled, and torn, and completely strippedthe two brothers, the mob dragged their naked and bloodybodies to an extemporised gibbet, where amateur executionershung them up by the feet.
　　Then came the most dastardly scoundrels of all, who nothaving dared to strike the living flesh, cut the dead inpieces, and then went about the town selling small slices ofthe bodies of John and Cornelius at ten sous a piece.
　　We cannot take upon ourselves to say whether, through thealmost imperceptible chink of the shutter, the young manwitnessed the conclusion of this shocking scene; but at thevery moment when they were hanging the two martyrs on thegibbet he passed through the terrible mob, which was toomuch absorbed in the task, so grateful to its taste, to takeany notice of him, and thus he reached unobserved theTol-Hek, which was still closed.
　　"Ah! sir," said the gatekeeper, "do you bring me the key?""Yes, my man, here it is.""It is most unfortunate that you did not bring me that keyonly one quarter of an hour sooner," said the gatekeeper,with a sigh.
　　"And why that?" asked the other.
　　"Because I might have opened the gate to Mynheers de Witt;whereas, finding the gate locked, they were obliged toretrace their steps.""Gate! gate!" cried a voice which seemed to be that of a manin a hurry.
　　The Prince, turning round, observed Captain Van Deken.
　　"Is that you, Captain?" he said. "You are not yet out of theHague? This is executing my orders very slowly.""Monseigneur," replied the Captain, "this is the third gateat which I have presented myself; the other two wereclosed.""Well, this good man will open this one for you; do it, myfriend."The last words were addressed to the gatekeeper, who stoodquite thunderstruck on hearing Captain Van Deken addressingby the title of Monseigneur this pale young man, to whom hehimself had spoken in such a familiar way.
　　As it were to make up for his fault, he hastened to open thegate, which swung creaking on its hinges.
　　"Will Monseigneur avail himself of my horse?" asked theCaptain.
　　"I thank you, Captain, I shall use my own steed, which iswaiting for me close at hand."And taking from his pocket a golden whistle, such as wasgenerally used at that time for summoning the servants, hesounded it with a shrill and prolonged call, on which anequerry on horseback speedily made his appearance, leadinganother horse by the bridle.
　　William, without touching the stirrup, vaulted into thesaddle of the led horse, and, setting his spurs into itsflanks, started off for the Leyden road. Having reached it,he turned round and beckoned to the Captain who was farbehind, to ride by his side.
　　"Do you know," he then said, without stopping, "that thoserascals have killed John de Witt as well as his brother?""Alas! Monseigneur," the Captain answered sadly, "I shouldlike it much better if these two difficulties were still inyour Highness's way of becoming de facto Stadtholder ofHolland.""Certainly, it would have been better," said William, "ifwhat did happen had not happened. But it cannot be helpednow, and we have had nothing to do with it. Let us push on,Captain, that we may arrive at Alphen before the messagewhich the States-General are sure to send to me to thecamp."The Captain bowed, allowed the Prince to ride ahead and, forthe remainder of the journey, kept at the same respectfuldistance as he had done before his Highness called him tohis side.
　　"How I should wish," William of Orange malignantly mutteredto himself, with a dark frown and setting the spurs to hishorse, "to see the figure which Louis will cut when he isapprised of the manner in which his dear friends De Witthave been served! Oh thou Sun! thou Sun! as truly as I amcalled William the Silent, thou Sun, thou hadst best look tothy rays!"And the young Prince, the relentless rival of the GreatKing, sped away upon his fiery steed, -- this futureStadtholder who had been but the day before very uncertainlyestablished in his new power, but for whom the burghers ofthe Hague had built a staircase with the bodies of John andCornelius, two princes as noble as he in the eyes of God and man.
Chapter 5 The Tulip-fancier and his Neighbour
    Whilst the burghers of the Hague were tearing in pieces thebodies of John and Cornelius de Witt, and whilst William ofOrange, after having made sure that his two antagonists werereally dead, was galloping over the Leyden road, followed byCaptain van Deken, whom he found a little too compassionateto honour him any longer with his confidence, Craeke, thefaithful servant, mounted on a good horse, and littlesuspecting what terrible events had taken place since hisdeparture, proceeded along the high road lined with trees,until he was clear of the town and the neighbouringvillages.
　　Being once safe, he left his horse at a livery stable inorder not to arouse suspicion, and tranquilly continued hisjourney on the canal-boats, which conveyed him by easystages to Dort, pursuing their way under skilful guidance bythe shortest possible routes through the windings of theriver, which held in its watery embrace so many enchantinglittle islands, edged with willows and rushes, and aboundingin luxurious vegetation, whereon flocks of fat sheep browsedin peaceful sleepiness. Craeke from afar off recognisedDort, the smiling city, at the foot of a hill dotted withwindmills. He saw the fine red brick houses, mortared inwhite lines, standing on the edge of the water, and theirbalconies, open towards the river, decked out with silktapestry embroidered with gold flowers, the wonderfulmanufacture of India and China; and near these brilliantstuffs, large lines set to catch the voracious eels, whichare attracted towards the houses by the garbage thrown everyday from the kitchens into the river.
　　Craeke, standing on the deck of the boat, saw, across themoving sails of the windmills, on the slope of the hill, thered and pink house which was the goal of his errand. Theoutlines of its roof were merging in the yellow foliage of acurtain of poplar trees, the whole habitation having forbackground a dark grove of gigantic elms. The mansion wassituated in such a way that the sun, falling on it as into afunnel, dried up, warmed, and fertilised the mist which theverdant screen could not prevent the river wind fromcarrying there every morning and evening.
　　Having disembarked unobserved amid the usual bustle of thecity, Craeke at once directed his steps towards the housewhich we have just described, and which -- white, trim, andtidy, even more cleanly scoured and more carefully waxed inthe hidden corners than in the places which were exposed toview -- enclosed a truly happy mortal.
　　This happy mortal, rara avis, was Dr. van Baerle, the godsonof Cornelius de Witt. He had inhabited the same house eversince his childhood, for it was the house in which hisfather and grandfather, old established princely merchantsof the princely city of Dort, were born.
　　Mynheer van Baerle the father had amassed in the Indiantrade three or four hundred thousand guilders, which Mynheervan Baerle the son, at the death of his dear and worthyparents, found still quite new, although one set of thembore the date of coinage of 1640, and the other that of1610, a fact which proved that they were guilders of VanBaerle the father and of Van Baerle the grandfather; but wewill inform the reader at once that these three or fourhundred thousand guilders were only the pocket money, orsort of purse, for Cornelius van Baerle, the hero of thisstory, as his landed property in the province yielded him anincome of about ten thousand guilders a year.
　　When the worthy citizen, the father of Cornelius, passedfrom time into eternity, three months after having buriedhis wife, who seemed to have departed first to smooth forhim the path of death as she had smoothed for him the pathof life, he said to his son, as he embraced him for the lasttime, --"Eat, drink, and spend your money, if you wish to know whatlife really is, for as to toiling from morn to evening on awooden stool, or a leathern chair, in a counting-house or alaboratory, that certainly is not living. Your time to diewill also come; and if you are not then so fortunate as tohave a son, you will let my name grow extinct, and myguilders, which no one has ever fingered but my father,myself, and the coiner, will have the surprise of passing toan unknown master. And least of all, imitate the example ofyour godfather, Cornelius de Witt, who has plunged intopolitics, the most ungrateful of all careers, and who willcertainly come to an untimely end."Having given utterance to this paternal advice, the worthyMynheer van Baerle died, to the intense grief of his sonCornelius, who cared very little for the guilders, and verymuch for his father.
　　Cornelius then remained alone in his large house. In vainhis godfather offered to him a place in the public service,-- in vain did he try to give him a taste for glory, --although Cornelius, to gratify his godfather, did embarkwith De Ruyter upon "The Seven Provinces," the flagship of afleet of one hundred and thirty-nine sail, with which thefamous admiral set out to contend singlehanded against thecombined forces of France and England. When, guided by thepilot Leger, he had come within musket-shot of the "Prince,"with the Duke of York (the English king's brother) aboard,upon which De Ruyter, his mentor, made so sharp and welldirected an attack that the Duke, perceiving that his vesselwould soon have to strike, made the best of his way aboardthe "Saint Michael"; when he had seen the "Saint Michael,"riddled and shattered by the Dutch broadside, drift out ofthe line; when he had witnessed the sinking of the "Earl ofSandwich," and the death by fire or drowning of four hundredsailors; when he realized that the result of all thisdestruction -- after twenty ships had been blown to pieces,three thousand men killed and five thousand injured -- wasthat nothing was decided, that both sides claimed thevictory, that the fighting would soon begin again, and thatjust one more name, that of Southwold Bay, had been added tothe list of battles; when he had estimated how much time islost simply in shutting his eyes and ears by a man who likesto use his reflective powers even while his fellow creaturesare cannonading one another; -- Cornelius bade farewell toDe Ruyter, to the Ruart de Pulten, and to glory, kissed theknees of the Grand Pensionary, for whom he entertained thedeepest veneration, and retired to his house at Dort, richin his well-earned repose, his twenty-eight years, an ironconstitution and keen perceptions, and his capital of morethan four hundred thousands of florins and income of tenthousand, convinced that a man is always endowed by Heavenwith too much for his own happiness, and just enough to makehim miserable.
　　Consequently, and to indulge his own idea of happiness,Cornelius began to be interested in the study of plants andinsects, collected and classified the Flora of all the Dutchislands, arranged the whole entomology of the province, onwhich he wrote a treatise, with plates drawn by his ownhands; and at last, being at a loss what to do with histime, and especially with his money, which went onaccumulating at a most alarming rate, he took it into hishead to select for himself, from all the follies of hiscountry and of his age, one of the most elegant andexpensive, -- he became a tulip-fancier.
　　It was the time when the Dutch and the Portuguese, rivallingeach other in this branch of horticulture, had begun toworship that flower, and to make more of a cult of it thanever naturalists dared to make of the human race for fear ofarousing the jealousy of God.
　　Soon people from Dort to Mons began to talk of Mynheer vanBaerle's tulips; and his beds, pits, drying-rooms, anddrawers of bulbs were visited, as the galleries andlibraries of Alexandria were by illustrious Romantravellers.
　　Van Baerle began by expending his yearly revenue in layingthe groundwork of his collection, after which he broke inupon his new guilders to bring it to perfection. Hisexertions, indeed, were crowned with a most magnificentresult: he produced three new tulips, which he called the"Jane," after his mother; the "Van Baerle," after hisfather; and the "Cornelius," after his godfather; the othernames have escaped us, but the fanciers will be sure to findthem in the catalogues of the times.
　　In the beginning of the year 1672, Cornelius de Witt came toDort for three months, to live at his old family mansion;for not only was he born in that city, but his family hadbeen resident there for centuries.
　　Cornelius, at that period, as William of Orange said, beganto enjoy the most perfect unpopularity. To his fellowcitizens, the good burghers of Dort, however, he did notappear in the light of a criminal who deserved to be hung.
　　It is true, they did not particularly like his somewhataustere republicanism, but they were proud of his valour;and when he made his entrance into their town, the cup ofhonour was offered to him, readily enough, in the name ofthe city.
　　After having thanked his fellow citizens, Corneliusproceeded to his old paternal house, and gave directions forsome repairs, which he wished to have executed before thearrival of his wife and children; and thence he wended hisway to the house of his godson, who perhaps was the onlyperson in Dort as yet unacquainted with the presence ofCornelius in the town.
　　In the same degree as Cornelius de Witt had excited thehatred of the people by sowing those evil seeds which arecalled political passions, Van Baerle had gained theaffections of his fellow citizens by completely shunning thepursuit of politics, absorbed as he was in the peacefulpursuit of cultivating tulips.
　　Van Baerle was truly beloved by his servants and labourers;nor had he any conception that there was in this world a manwho wished ill to another.
　　And yet it must be said, to the disgrace of mankind, thatCornelius van Baerle, without being aware of the fact, had amuch more ferocious, fierce, and implacable enemy than theGrand Pensionary and his brother had among the Orange party,who were most hostile to the devoted brothers, who had neverbeen sundered by the least misunderstanding during theirlives, and by their mutual devotion in the face of deathmade sure the existence of their brotherly affection beyondthe grave.
　　At the time when Cornelius van Baerle began to devotehimself to tulip-growing, expending on this hobby his yearlyrevenue and the guilders of his father, there was at Dort,living next door to him, a citizen of the name of IsaacBoxtel who from the age when he was able to think forhimself had indulged the same fancy, and who was inecstasies at the mere mention of the word "tulban," which(as we are assured by the "Floriste Francaise," the mosthighly considered authority in matters relating to thisflower) is the first word in the Cingalese tongue which wasever used to designate that masterpiece of floriculturewhich is now called the tulip.
　　Boxtel had not the good fortune of being rich, like VanBaerle. He had therefore, with great care and patience, andby dint of strenuous exertions, laid out near his house atDort a garden fit for the culture of his cherished flower;he had mixed the soil according to the most approvedprescriptions, and given to his hotbeds just as much heatand fresh air as the strictest rules of horticulture exact.
　　Isaac knew the temperature of his frames to the twentiethpart of a degree. He knew the strength of the current ofair, and tempered it so as to adapt it to the wave of thestems of his flowers. His productions also began to meetwith the favour of the public. They were beautiful, nay,distinguished. Several fanciers had come to see Boxtel'stulips. At last he had even started amongst all theLinnaeuses and Tourneforts a tulip which bore his name, andwhich, after having travelled all through France, had foundits way into Spain, and penetrated as far as Portugal; andthe King, Don Alfonso VI. -- who, being expelled fromLisbon, had retired to the island of Terceira, where heamused himself, not, like the great Conde, with watering hiscarnations, but with growing tulips -- had, on seeing theBoxtel tulip, exclaimed, "Not so bad, by any means!"All at once, Cornelius van Baerle, who, after all hislearned pursuits, had been seized with the tulipomania, madesome changes in his house at Dort, which, as we have stated,was next door to that of Boxtel. He raised a certainbuilding in his court-yard by a story, which shutting outthe sun, took half a degree of warmth from Boxtel's garden,and, on the other hand, added half a degree of cold inwinter; not to mention that it cut the wind, and disturbedall the horticultural calculations and arrangements of hisneighbour.
　　After all, this mishap appeared to Boxtel of no greatconsequence. Van Baerle was but a painter, a sort of foolwho tried to reproduce and disfigure on canvas the wondersof nature. The painter, he thought, had raised his studio bya story to get better light, and thus far he had only beenin the right. Mynheer van Baerle was a painter, as MynheerBoxtel was a tulip-grower; he wanted somewhat more sun forhis paintings, and he took half a degree from hisneighbour's tulips.
　　The law was for Van Baerle, and Boxtel had to abide by it.
　　Besides, Isaac had made the discovery that too much sun wasinjurious to tulips, and that this flower grew quicker, andhad a better colouring, with the temperate warmth ofmorning, than with the powerful heat of the midday sun. Hetherefore felt almost grateful to Cornelius van Baerle forhaving given him a screen gratis.
　　Maybe this was not quite in accordance with the true stateof things in general, and of Isaac Boxtel's feelings inparticular. It is certainly astonishing what rich comfortgreat minds, in the midst of momentous catastrophes, willderive from the consolations of philosophy.
　　But alas! What was the agony of the unfortunate Boxtel onseeing the windows of the new story set out with bulbs andseedlings of tulips for the border, and tulips in pots; inshort, with everything pertaining to the pursuits of atulip-monomaniac!
　　There were bundles of labels, cupboards, and drawers withcompartments, and wire guards for the cupboards, to allowfree access to the air whilst keeping out slugs, mice,dormice, and rats, all of them very curious fanciers oftulips at two thousand francs a bulb.
　　Boxtel was quite amazed when he saw all this apparatus, buthe was not as yet aware of the full extent of hismisfortune. Van Baerle was known to be fond of everythingthat pleases the eye. He studied Nature in all her aspectsfor the benefit of his paintings, which were as minutelyfinished as those of Gerard Dow, his master, and of Mieris,his friend. Was it not possible, that, having to paint theinterior of a tulip-grower's, he had collected in his newstudio all the accessories of decoration?
　　Yet, although thus consoling himself with illusorysuppositions, Boxtel was not able to resist the burningcuriosity which was devouring him. In the evening,therefore, he placed a ladder against the partition wallbetween their gardens, and, looking into that of hisneighbour Van Baerle, he convinced himself that the soil ofa large square bed, which had formerly been occupied bydifferent plants, was removed, and the ground disposed inbeds of loam mixed with river mud (a combination which isparticularly favourable to the tulip), and the wholesurrounded by a border of turf to keep the soil in itsplace. Besides this, sufficient shade to temper the noondayheat; aspect south-southwest; water in abundant supply, andat hand; in short, every requirement to insure not onlysuccess but also progress. There could not be a doubt thatVan Baerle had become a tulip-grower.
　　Boxtel at once pictured to himself this learned man, with acapital of four hundred thousand and a yearly income of tenthousand guilders, devoting all his intellectual andfinancial resources to the cultivation of the tulip. Heforesaw his neighbour's success, and he felt such a pang atthe mere idea of this success that his hands droppedpowerless, his knees trembled, and he fell in despair fromthe ladder.
　　And thus it was not for the sake of painted tulips, but forreal ones, that Van Baerle took from him half a degree ofwarmth. And thus Van Baerle was to have the most admirablyfitted aspect, and, besides, a large, airy, and wellventilated chamber where to preserve his bulbs andseedlings; while he, Boxtel, had been obliged to give up forthis purpose his bedroom, and, lest his sleeping in the sameapartment might injure his bulbs and seedlings, had taken uphis abode in a miserable garret.
　　Boxtel, then, was to have next door to him a rival andsuccessful competitor; and his rival, instead of being someunknown, obscure gardener, was the godson of MynheerCornelius de Witt, that is to say, a celebrity.
　　Boxtel, as the reader may see, was not possessed of thespirit of Porus, who, on being conquered by Alexander,consoled himself with the celebrity of his conqueror.
　　And now if Van Baerle produced a new tulip, and named it theJohn de Witt, after having named one the Cornelius? It wasindeed enough to choke one with rage.
　　Thus Boxtel, with jealous foreboding, became the prophet ofhis own misfortune. And, after having made this melancholydiscovery, he passed the most wretched night imaginable.
Chapter 6 The Hatred of a Tulip-fancier
    From that moment Boxtel's interest in tulips was no longer astimulus to his exertions, but a deadening anxiety.
　　Henceforth all his thoughts ran only upon the injury whichhis neighbour would cause him, and thus his favouriteoccupation was changed into a constant source of misery to him.
　　Van Baerle, as may easily be imagined, had no sooner begunto apply his natural ingenuity to his new fancy, than hesucceeded in growing the finest tulips. Indeed; he knewbetter than any one else at Haarlem or Leyden -- the twotowns which boast the best soil and the most congenialclimate -- how to vary the colours, to modify the shape, andto produce new species.
　　He belonged to that natural, humorous school who took fortheir motto in the seventeenth century the aphorism utteredby one of their number in 1653, -- "To despise flowers is tooffend God."From that premise the school of tulip-fanciers, the mostexclusive of all schools, worked out the following syllogismin the same year: --"To despise flowers is to offend God.
　　"The more beautiful the flower is, the more does one offendGod in despising it.
　　"The tulip is the most beautiful of all flowers.
　　"Therefore, he who despises the tulip offends God beyondmeasure."By reasoning of this kind, it can be seen that the four orfive thousand tulip-growers of Holland, France, andPortugal, leaving out those of Ceylon and China and theIndies, might, if so disposed, put the whole world under theban, and condemn as schismatics and heretics and deservingof death the several hundred millions of mankind whose hopesof salvation were not centred upon the tulip.
　　We cannot doubt that in such a cause Boxtel, though he wasVan Baerle's deadly foe, would have marched under the samebanner with him.
　　Mynheer van Baerle and his tulips, therefore, were in themouth of everybody; so much so, that Boxtel's namedisappeared for ever from the list of the notabletulip-growers in Holland, and those of Dort were nowrepresented by Cornelius van Baerle, the modest andinoffensive savant.
　　Engaging, heart and soul, in his pursuits of sowing,planting, and gathering, Van Baerle, caressed by the wholefraternity of tulip-growers in Europe, entertained nor theleast suspicion that there was at his very door a pretenderwhose throne he had usurped.
　　He went on in his career, and consequently in his triumphs;and in the course of two years he covered his borders withsuch marvellous productions as no mortal man, following inthe tracks of the Creator, except perhaps Shakespeare andRubens, have equalled in point of numbers.
　　And also, if Dante had wished for a new type to be added tohis characters of the Inferno, he might have chosen Boxtelduring the period of Van Baerle's successes. WhilstCornelius was weeding, manuring, watering his beds, whilst,kneeling on the turf border, he analysed every vein of theflowering tulips, and meditated on the modifications whichmight be effected by crosses of colour or otherwise, Boxtel,concealed behind a small sycamore which he had trained atthe top of the partition wall in the shape of a fan,watched, with his eyes starting from their sockets and withfoaming mouth, every step and every gesture of hisneighbour; and whenever he thought he saw him look happy, ordescried a smile on his lips, or a flash of contentmentglistening in his eyes, he poured out towards him such avolley of maledictions and furious threats as to make itindeed a matter of wonder that this venomous breath of envyand hatred did not carry a blight on the innocent flowerswhich had excited it.
　　When the evil spirit has once taken hold of the heart ofman, it urges him on, without letting him stop. Thus Boxtelsoon was no longer content with seeing Van Baerle. He wantedto see his flowers, too; he had the feelings of an artist,the master-piece of a rival engrossed his interest.
　　He therefore bought a telescope, which enabled him to watchas accurately as did the owner himself every progressivedevelopment of the flower, from the moment when, in thefirst year, its pale seed-leaf begins to peep from theground, to that glorious one, when, after five years, itspetals at last reveal the hidden treasures of its chalice.
　　How often had the miserable, jealous man to observe in VanBaerle's beds tulips which dazzled him by their beauty, andalmost choked him by their perfection!
　　And then, after the first blush of the admiration which hecould not help feeling, he began to be tortured by the pangsof envy, by that slow fever which creeps over the heart andchanges it into a nest of vipers, each devouring the otherand ever born anew. How often did Boxtel, in the midst oftortures which no pen is able fully to describe, -- howoften did he feel an inclination to jump down into thegarden during the night, to destroy the plants, to tear thebulbs with his teeth, and to sacrifice to his wrath theowner himself, if he should venture to stand up for thedefence of his tulips!
　　But to kill a tulip was a horrible crime in the eyes of agenuine tulip-fancier; as to killing a man, it would nothave mattered so very much.
　　Yet Van Baerle made such progress in the noble science ofgrowing tulips, which he seemed to master with the trueinstinct of genius, that Boxtel at last was maddened to sucha degree as to think of throwing stones and sticks into theflower-stands of his neighbour. But, remembering that hewould be sure to be found out, and that he would not only bepunished by law, but also dishonoured for ever in the faceof all the tulip-growers of Europe, he had recourse tostratagem, and, to gratify his hatred, tried to devise aplan by means of which he might gain his ends without beingcompromised himself.
　　He considered a long time, and at last his meditations werecrowned with success.
　　One evening he tied two cats together by their hind legswith a string about six feet in length, and threw them fromthe wall into the midst of that noble, that princely, thatroyal bed, which contained not only the "Cornelius de Witt,"but also the "Beauty of Brabant," milk-white, edged withpurple and pink, the "Marble of Rotterdam," colour of flax,blossoms feathered red and flesh colour, the "Wonder ofHaarlem," the "Colombin obscur," and the "Columbin clairterni."The frightened cats, having alighted on the ground, firsttried to fly each in a different direction, until the stringby which they were tied together was tightly stretchedacross the bed; then, however, feeling that they were notable to get off, they began to pull to and fro, and to wheelabout with hideous caterwaulings, mowing down with theirstring the flowers among which they were struggling, until,after a furious strife of about a quarter of an hour, thestring broke and the combatants vanished.
　　Boxtel, hidden behind his sycamore, could not see anything,as it was pitch-dark; but the piercing cries of the catstold the whole tale, and his heart overflowing with gall nowthrobbed with triumphant joy.
　　Boxtel was so eager to ascertain the extent of the injury,that he remained at his post until morning to feast his eyeson the sad state in which the two cats had left theflower-beds of his neighbour. The mists of the morningchilled his frame, but he did not feel the cold, the hope ofrevenge keeping his blood at fever heat. The chagrin of hisrival was to pay for all the inconvenience which he incurredhimself.
　　At the earliest dawn the door of the white house opened, andVan Baerle made his appearance, approaching the flower-bedswith the smile of a man who has passed the night comfortablyin his bed, and has had happy dreams.
　　All at once he perceived furrows and little mounds of earthon the beds which only the evening before had been as smoothas a mirror, all at once he perceived the symmetrical rowsof his tulips to be completely disordered, like the pikes ofa battalion in the midst of which a shell has fallen.
　　He ran up to them with blanched cheek.
　　Boxtel trembled with joy. Fifteen or twenty tulips, torn andcrushed, were lying about, some of them bent, otherscompletely broken and already withering, the sap oozing fromtheir bleeding bulbs: how gladly would Van Baerle haveredeemed that precious sap with his own blood!
　　But what were his surprise and his delight! what was thedisappointment of his rival! Not one of the four tulipswhich the latter had meant to destroy was injured at all.
　　They raised proudly their noble heads above the corpses oftheir slain companions. This was enough to console VanBaerle, and enough to fan the rage of the horticulturalmurderer, who tore his hair at the sight of the effects ofthe crime which he had committed in vain.
　　Van Baerle could not imagine the cause of the mishap, which,fortunately, was of far less consequence than it might havebeen. On making inquiries, he learned that the whole nighthad been disturbed by terrible caterwaulings. He besidesfound traces of the cats, their footmarks and hairs leftbehind on the battle-field; to guard, therefore, in futureagainst a similar outrage, he gave orders that henceforthone of the under gardeners should sleep in the garden in asentry-box near the flower-beds.
　　Boxtel heard him give the order, and saw the sentry-box putup that very day; but he deemed himself lucky in not havingbeen suspected, and, being more than ever incensed againstthe successful horticulturist, he resolved to bide his time.
　　Just then the Tulip Society of Haarlem offered a prize forthe discovery (we dare not say the manufacture) of a largeblack tulip without a spot of colour, a thing which had notyet been accomplished, and was considered impossible, as atthat time there did not exist a flower of that speciesapproaching even to a dark nut brown. It was, therefore,generally said that the founders of the prize might just aswell have offered two millions as a hundred thousandguilders, since no one would be able to gain it.
　　The tulip-growing world, however, was thrown by it into astate of most active commotion. Some fanciers caught at theidea without believing it practicable, but such is the powerof imagination among florists, that although considering theundertaking as certain to fail, all their thoughts wereengrossed by that great black tulip, which was looked uponto be as chimerical as the black swan of Horace or the whiteraven of French tradition.
　　Van Baerle was one of the tulip-growers who were struck withthe idea; Boxtel thought of it in the light of aspeculation. Van Baerle, as soon as the idea had once takenroot in his clear and ingenious mind, began slowly thenecessary planting and cross-breeding to reduce the tulipswhich he had grown already from red to brown, and from brownto dark brown.
　　By the next year he had obtained flowers of a perfectnut-brown, and Boxtel espied them in the border, whereas hehad himself as yet only succeeded in producing the lightbrown.
　　It might perhaps be interesting to explain to the gentlereader the beautiful chain of theories which go to provethat the tulip borrows its colors from the elements; perhapswe should give him pleasure if we were to maintain andestablish that nothing is impossible for a florist whoavails himself with judgment and discretion and patience ofthe sun's heat; the clear water, the juices of the earth,and the cool breezes. But this is not a treatise upon tulipsin general; it is the story of one particular tulip which wehave undertaken to write, and to that we limit ourselves,however alluring the subject which is so closely allied toours.
　　Boxtel, once more worsted by the superiority of his hatedrival, was now completely disgusted with tulip-growing, and,being driven half mad, devoted himself entirely toobservation.
　　The house of his rival was quite open to view; a gardenexposed to the sun; cabinets with glass walls, shelves,cupboards, boxes, and ticketed pigeon-holes, which couldeasily be surveyed by the telescope. Boxtel allowed hisbulbs to rot in the pits, his seedlings to dry up in theircases, and his tulips to wither in the borders andhenceforward occupied himself with nothing else but thedoings at Van Baerle's. He breathed through the stalks ofVan Baerle's tulips, quenched his thirst with the water hesprinkled upon them, and feasted on the fine soft earthwhich his neighbour scattered upon his cherished bulbs.
　　But the most curious part of the operations was notperformed in the garden.
　　It might be one o'clock in the morning when Van Baerle wentup to his laboratory, into the glazed cabinet whitherBoxtel's telescope had such an easy access; and here, assoon as the lamp illuminated the walls and windows, Boxtelsaw the inventive genius of his rival at work.
　　He beheld him sifting his seeds, and soaking them in liquidswhich were destined to modify or to deepen their colours. Heknew what Cornelius meant when heating certain grains, thenmoistening them, then combining them with others by a sortof grafting, -- a minute and marvellously delicatemanipulation, -- and when he shut up in darkness those whichwere expected to furnish the black colour, exposed to thesun or to the lamp those which were to produce red, andplaced between the endless reflections of two water-mirrorsthose intended for white, the pure representation of thelimpid element.
　　This innocent magic, the fruit at the same time ofchild-like musings and of manly genius -- this patientuntiring labour, of which Boxtel knew himself to beincapable -- made him, gnawed as he was with envy, centreall his life, all his thoughts, and all his hopes in histelescope.
　　For, strange to say, the love and interest of horticulturehad not deadened in Isaac his fierce envy and thirst ofrevenge. Sometimes, whilst covering Van Baerle with histelescope, he deluded himself into a belief that he waslevelling a never-failing musket at him; and then he wouldseek with his finger for the trigger to fire the shot whichwas to have killed his neighbour. But it is time that weshould connect with this epoch of the operations of the one,and the espionage of the other, the visit which Cornelius deWitt came to pay to his native town.
Chapter 7 The Happy Man makes Acquaintance with Misfortune
    Cornelius de Witt, after having attended to his familyaffairs, reached the house of his godson, Cornelius vanBaerle, one evening in the month of January, 1672.
　　De Witt, although being very little of a horticulturist orof an artist, went over the whole mansion, from the studioto the green-house, inspecting everything, from the picturesdown to the tulips. He thanked his godson for having joinedhim on the deck of the admiral's ship "The Seven Provinces,"during the battle of Southwold Bay, and for having given hisname to a magnificent tulip; and whilst he thus, with thekindness and affability of a father to a son, visited VanBaerle's treasures, the crowd gathered with curiosity, andeven respect, before the door of the happy man.
　　All this hubbub excited the attention of Boxtel, who wasjust taking his meal by his fireside. He inquired what itmeant, and, on being informed of the cause of all this stir,climbed up to his post of observation, where in spite of thecold, he took his stand, with the telescope to his eye.
　　This telescope had not been of great service to him sincethe autumn of 1671. The tulips, like true daughters of theEast, averse to cold, do not abide in the open ground inwinter. They need the shelter of the house, the soft bed onthe shelves, and the congenial warmth of the stove. VanBaerle, therefore, passed the whole winter in hislaboratory, in the midst of his books and pictures. He wentonly rarely to the room where he kept his bulbs, unless itwere to allow some occasional rays of the sun to enter, byopening one of the movable sashes of the glass front.
　　On the evening of which we are speaking, after the twoCorneliuses had visited together all the apartments of thehouse, whilst a train of domestics followed their steps, DeWitt said in a low voice to Van Baerle, --"My dear son, send these people away, and let us be alonefor some minutes."The younger Cornelius, bowing assent, said aloud, --"Would you now, sir, please to see my dry-room?"The dry-room, this pantheon, this sanctum sanctorum of thetulip-fancier, was, as Delphi of old, interdicted to theprofane uninitiated.
　　Never had any of his servants been bold enough to set hisfoot there. Cornelius admitted only the inoffensive broom ofan old Frisian housekeeper, who had been his nurse, and whofrom the time when he had devoted himself to the culture oftulips ventured no longer to put onions in his stews, forfear of pulling to pieces and mincing the idol of her fosterchild.
　　At the mere mention of the dry-room, therefore, the servantswho were carrying the lights respectfully fell back.
　　Cornelius, taking the candlestick from the hands of theforemost, conducted his godfather into that room, which wasno other than that very cabinet with a glass front intowhich Boxtel was continually prying with his telescope.
　　The envious spy was watching more intently than ever.
　　First of all he saw the walls and windows lit up.
　　Then two dark figures appeared.
　　One of them, tall, majestic, stern, sat down near the tableon which Van Baerle had placed the taper.
　　In this figure, Boxtel recognised the pale features ofCornelius de Witt, whose long hair, parted in front, fellover his shoulders.
　　De Witt, after having said some few words to Cornelius, themeaning of which the prying neighbour could not read in themovement of his lips, took from his breast pocket a whiteparcel, carefully sealed, which Boxtel, judging from themanner in which Cornelius received it, and placed it in oneof the presses, supposed to contain papers of the greatestimportance.
　　His first thought was that this precious deposit enclosedsome newly imported bulbs from Bengal or Ceylon; but he soonreflected that Cornelius de Witt was very little addicted totulip-growing, and that he only occupied himself with theaffairs of man, a pursuit by far less peaceful and agreeablethan that of the florist. He therefore came to theconclusion that the parcel contained simply some papers, andthat these papers were relating to politics.
　　But why should papers of political import be intrusted toVan Baerle, who not only was, but also boasted of being, anentire stranger to the science of government, which, in hisopinion, was more occult than alchemy itself?
　　It was undoubtedly a deposit which Cornelius de Witt,already threatened by the unpopularity with which hiscountrymen were going to honour him, was placing in thehands of his godson; a contrivance so much the more cleverlydevised, as it certainly was not at all likely that itshould be searched for at the house of one who had alwaysstood aloof from every sort of intrigue.
　　And, besides, if the parcel had been made up of bulbs,Boxtel knew his neighbour too well not to expect that VanBaerle would not have lost one moment in satisfying hiscuriosity and feasting his eyes on the present which he hadreceived.
　　But, on the contrary, Cornelius had received the parcel fromthe hands of his godfather with every mark of respect, andput it by with the same respectful manner in a drawer,stowing it away so that it should not take up too much ofthe room which was reserved to his bulbs.
　　The parcel thus being secreted, Cornelius de Witt got up,pressed the hand of his godson, and turned towards the door,Van Baerle seizing the candlestick, and lighting him on hisway down to the street, which was still crowded with peoplewho wished to see their great fellow citizen getting intohis coach.
　　Boxtel had not been mistaken in his supposition. The depositintrusted to Van Baerle, and carefully locked up by him, wasnothing more nor less than John de Witt's correspondencewith the Marquis de Louvois, the war minister of the King ofFrance; only the godfather forbore giving to his godson theleast intimation concerning the political importance of thesecret, merely desiring him not to deliver the parcel to anyone but to himself, or to whomsoever he should send to claimit in his name.
　　And Van Baerle, as we have seen, locked it up with his mostprecious bulbs, to think no more of it, after his godfatherhad left him; very unlike Boxtel, who looked upon thisparcel as a clever pilot does on the distant and scarcelyperceptible cloud which is increasing on its way and whichis fraught with a storm.
　　Little dreaming of the jealous hatred of his neighbour, VanBaerle had proceeded step by step towards gaining the prizeoffered by the Horticultural Society of Haarlem. He hadprogressed from hazel-nut shade to that of roasted coffee,and on the very day when the frightful events took place atthe Hague which we have related in the preceding chapters,we find him, about one o'clock in the day, gathering fromthe border the young suckers raised from tulips of thecolour of roasted coffee; and which, being expected toflower for the first time in the spring of 1675, wouldundoubtedly produce the large black tulip required by theHaarlem Society.
　　On the 20th of August, 1672, at one o'clock, Cornelius wastherefore in his dry-room, with his feet resting on thefoot-bar of the table, and his elbows on the cover, lookingwith intense delight on three suckers which he had justdetached from the mother bulb, pure, perfect, and entire,and from which was to grow that wonderful produce ofhorticulture which would render the name of Cornelius vanBaerle for ever illustrious.
　　"I shall find the black tulip," said Cornelius to himself,whilst detaching the suckers. "I shall obtain the hundredthousand guilders offered by the Society. I shall distributethem among the poor of Dort; and thus the hatred which everyrich man has to encounter in times of civil wars will besoothed down, and I shall be able, without fearing any harmeither from Republicans or Orangists, to keep as heretoforemy borders in splendid condition. I need no more be afraidlest on the day of a riot the shopkeepers of the town andthe sailors of the port should come and tear out my bulbs,to boil them as onions for their families, as they havesometimes quietly threatened when they happened to remembermy having paid two or three hundred guilders for one bulb.
　　It is therefore settled I shall give the hundred thousandguilders of the Haarlem prize to-the poor. And yet ---- "Here Cornelius stopped and heaved a sigh. "And yet," hecontinued, "it would have been so very delightful to spendthe hundred thousand guilders on the enlargement of mytulip-bed or even on a journey to the East, the country ofbeautiful flowers. But, alas! these are no thoughts for thepresent times, when muskets, standards, proclamations, andbeating of drums are the order of the day."Van Baerle raised his eyes to heaven and sighed again. Thenturning his glance towards his bulbs, -- objects of muchgreater importance to him than all those muskets, standards,drums, and proclamations, which he conceived only to be fitto disturb the minds of honest people, -- he said: --"These are, indeed, beautiful bulbs; how smooth they are,how well formed; there is that air of melancholy about themwhich promises to produce a flower of the colour of ebony.
　　On their skin you cannot even distinguish the circulatingveins with the naked eye. Certainly, certainly, not a lightspot will disfigure the tulip which I have called intoexistence. And by what name shall we call this offspring ofmy sleepless nights, of my labour and my thought? Tulipanigra Barlaensis?
　　"Yes Barlaensis: a fine name. All the tulip-fanciers -- thatis to say, all the intelligent people of Europe -- will feela thrill of excitement when the rumour spreads to the fourquarters of the globe: The grand black tulip is found! 'Howis it called?' the fanciers will ask. -- 'Tulipa nigraBarlaensis!' -- 'Why Barlaensis?' -- 'After its grower, VanBaerle,' will be the answer. -- 'And who is this VanBaerle?' -- 'It is the same who has already produced fivenew tulips: the Jane, the John de Witt, the Cornelius deWitt, etc.' Well, that is what I call my ambition. It willcause tears to no one. And people will talk of my Tulipanigra Barlaensis when perhaps my godfather, this sublimepolitician, is only known from the tulip to which I havegiven his name.
　　"Oh! these darling bulbs!
　　"When my tulip has flowered," Baerle continued in hissoliloquy, "and when tranquillity is restored in Holland, Ishall give to the poor only fifty thousand guilders, which,after all, is a goodly sum for a man who is under noobligation whatever. Then, with the remaining fifty thousandguilders, I shall make experiments. With them I shallsucceed in imparting scent to the tulip. Ah! if I succeed ingiving it the odour of the rose or the carnation, or, whatwould be still better, a completely new scent; if I restoredto this queen of flowers its natural distinctive perfume,which she has lost in passing from her Eastern to herEuropean throne, and which she must have in the Indianpeninsula at Goa, Bombay, and Madras, and especially in thatisland which in olden times, as is asserted, was theterrestrial paradise, and which is called Ceylon, -- oh,what glory! I must say, I would then rather be Cornelius vanBaerle than Alexander, Caesar, or Maximilian.
　　"Oh the admirable bulbs!"Thus Cornelius indulged in the delights of contemplation,and was carried away by the sweetest dreams.
　　Suddenly the bell of his cabinet was rung much moreviolently than usual.
　　Cornelius, startled, laid his hands on his bulbs, and turnedround.
　　"Who is here?" he asked.
　　"Sir," answered the servant, "it is a messenger from theHague.""A messenger from the Hague! What does he want?""Sir, it is Craeke.""Craeke! the confidential servant of Mynheer John de Witt?
　　Good, let him wait.""I cannot wait," said a voice in the lobby.
　　And at the same time forcing his way in, Craeke rushed intothe dry-room.
　　This abrupt entrance was such an infringement on theestablished rules of the household of Cornelius van Baerle,that the latter, at the sight of Craeke, almost convulsivelymoved his hand which covered the bulbs, so that two of themfell on the floor, one of them rolling under a small table,and the other into the fireplace.
　　"Zounds!" said Cornelius, eagerly picking up his preciousbulbs, "what's the matter?""The matter, sir!" said Craeke, laying a paper on the largetable, on which the third bulb was lying, -- "the matter is,that you are requested to read this paper without losing onemoment."And Craeke, who thought he had remarked in the streets ofDort symptoms of a tumult similar to that which he hadwitnessed before his departure from the Hague, ran offwithout even looking behind him.
　　"All right! all right! my dear Craeke," said Cornelius,stretching his arm under the table for the bulb; "your papershall be read, indeed it shall."Then, examining the bulb which he held in the hollow of hishand, he said: "Well, here is one of them uninjured. Thatconfounded Craeke! thus to rush into my dry-room; let us nowlook after the other."And without laying down the bulb which he already held,Baerle went to the fireplace, knelt down and stirred withthe tip of his finger the ashes, which fortunately werequite cold.
　　He at once felt the other bulb.
　　"Well, here it is," he said; and, looking at it with almostfatherly affection, he exclaimed, "Uninjured as the first!"At this very instant, and whilst Cornelius, still on hisknees, was examining his pets, the door of the dry-room wasso violently shaken, and opened in such a brusque manner,that Cornelius felt rising in his cheeks and his ears theglow of that evil counsellor which is called wrath.
　　"Now, what is it again," he demanded; "are people going madhere?""Oh, sir! sir!" cried the servant, rushing into the dry-roomwith a much paler face and with a much more frightened mienthan Craeke had shown.
　　"Well!" asked Cornelius, foreboding some mischief from thedouble breach of the strict rule of his house.
　　"Oh, sir, fly! fly quick!" cried the servant.
　　"Fly! and what for?""Sir, the house is full of the guards of the States.""What do they want?""They want you.""What for?""To arrest you.""Arrest me? arrest me, do you say?""Yes, sir, and they are headed by a magistrate.""What's the meaning of all this?" said Van Baerle, graspingin his hands the two bulbs, and directing his terrifiedglance towards the staircase.
　　"They are coming up! they are coming up!" cried the servant.
　　"Oh, my dear child, my worthy master!" cried the oldhousekeeper, who now likewise made her appearance in thedry-room, "take your gold, your jewelry, and fly, fly!""But how shall I make my escape, nurse?" said Van Baerle.
　　"Jump out of the window.""Twenty-five feet from the ground!""But you will fall on six feet of soft soil!""Yes, but I should fall on my tulips.""Never mind, jump out."Cornelius took the third bulb, approached the window andopened it, but seeing what havoc he would necessarily causein his borders, and, more than this, what a height he wouldhave to jump, he called out, "Never!" and fell back a step.
　　At this moment they saw across the banister of the staircasethe points of the halberds of the soldiers rising.
　　The housekeeper raised her hands to heaven.
　　As to Cornelius van Baerle, it must be stated to his honour,not as a man, but as a tulip-fancier, his only thought wasfor his inestimable bulbs.
　　Looking about for a paper in which to wrap them up, henoticed the fly-leaf from the Bible, which Craeke had laidupon the table, took it without in his confusion rememberingwhence it came, folded in it the three bulbs, secreted themin his bosom, and waited.
　　At this very moment the soldiers, preceded by a magistrate,entered the room.
　　"Are you Dr. Cornelius van Baerle?" demanded the magistrate(who, although knowing the young man very well, put hisquestion according to the forms of justice, which gave hisproceedings a much more dignified air).
　　"I am that person, Master van Spennen," answered Cornelius,politely, to his judge, "and you know it very well.""Then give up to us the seditious papers which you secretein your house.""The seditious papers!" repeated Cornelius, quite dumfoundedat the imputation.
　　"Now don't look astonished, if you please.""I vow to you, Master van Spennen, "Cornelius replied, "thatI am completely at a loss to understand what you want.""Then I shall put you in the way, Doctor," said the judge;"give up to us the papers which the traitor Cornelius deWitt deposited with you in the month of January last."A sudden light came into the mind of Cornelius.
　　"Halloa!" said Van Spennen, "you begin now to remember,don't you?""Indeed I do, but you spoke of seditious papers, and I havenone of that sort.""You deny it then?""Certainly I do."The magistrate turned round and took a rapid survey of thewhole cabinet.
　　"Where is the apartment you call your dry-room?" he asked.
　　"The very same where you now are, Master van Spennen."The magistrate cast a glance at a small note at the top ofhis papers.
　　"All right," he said, like a man who is sure of his ground.
　　Then, turning round towards Cornelius, he continued, "Willyou give up those papers to me?""But I cannot, Master van Spennen; those papers do notbelong to me; they have been deposited with me as a trust,and a trust is sacred.""Dr. Cornelius," said the judge, "in the name of the States,I order you to open this drawer, and to give up to me thepapers which it contains."Saying this, the judge pointed with his finger to the thirddrawer of the press, near the fireplace.
　　In this very drawer, indeed the papers deposited by theWarden of the Dikes with his godson were lying; a proof thatthe police had received very exact information.
　　"Ah! you will not," said Van Spennen, when he saw Corneliusstanding immovable and bewildered, "then I shall open thedrawer myself."And, pulling out the drawer to its full length, themagistrate at first alighted on about twenty bulbs,carefully arranged and ticketed, and then on the paperparcel, which had remained in exactly the same state as itwas when delivered by the unfortunate Cornelius de Witt tohis godson.
　　The magistrate broke the seals, tore off the envelope, castan eager glance on the first leaves which met his eye andthen exclaimed, in a terrible voice, --"Well, justice has been rightly informed after all!""How," said Cornelius, "how is this?""Don't pretend to be ignorant, Mynheer van Baerle," answeredthe magistrate. "Follow me.""How's that! follow you?" cried the Doctor.
　　"Yes, sir, for in the name of the States I arrest you."Arrests were not as yet made in the name of William ofOrange; he had not been Stadtholder long enough for that.
　　"Arrest me!" cried Cornelius; "but what have I done?""That's no affair of mine, Doctor; you will explain all thatbefore your judges.""Where?""At the Hague."Cornelius, in mute stupefaction, embraced his old nurse, whowas in a swoon; shook hands with his servants, who werebathed in tears, and followed the magistrate, who put him ina coach as a prisoner of state and had him driven at fullgallop to the Hague.
Chapter 8 An Invasion
    The incident just related was, as the reader has guessedbefore this, the diabolical work of Mynheer Isaac Boxtel.
　　It will be remembered that, with the help of his telescope,not even the least detail of the private meeting betweenCornelius de Witt and Van Baerle had escaped him. He had,indeed, heard nothing, but he had seen everything, and hadrightly concluded that the papers intrusted by the Warden tothe Doctor must have been of great importance, as he saw VanBaerle so carefully secreting the parcel in the drawer wherehe used to keep his most precious bulbs.
　　The upshot of all this was that when Boxtel, who watched thecourse of political events much more attentively than hisneighbour Cornelius was used to do, heard the news of thebrothers De Witt being arrested on a charge of high treasonagainst the States, he thought within his heart that verylikely he needed only to say one word, and the godson wouldbe arrested as well as the godfather.
　　Yet, full of happiness as was Boxtel's heart at the chance,he at first shrank with horror from the idea of informingagainst a man whom this information might lead to thescaffold.
　　But there is this terrible thing in evil thoughts, that evilminds soon grow familiar with them.
　　Besides this, Mynheer Isaac Boxtel encouraged himself withthe following sophism: --"Cornelius de Witt is a bad citizen, as he is charged withhigh treason, and arrested.
　　"I, on the contrary, am a good citizen, as I am not chargedwith anything in the world, as I am as free as the air ofheaven.""If, therefore, Cornelius de Witt is a bad citizen, -- ofwhich there can be no doubt, as he is charged with hightreason, and arrested, -- his accomplice, Cornelius vanBaerle, is no less a bad citizen than himself.
　　"And, as I am a good citizen, and as it is the duty of everygood citizen to inform against the bad ones, it is my dutyto inform against Cornelius van Baerle."Specious as this mode of reasoning might sound, it would notperhaps have taken so complete a hold of Boxtel, nor wouldhe perhaps have yielded to the mere desire of vengeancewhich was gnawing at his heart, had not the demon of envybeen joined with that of cupidity.
　　Boxtel was quite aware of the progress which Van Baerle hadmade towards producing the grand black tulip.
　　Dr. Cornelius, notwithstanding all his modesty, had not beenable to hide from his most intimate friends that he was allbut certain to win, in the year of grace 1673, the prize ofa hundred thousand guilders offered by the HorticulturalSociety of Haarlem.
　　It was just this certainty of Cornelius van Baerle thatcaused the fever which raged in the heart of Isaac Boxtel.
　　If Cornelius should be arrested there would necessarily be agreat upset in his house, and during the night after hisarrest no one would think of keeping watch over the tulipsin his garden.
　　Now in that night Boxtel would climb over the wall and, ashe knew the position of the bulb which was to produce thegrand black tulip, he would filch it; and instead offlowering for Cornelius, it would flower for him, Isaac; healso, instead of Van Baerle, would have the prize of ahundred thousand guilders, not to speak of the sublimehonour of calling the new flower Tulipa nigra Boxtellensis,-- a result which would satisfy not only his vengeance, butalso his cupidity and his ambition.
　　Awake, he thought of nothing but the grand black tulip;asleep, he dreamed of it.
　　At last, on the 19th of August, about two o'clock in theafternoon, the temptation grew so strong, that Mynheer Isaacwas no longer able to resist it.
　　Accordingly, he wrote an anonymous information, the minuteexactness of which made up for its want of authenticity, andposted his letter.
　　Never did a venomous paper, slipped into the jaws of thebronze lions at Venice, produce a more prompt and terribleeffect.
　　On the same evening the letter reached the principalmagistrate, who without a moment's delay convoked hiscolleagues early for the next morning. On the followingmorning, therefore, they assembled, and decided on VanBaerle's arrest, placing the order for its execution in thehands of Master van Spennen, who, as we have seen, performedhis duty like a true Hollander, and who arrested the Doctorat the very hour when the Orange party at the Hague wereroasting the bleeding shreds of flesh torn from the corpsesof Cornelius and John de Witt.
　　But, whether from a feeling of shame or from cravenweakness, Isaac Boxtel did not venture that day to point histelescope either at the garden, or at the laboratory, or atthe dry-room.
　　He knew too well what was about to happen in the house ofthe poor doctor to feel any desire to look into it. He didnot even get up when his only servant -- who envied the lotof the servants of Cornelius just as bitterly as Boxtel didthat of their master -- entered his bedroom. He said to theman, --"I shall not get up to-day, I am ill."About nine o'clock he heard a great noise in the streetwhich made him tremble, at this moment he was paler than areal invalid, and shook more violently than a man in theheight of fever.
　　His servant entered the room; Boxtel hid himself under thecounterpane.
　　"Oh, sir!" cried the servant, not without some inkling that,whilst deploring the mishap which had befallen Van Baerle,he was announcing agreeable news to his master, -- "oh, sir!
　　you do not know, then, what is happening at this moment?""How can I know it?" answered Boxtel, with an almostunintelligible voice.
　　"Well, Mynheer Boxtel, at this moment your neighbourCornelius van Baerle is arrested for high treason.""Nonsense!" Boxtel muttered, with a faltering voice; "thething is impossible.""Faith, sir, at any rate that's what people say; and,besides, I have seen Judge van Spennen with the archersentering the house.""Well, if you have seen it with your own eyes, that's adifferent case altogether.""At all events," said the servant, "I shall go and inquireonce more. Be you quiet, sir, I shall let you know all aboutit."Boxtel contented himself with signifying his approval of thezeal of his servant by dumb show.
　　The man went out, and returned in half an hour.
　　"Oh, sir, all that I told you is indeed quite true.""How so?""Mynheer van Baerle is arrested, and has been put into acarriage, and they are driving him to the Hague.""To the Hague!""Yes, to the Hague, and if what people say is true, it won'tdo him much good.""And what do they say?" Boxtel asked.
　　"Faith, sir, they say -- but it is not quite sure -- that bythis hour the burghers must be murdering Mynheer Corneliusand Mynheer John de Witt.""Oh," muttered, or rather growled Boxtel, closing his eyesfrom the dreadful picture which presented itself to hisimagination.
　　"Why, to be sure," said the servant to himself, whilstleaving the room, "Mynheer Isaac Boxtel must be very sicknot to have jumped from his bed on hearing such good news."And, in reality, Isaac Boxtel was very sick, like a man whohas murdered another.
　　But he had murdered his man with a double object; the firstwas attained, the second was still to be attained.
　　Night closed in. It was the night which Boxtel had lookedforward to.
　　As soon as it was dark he got up.
　　He then climbed into his sycamore.
　　He had calculated correctly; no one thought of keeping watchover the garden; the house and the servants were all in theutmost confusion.
　　He heard the clock strike -- ten, eleven, twelve.
　　At midnight, with a beating heart, trembling hands, and alivid countenance, he descended from the tree, took aladder, leaned it against the wall, mounted it to the laststep but one, and listened.
　　All was perfectly quiet, not a sound broke the silence ofthe night; one solitary light, that of the housekeeper, wasburning in the house.
　　This silence and this darkness emboldened Boxtel; he gotastride the wall, stopped for an instant, and, after havingascertained that there was nothing to fear, he put hisladder from his own garden into that of Cornelius, anddescended.
　　Then, knowing to an inch where the bulbs which were toproduce the black tulip were planted, he ran towards thespot, following, however, the gravelled walks in order notto be betrayed by his footprints, and, on arriving at theprecise spot, he proceeded, with the eagerness of a tiger,to plunge his hand into the soft ground.
　　He found nothing, and thought he was mistaken.
　　In the meanwhile, the cold sweat stood on his brow.
　　He felt about close by it, -- nothing.
　　He felt about on the right, and on the left, -- nothing.
　　He felt about in front and at the back, -- nothing.
　　He was nearly mad, when at last he satisfied himself that onthat very morning the earth had been disturbed.
　　In fact, whilst Boxtel was lying in bed, Cornelius had gonedown to his garden, had taken up the mother bulb, and, as wehave seen, divided it into three.
　　Boxtel could not bring himself to leave the place. He dug upwith his hands more than ten square feet of ground.
　　At last no doubt remained of his misfortune. Mad with rage,he returned to his ladder, mounted the wall, drew up theladder, flung it into his own garden, and jumped after it.
　　All at once, a last ray of hope presented itself to hismind: the seedling bulbs might be in the dry-room; it wastherefore only requisite to make his entry there as he haddone into the garden.
　　There he would find them, and, moreover, it was not at alldifficult, as the sashes of the dry-room might be raisedlike those of a greenhouse. Cornelius had opened them onthat morning, and no one had thought of closing them again.
　　Everything, therefore, depended upon whether he couldprocure a ladder of sufficient length, -- one of twenty-fivefeet instead of ten.
　　Boxtel had noticed in the street where he lived a housewhich was being repaired, and against which a very tallladder was placed.
　　This ladder would do admirably, unless the workmen had takenit away.
　　He ran to the house: the ladder was there. Boxtel took it,carried it with great exertion to his garden, and with evengreater difficulty raised it against the wall of VanBaerle's house, where it just reached to the window.
　　Boxtel put a lighted dark lantern into his pocket, mountedthe ladder, and slipped into the dry-room.
　　On reaching this sanctuary of the florist he stopped,supporting himself against the table; his legs failed him,his heart beat as if it would choke him. Here it was evenworse than in the garden; there Boxtel was only atrespasser, here he was a thief.
　　However, he took courage again: he had not gone so far toturn back with empty hands.
　　But in vain did he search the whole room, open and shut allthe drawers, even that privileged one where the parcel whichhad been so fatal to Cornelius had been deposited; he foundticketed, as in a botanical garden, the "Jane," the "John deWitt," the hazel-nut, and the roasted-coffee coloured tulip;but of the black tulip, or rather the seedling bulbs withinwhich it was still sleeping, not a trace was found.
　　And yet, on looking over the register of seeds and bulbs,which Van Baerle kept in duplicate, if possible even withgreater exactitude and care than the first commercial housesof Amsterdam their ledgers, Boxtel read these lines: --"To-day, 20th of August, 1672, I have taken up the motherbulb of the grand black tulip, which I have divided intothree perfect suckers.""Oh these bulbs, these bulbs!" howled Boxtel, turning overeverything in the dry-room, "where could he have concealedthem?"Then, suddenly striking his forehead in his frenzy, hecalled out, "Oh wretch that I am! Oh thrice fool Boxtel!
　　Would any one be separated from his bulbs? Would any oneleave them at Dort, when one goes to the Hague? Could onelive far from one's bulbs, when they enclose the grand blacktulip? He had time to get hold of them, the scoundrel, hehas them about him, he has taken them to the Hague!"It was like a flash of lightning which showed to Boxtel theabyss of a uselessly committed crime.
　　Boxtel sank quite paralyzed on that very table, and on thatvery spot where, some hours before, the unfortunate VanBaerle had so leisurely, and with such intense delight,contemplated his darling bulbs.
　　"Well, then, after all," said the envious Boxtel, -- raisinghis livid face from his hands in which it had been buried --"if he has them, he can keep them only as long as he lives,and ---- "The rest of this detestable thought was expressed by ahideous smile.
　　"The bulbs are at the Hague," he said, "therefore, I can nolonger live at Dort: away, then, for them, to the Hague! tothe Hague!"And Boxtel, without taking any notice of the treasures abouthim, so entirely were his thoughts absorbed by anotherinestimable treasure, let himself out by the window, glideddown the ladder, carried it back to the place whence he hadtaken it, and, like a beast of prey, returned growling tohis house.
Chapter 9 The Family Cell
    It was about midnight when poor Van Baerle was locked up inthe prison of the Buytenhof.
　　What Rosa foresaw had come to pass. On finding the cell ofCornelius de Witt empty, the wrath of the people ran veryhigh, and had Gryphus fallen into the hands of those madmenhe would certainly have had to pay with his life for theprisoner.
　　But this fury had vented itself most fully on the twobrothers when they were overtaken by the murderers, thanksto the precaution which William -- the man of precautions --had taken in having the gates of the city closed.
　　A momentary lull had therefore set in whilst the prison wasempty, and Rosa availed herself of this favourable moment tocome forth from her hiding place, which she also induced herfather to leave.
　　The prison was therefore completely deserted. Why shouldpeople remain in the jail whilst murder was going on at theTol-Hek?
　　Gryphus came forth trembling behind the courageous Rosa.
　　They went to close the great gate, at least as well as itwould close, considering that it was half demolished. It waseasy to see that a hurricane of mighty fury had venteditself upon it.
　　About four o'clock a return of the noise was heard, but ofno threatening character to Gryphus and his daughter. Thepeople were only dragging in the two corpses, which theycame back to gibbet at the usual place of execution.
　　Rosa hid herself this time also, but only that she might notsee the ghastly spectacle.
　　At midnight, people again knocked at the gate of the jail,or rather at the barricade which served in its stead: it wasCornelius van Baerle whom they were bringing.
　　When the jailer received this new inmate, and saw from thewarrant the name and station of his prisoner, he mutteredwith his turnkey smile, --"Godson of Cornelius de Witt! Well, young man, we have thefamily cell here, and we will give it to you."And quite enchanted with his joke, the ferocious Orangemantook his cresset and his keys to conduct Cornelius to thecell, which on that very morning Cornelius de Witt had leftto go into exile, or what in revolutionary times is meantinstead by those sublime philosophers who lay it down as anaxiom of high policy, "It is the dead only who do notreturn."On the way which the despairing florist had to traverse toreach that cell he heard nothing but the barking of a dog,and saw nothing but the face of a young girl.
　　The dog rushed forth from a niche in the wall, shaking hisheavy chain, and sniffing all round Cornelius in order somuch the better to recognise him in case he should beordered to pounce upon him.
　　The young girl, whilst the prisoner was mounting thestaircase, appeared at the narrow door of her chamber, whichopened on that very flight of steps; and, holding the lampin her right hand, she at the same time lit up her prettyblooming face, surrounded by a profusion of rich wavy goldenlocks, whilst with her left she held her white night-dressclosely over her breast, having been roused from her firstslumber by the unexpected arrival of Van Baerle.
　　It would have made a fine picture, worthy of Rembrandt, thegloomy winding stairs illuminated by the reddish glare ofthe cresset of Gryphus, with his scowling jailer'scountenance at the top, the melancholy figure of Corneliusbending over the banister to look down upon the sweet faceof Rosa, standing, as it were, in the bright frame of thedoor of her chamber, with embarrassed mien at being thusseen by a stranger.
　　And at the bottom, quite in the shade, where the details areabsorbed in the obscurity, the mastiff, with his eyesglistening like carbuncles, and shaking his chain, on whichthe double light from the lamp of Rosa and the lantern ofGryphus threw a brilliant glitter.
　　The sublime master would, however, have been altogetherunable to render the sorrow expressed in the face of Rosa,when she saw this pale, handsome young man slowly climbingthe stairs, and thought of the full import of the words,which her father had just spoken, "You will have the familycell."This vision lasted but a moment, -- much less time than wehave taken to describe it. Gryphus then proceeded on hisway, Cornelius was forced to follow him, and five minutesafterwards he entered his prison, of which it is unnecessaryto say more, as the reader is already acquainted with it.
　　Gryphus pointed with his finger to the bed on which themartyr had suffered so much, who on that day had renderedhis soul to God. Then, taking up his cresset, he quitted thecell.
　　Thus left alone, Cornelius threw himself on his bed, but heslept not, he kept his eye fixed on the narrow window,barred with iron, which looked on the Buytenhof; and in thisway saw from behind the trees that first pale beam of lightwhich morning sheds on the earth as a white mantle.
　　Now and then during the night horses had galloped at a smartpace over the Buytenhof, the heavy tramp of the patrols hadresounded from the pavement, and the slow matches of thearquebuses, flaring in the east wind, had thrown up atintervals a sudden glare as far as to the panes of hiswindow.
　　But when the rising sun began to gild the coping stones atthe gable ends of the houses, Cornelius, eager to knowwhether there was any living creature about him, approachedthe window, and cast a sad look round the circular yardbefore himAt the end of the yard a dark mass, tinted with a dingy blueby the morning dawn, rose before him, its dark outlinesstanding out in contrast to the houses already illuminatedby the pale light of early morning.
　　Cornelius recognised the gibbet.
　　On it were suspended two shapeless trunks, which indeed wereno more than bleeding skeletons.
　　The good people of the Hague had chopped off the flesh ofits victims, but faithfully carried the remainder to thegibbet, to have a pretext for a double inscription writtenon a huge placard, on which Cornelius; with the keen sightof a young man of twenty-eight, was able to read thefollowing lines, daubed by the coarse brush of asign-painter: --"Here are hanging the great rogue of the name of John deWitt, and the little rogue Cornelius de Witt, his brother,two enemies of the people, but great friends of the king ofFrance."Cornelius uttered a cry of horror, and in the agony of hisfrantic terror knocked with his hands and feet at the doorso violently and continuously, that Gryphus, with his hugebunch of keys in his hand, ran furiously up.
　　The jailer opened the door, with terrible imprecationsagainst the prisoner who disturbed him at an hour whichMaster Gryphus was not accustomed to be aroused.
　　"Well, now, by my soul, he is mad, this new De Witt," hecried, "but all those De Witts have the devil in them.""Master, master," cried Cornelius, seizing the jailer by thearm and dragging him towards the window, -- "master, whathave I read down there?""Where down there?""On that placard."And, trembling, pale, and gasping for breath, he pointed tothe gibbet at the other side of the yard, with the cynicalinscription surmounting it.
　　Gryphus broke out into a laugh.
　　"Eh! eh!" he answered, "so, you have read it. Well, my goodsir, that's what people will get for corresponding with theenemies of his Highness the Prince of Orange.""The brothers De Witt are murdered!" Cornelius muttered,with the cold sweat on his brow, and sank on his bed, hisarms hanging by his side, and his eyes closed.
　　"The brothers De Witt have been judged by the people," saidGryphus; "you call that murdered, do you? well, I call itexecuted."And seeing that the prisoner was not only quiet, butentirely prostrate and senseless, he rushed from the cell,violently slamming the door, and noisily drawing the bolts.
　　Recovering his consciousness, Cornelius found himself alone,and recognised the room where he was, -- "the family cell,"as Gryphus had called it, -- as the fatal passage leading toignominious death.
　　And as he was a philosopher, and, more than that, as he wasa Christian, he began to pray for the soul of his godfather,then for that of the Grand Pensionary, and at last submittedwith resignation to all the sufferings which God mightordain for him.
　　Then turning again to the concerns of earth, and havingsatisfied himself that he was alone in his dungeon, he drewfrom his breast the three bulbs of the black tulip, andconcealed them behind a block of stone, on which thetraditional water-jug of the prison was standing, in thedarkest corner of his cell.
　　Useless labour of so many years! such sweet hopes crushed;his discovery was, after all, to lead to naught, just as hisown career was to be cut short. Here, in his prison, therewas not a trace of vegetation, not an atom of soil, not aray of sunshine.
　　At this thought Cornelius fell into a gloomy despair, fromwhich he was only aroused by an extraordinary circumstance.
　　What was this circumstance?
　　We shall inform the reader in our next chapter.
Chapter 12 The Execution
    Cornelius had not three hundred paces to walk outside theprison to reach the foot of the scaffold. At the bottom ofthe staircase, the dog quietly looked at him whilst he waspassing; Cornelius even fancied he saw in the eyes of themonster a certain expression as it were of compassion.
　　The dog perhaps knew the condemned prisoners, and only bitthose who left as free men.
　　The shorter the way from the door of the prison to the footof the scaffold, the more fully, of course, it was crowdedwith curious people.
　　These were the same who, not satisfied with the blood whichthey had shed three days before, were now craving for a newvictim.
　　And scarcely had Cornelius made his appearance than a fiercegroan ran through the whole street, spreading all over theyard, and re-echoing from the streets which led to thescaffold, and which were likewise crowded with spectators.
　　The scaffold indeed looked like an islet at the confluenceof several rivers.
　　In the midst of these threats, groans, and yells, Cornelius,very likely in order not to hear them, had buried himself inhis own thoughts.
　　And what did he think of in his last melancholy journey?
　　Neither of his enemies, nor of his judges, nor of hisexecutioners.
　　He thought of the beautiful tulips which he would see fromheaven above, at Ceylon, or Bengal, or elsewhere, when hewould be able to look with pity on this earth, where Johnand Cornelius de Witt had been murdered for having thoughttoo much of politics, and where Cornelius van Baerle wasabout to be murdered for having thought too much of tulips.
　　"It is only one stroke of the axe," said the philosopher tohimself, "and my beautiful dream will begin to be realised."Only there was still a chance, just as it had happenedbefore to M. de Chalais, to M. de Thou, and other slovenlyexecuted people, that the headsman might inflict more thanone stroke, that is to say, more than one martyrdom, on thepoor tulip-fancier.
　　Yet, notwithstanding all this, Van Baerle mounted thescaffold not the less resolutely, proud of having been thefriend of that illustrious John, and godson of that nobleCornelius de Witt, whom the ruffians, who were now crowdingto witness his own doom, had torn to pieces and burnt threedays before.
　　He knelt down, said his prayers, and observed, not without afeeling of sincere joy, that, laying his head on the block,and keeping his eyes open, he would be able to his lastmoment to see the grated window of the Buytenhof.
　　At length the fatal moment arrived, and Cornelius placed hischin on the cold damp block. But at this moment his eyesclosed involuntarily, to receive more resolutely theterrible avalanche which was about to fall on his head, andto engulf his life.
　　A gleam like that of lightning passed across the scaffold:
　　it was the executioner raising his sword.
　　Van Baerle bade farewell to the great black tulip, certainof awaking in another world full of light and glorioustints.
　　Three times he felt, with a shudder, the cold current of airfrom the knife near his neck, but what a surprise! he feltneither pain nor shock.
　　He saw no change in the colour of the sky, or of the worldaround him.
　　Then suddenly Van Baerle felt gentle hands raising him, andsoon stood on his feet again, although trembling a little.
　　He looked around him. There was some one by his side,reading a large parchment, sealed with a huge seal of redwax.
　　And the same sun, yellow and pale, as it behooves a Dutchsun to be, was shining in the skies; and the same gratedwindow looked down upon him from the Buytenhof; and the samerabble, no longer yelling, but completely thunderstruck,were staring at him from the streets below.
　　Van Baerle began to be sensible to what was going on aroundhim.
　　His Highness, William, Prince of Orange, very likely afraidthat Van Baerle's blood would turn the scale of judgmentagainst him, had compassionately taken into considerationhis good character, and the apparent proofs of hisinnocence.
　　His Highness, accordingly, had granted him his life.
　　Cornelius at first hoped that the pardon would be complete,and that he would be restored to his full liberty and to hisflower borders at Dort.
　　But Cornelius was mistaken. To use an expression of Madamede Sevigne, who wrote about the same time, "there was apostscript to the letter;" and the most important part ofthe letter was contained in the postscript.
　　In this postscript, William of Orange, Stadtholder ofHolland, condemned Cornelius van Baerle to imprisonment forlife. He was not sufficiently guilty to suffer death, but hewas too much so to be set at liberty.
　　Cornelius heard this clause, but, the first feeling ofvexation and disappointment over, he said to himself, --"Never mind, all this is not lost yet; there is some good inthis perpetual imprisonment; Rosa will be there, and also mythree bulbs of the black tulip are there."But Cornelius forgot that the Seven Provinces had sevenprisons, one for each, and that the board of the prisoner isanywhere else less expensive than at the Hague, which is acapital.
　　His Highness, who, as it seems, did not possess the means tofeed Van Baerle at the Hague, sent him to undergo hisperpetual imprisonment at the fortress of Loewestein, verynear Dort, but, alas! also very far from it; for Loewestein,as the geographers tell us, is situated at the point of theislet which is formed by the confluence of the Waal and theMeuse, opposite Gorcum.
　　Van Baerle was sufficiently versed in the history of hiscountry to know that the celebrated Grotius was confined inthat castle after the death of Barneveldt; and that theStates, in their generosity to the illustrious publicist,jurist, historian, poet, and divine, had granted to him forhis daily maintenance the sum of twenty-four stivers.
　　"I," said Van Baerle to himself, "I am worth much less thanGrotius. They will hardly give me twelve stivers, and Ishall live miserably; but never mind, at all events I shalllive."Then suddenly a terrible thought struck him.
　　"Ah!" he exclaimed, "how damp and misty that part of thecountry is, and the soil so bad for the tulips! And thenRosa will not be at Loewestein!"
Chapter 13 What was going on all this Time in the Mind of one of the Spectators
    Whilst Cornelius was engaged with his own thoughts, a coachhad driven up to the scaffold. This vehicle was for theprisoner. He was invited to enter it, and he obeyed.
　　His last look was towards the Buytenhof. He hoped to see atthe window the face of Rosa, brightening up again.
　　But the coach was drawn by good horses, who soon carried VanBaerle away from among the shouts which the rabble roared inhonour of the most magnanimous Stadtholder, mixing with it aspice of abuse against the brothers De Witt and the godsonof Cornelius, who had just now been saved from death.
　　This reprieve suggested to the worthy spectators remarkssuch as the following: --"It's very fortunate that we used such speed in havingjustice done to that great villain John, and to that littlerogue Cornelius, otherwise his Highness might have snatchedthem from us, just as he has done this fellow."Among all the spectators whom Van Baerle's execution hadattracted to the Buytenhof, and whom the sudden turn ofaffairs had disagreeably surprised, undoubtedly the one mostdisappointed was a certain respectably dressed burgher, whofrom early morning had made such a good use of his feet andelbows that he at last was separated from the scaffold onlyby the file of soldiers which surrounded it.
　　Many had shown themselves eager to see the perfidious bloodof the guilty Cornelius flow, but not one had shown such akeen anxiety as the individual just alluded to.
　　The most furious had come to the Buytenhof at daybreak, tosecure a better place; but he, outdoing even them, hadpassed the night at the threshold of the prison, fromwhence, as we have already said, he had advanced to the veryforemost rank, unguibus et rostro, -- that is to say,coaxing some, and kicking the others.
　　And when the executioner had conducted the prisoner to thescaffold, the burgher, who had mounted on the stone of thepump the better to see and be seen, made to the executionera sign which meant, --"It's a bargain, isn't it?"The executioner answered by another sign, which was meant tosay, --"Be quiet, it's all right."This burgher was no other than Mynheer Isaac Boxtel, whosince the arrest of Cornelius had come to the Hague to tryif he could not get hold of the three bulbs of the blacktulip.
　　Boxtel had at first tried to gain over Gryphus to hisinterest, but the jailer had not only the snarlingfierceness, but likewise the fidelity, of a dog. He hadtherefore bristled up at Boxtel's hatred, whom he hadsuspected to be a warm friend of the prisoner, makingtrifling inquiries to contrive with the more certainty somemeans of escape for him.
　　Thus to the very first proposals which Boxtel made toGryphus to filch the bulbs which Cornelius van Baerle mustbe supposed to conceal, if not in his breast, at least insome corner of his cell, the surly jailer had only answeredby kicking Mynheer Isaac out, and setting the dog at him.
　　The piece which the mastiff had torn from his hose did notdiscourage Boxtel. He came back to the charge, but this timeGryphus was in bed, feverish, and with a broken arm. Hetherefore was not able to admit the petitioner, who thenaddressed himself to Rosa, offering to buy her a head-dressof pure gold if she would get the bulbs for him. On this,the generous girl, although not yet knowing the value of theobject of the robbery, which was to be so well remunerated,had directed the tempter to the executioner, as the heir ofthe prisoner.
　　In the meanwhile the sentence had been pronounced. ThusIsaac had no more time to bribe any one. He therefore clungto the idea which Rosa had suggested: he went to theexecutioner.
　　Isaac had not the least doubt that Cornelius would die withthe bulbs on his heart.
　　But there were two things which Boxtel did not calculateupon: --Rosa, that is to say, love;William of Orange, that is to say, clemency.
　　But for Rosa and William, the calculations of the enviousneighbour would have been correct.
　　But for William, Cornelius would have died.
　　But for Rosa, Cornelius would have died with his bulbs onhis heart.
　　Mynheer Boxtel went to the headsman, to whom he gave himselfout as a great friend of the condemned man; and from whom hebought all the clothes of the dead man that was to be, forone hundred guilders; rather an exorbitant sum, as heengaged to leave all the trinkets of gold and silver to theexecutioner.
　　But what was the sum of a hundred guilders to a man who wasall but sure to buy with it the prize of the HaarlemSociety?
　　It was money lent at a thousand per cent., which, as nobodywill deny, was a very handsome investment.
　　The headsman, on the other hand, had scarcely anything to doto earn his hundred guilders. He needed only, as soon as theexecution was over, to allow Mynheer Boxtel to ascend thescaffold with his servants, to remove the inanimate remainsof his friend.
　　The thing was, moreover, quite customary among the "faithfulbrethren," when one of their masters died a public death inthe yard of the Buytenhof.
　　A fanatic like Cornelius might very easily have foundanother fanatic who would give a hundred guilders for hisremains.
　　The executioner also readily acquiesced in the proposal,making only one condition, -- that of being paid in advance.
　　Boxtel, like the people who enter a show at a fair, might bedisappointed, and refuse to pay on going out.
　　Boxtel paid in advance, and waited.
　　After this, the reader may imagine how excited Boxtel was;with what anxiety he watched the guards, the Recorder, andthe executioner; and with what intense interest he surveyedthe movements of Van Baerle. How would he place himself onthe block? how would he fall? and would he not, in falling,crush those inestimable bulbs? had not he at least takencare to enclose them in a golden box, -- as gold is thehardest of all metals?
　　Every trifling delay irritated him. Why did that stupidexecutioner thus lose time in brandishing his sword over thehead of Cornelius, instead of cutting that head off?
　　But when he saw the Recorder take the hand of the condemned,and raise him, whilst drawing forth the parchment from hispocket, -- when he heard the pardon of the Stadtholderpublicly read out, -- then Boxtel was no more like a humanbeing; the rage and malice of the tiger, of the hyena, andof the serpent glistened in his eyes, and vented itself inhis yell and his movements. Had he been able to get at VanBaerle, he would have pounced upon him and strangled him.
　　And so, then, Cornelius was to live, and was to go with himto Loewestein, and thither to his prison he would take withhim his bulbs; and perhaps he would even find a garden wherethe black tulip would flower for him.
　　Boxtel, quite overcome by his frenzy, fell from the stoneupon some Orangemen, who, like him, were sorely vexed at theturn which affairs had taken. They, mistaking the franticcries of Mynheer Isaac for demonstrations of joy, began tobelabour him with kicks and cuffs, such as could not havebeen administered in better style by any prize-fighter onthe other side of the Channel.
　　Blows were, however, nothing to him. He wanted to run afterthe coach which was carrying away Cornelius with his bulbs.
　　But in his hurry he overlooked a paving-stone in his way,stumbled, lost his centre of gravity, rolled over to adistance of some yards, and only rose again, bruised andbegrimed, after the whole rabble of the Hague, with theirmuddy feet, had passed over him.
　　One would think that this was enough for one day, butMynheer Boxtel did not seem to think so, as, in addition tohaving his clothes torn, his back bruised, and his handsscratched, he inflicted upon himself the further punishmentof tearing out his hair by handfuls, as an offering to thatgoddess of envy who, as mythology teaches us, wears ahead-dress of serpents.
Chapter 14 The Pigeons of Dort
    It was indeed in itself a great honour for Cornelius vanBaerle to be confined in the same prison which had oncereceived the learned master Grotius.
　　But on arriving at the prison he met with an honour evengreater. As chance would have it, the cell formerlyinhabited by the illustrious Barneveldt happened to bevacant, when the clemency of the Prince of Orange sent thetulip-fancier Van Baerle there.
　　The cell had a very bad character at the castle since thetime when Grotius, by means of the device of his wife, madeescape from it in that famous book-chest which the jailersforgot to examine.
　　On the other hand, it seemed to Van Baerle an auspiciousomen that this very cell was assigned to him, for accordingto his ideas, a jailer ought never to have given to a secondpigeon the cage from which the first had so easily flown.
　　The cell had an historical character. We will only statehere that, with the exception of an alcove which wascontrived there for the use of Madame Grotius, it differedin no respect from the other cells of the prison; only,perhaps, it was a little higher, and had a splendid viewfrom the grated window.
　　Cornelius felt himself perfectly indifferent as to the placewhere he had to lead an existence which was little more thanvegetation. There were only two things now for which hecared, and the possession of which was a happiness enjoyedonly in imagination.
　　A flower, and a woman; both of them, as he conceived, lostto him for ever.
　　Fortunately the good doctor was mistaken. In his prison cellthe most adventurous life which ever fell to the lot of anytulip-fancier was reserved for him.
　　One morning, whilst at his window inhaling the fresh airwhich came from the river, and casting a longing look to thewindmills of his dear old city Dort, which were looming inthe distance behind a forest of chimneys, he saw flocks ofpigeons coming from that quarter to perch fluttering on thepointed gables of Loewestein.
　　These pigeons, Van Baerle said to himself, are coming fromDort, and consequently may return there. By fastening alittle note to the wing of one of these pigeons, one mighthave a chance to send a message there. Then, after a fewmoments' consideration, he exclaimed, --"I will do it."A man grows very patient who is twenty-eight years of age,and condemned to a prison for life, -- that is to say, tosomething like twenty-two or twenty-three thousand days ofcaptivity.
　　Van Baerle, from whose thoughts the three bulbs were neverabsent, made a snare for catching the pigeons, baiting thebirds with all the resources of his kitchen, such as it wasfor eight slivers (sixpence English) a day; and, after amonth of unsuccessful attempts, he at last caught a femalebird.
　　It cost him two more months to catch a male bird; he thenshut them up together, and having about the beginning of theyear 1673 obtained some eggs from them, he released thefemale, which, leaving the male behind to hatch the eggs inher stead, flew joyously to Dort, with the note under herwing.
　　She returned in the evening. She had preserved the note.
　　Thus it went on for fifteen days, at first to thedisappointment, and then to the great grief, of Van Baerle.
　　On the sixteenth day, at last, she came back without it.
　　Van Baerle had addressed it to his nurse, the old Frisianwoman; and implored any charitable soul who might find it toconvey it to her as safely and as speedily as possible.
　　In this letter there was a little note enclosed for Rosa.
　　Van Baerle's nurse had received the letter in the followingway.
　　Leaving Dort, Mynheer Isaac Boxtel had abandoned, not onlyhis house, his servants, his observatory, and his telescope,but also his pigeons.
　　The servant, having been left without wages, first lived onhis little savings, and then on his master's pigeons.
　　Seeing this, the pigeons emigrated from the roof of IsaacBoxtel to that of Cornelius van Baerle.
　　The nurse was a kind-hearted woman, who could not livewithout something to love. She conceived an affection forthe pigeons which had thrown themselves on her hospitality;and when Boxtel's servant reclaimed them with culinaryintentions, having eaten the first fifteen already, and nowwishing to eat the other fifteen, she offered to buy themfrom him for a consideration of six stivers per head.
　　This being just double their value, the man was very glad toclose the bargain, and the nurse found herself in undisputedpossession of the pigeons of her master's envious neighbour.
　　In the course of their wanderings, these pigeons with othersvisited the Hague, Loewestein, and Rotterdam, seekingvariety, doubtless, in the flavour of their wheat orhempseed.
　　Chance, or rather God, for we can see the hand of God ineverything, had willed that Cornelius van Baerle shouldhappen to hit upon one of these very pigeons.
　　Therefore, if the envious wretch had not left Dort to followhis rival to the Hague in the first place, and then toGorcum or to Loewestein, -- for the two places are separatedonly by the confluence of the Waal and the Meuse, -- VanBaerle's letter would have fallen into his hands and not thenurse's: in which event the poor prisoner, like the raven ofthe Roman cobbler, would have thrown away his time, histrouble, and, instead of having to relate the series ofexciting events which are about to flow from beneath our penlike the varied hues of a many coloured tapestry, we shouldhave naught to describe but a weary waste of days, dull andmelancholy and gloomy as night's dark mantle.
　　The note, as we have said, had reached Van Baerle's nurse.
　　And also it came to pass, that one evening in the beginningof February, just when the stars were beginning to twinkle,Cornelius heard on the staircase of the little turret avoice which thrilled through him.
　　He put his hand on his heart, and listened.
　　It was the sweet harmonious voice of Rosa.
　　Let us confess it, Cornelius was not so stupefied withsurprise, or so beyond himself with joy, as he would havebeen but for the pigeon, which, in answer to his letter, hadbrought back hope to him under her empty wing; and, knowingRosa, he expected, if the note had ever reached her, to hearof her whom he loved, and also of his three darling bulbs.
　　He rose, listened once more, and bent forward towards thedoor.
　　Yes, they were indeed the accents which had fallen sosweetly on his heart at the Hague.
　　The question now was, whether Rosa, who had made the journeyfrom the Hague to Loewestein, and who -- Cornelius did notunderstand how -- had succeeded even in penetrating into theprison, would also be fortunate enough in penetrating to theprisoner himself.
　　Whilst Cornelius, debating this point within himself, wasbuilding all sorts of castles in the air, and was strugglingbetween hope and fear, the shutter of the grating in thedoor opened, and Rosa, beaming with joy, and beautiful inher pretty national costume -- but still more beautiful fromthe grief which for the last five months had blanched hercheeks -- pressed her little face against the wire gratingof the window, saying to him, --"Oh, sir, sir! here I am!"Cornelius stretched out his arms, and, looking to heaven,uttered a cry of joy, --"Oh, Rosa, Rosa!""Hush! let us speak low: my father follows on my heels,"said the girl.
　　"Your father?""Yes, he is in the courtyard at the bottom of the staircase,receiving the instructions of the Governor; he willpresently come up.""The instructions of the Governor?""Listen to me, I'll try to tell you all in a few words. TheStadtholder has a country-house, one league distant fromLeyden, properly speaking a kind of large dairy, and myaunt, who was his nurse, has the management of it. As soonas I received your letter, which, alas! I could not readmyself, but which your housekeeper read to me, I hastened tomy aunt; there I remained until the Prince should come tothe dairy; and when he came, I asked him as a favour toallow my father to exchange his post at the prison of theHague with the jailer of the fortress of Loewestein. ThePrince could not have suspected my object; had he known it,he would have refused my request, but as it is he grantedit.""And so you are here?""As you see.""And thus I shall see you every day?""As often as I can manage it.""Oh, Rosa, my beautiful Rosa, do you love me a little?""A little?" she said, "you make no great pretensions,Mynheer Cornelius."Cornelius tenderly stretched out his hands towards her, butthey were only able to touch each other with the tips oftheir fingers through the wire grating.
　　"Here is my father," said she.
　　Rosa then abruptly drew back from the door, and ran to meetold Gryphus, who made his appearance at the top of thestaircase.
Chapter 15 The Little Grated Window
    Gryphus was followed by the mastiff.
　　The turnkey took the animal round the jail, so that, ifneeds be, he might recognize the prisoners.
　　"Father," said Rosa, "here is the famous prison from whichMynheer Grotius escaped. You know Mynheer Grotius?""Oh, yes, that rogue Grotius, a friend of that villainBarneveldt, whom I saw executed when I was a child. Ah! soGrotius; and that's the chamber from which he escaped. Well,I'll answer for it that no one shall escape after him in mytime."And thus opening the door, he began in the dark to talk tothe prisoner.
　　The dog, on his part, went up to the prisoner, and,growling, smelled about his legs just as though to ask himwhat right he had still to be alive, after having left theprison in the company of the Recorder and the executioner.
　　But the fair Rosa called him to her side.
　　"Well, my master," said Gryphus, holding up his lantern tothrow a little light around, "you see in me your new jailer.
　　I am head turnkey, and have all the cells under my care. Iam not vicious, but I'm not to be trifled with, as far asdiscipline goes.""My good Master Gryphus, I know you perfectly well," saidthe prisoner, approaching within the circle of light castaround by the lantern.
　　"Halloa! that's you, Mynheer van Baerle," said Gryphus.
　　"That's you; well, I declare, it's astonishing how people domeet.""Oh, yes; and it's really a great pleasure to me, goodMaster Gryphus, to see that your arm is doing well, as youare able to hold your lantern with it."Gryphus knitted his brow. "Now, that's just it," he said,"people always make blunders in politics. His Highness hasgranted you your life; I'm sure I should never have doneso.""Don't say so," replied Cornelius; "why not?""Because you are the very man to conspire again. You learnedpeople have dealings with the devil.""Nonsense, Master Gryphus. Are you dissatisfied with themanner in which I have set your arm, or with the price thatI asked you?" said Cornelius, laughing.
　　"On the contrary," growled the jailer, "you have set it onlytoo well. There is some witchcraft in this. After six weeks,I was able to use it as if nothing had happened, so much so,that the doctor of the Buytenhof, who knows his trade well,wanted to break it again, to set it in the regular way, andpromised me that I should have my blessed three months formy money before I should be able to move it.""And you did not want that?""I said, 'Nay, as long as I can make the sign of the crosswith that arm' (Gryphus was a Roman Catholic), 'I laugh atthe devil.'""But if you laugh at the devil, Master Gryphus, you oughtwith so much more reason to laugh at learned people.""Ah, learned people, learned people! Why, I would ratherhave to guard ten soldiers than one scholar. The soldierssmoke, guzzle, and get drunk; they are gentle as lambs ifyou only give them brandy or Moselle, but scholars, anddrink, smoke, and fuddle -- ah, yes, that's altogetherdifferent. They keep sober, spend nothing, and have theirheads always clear to make conspiracies. But I tell you, atthe very outset, it won't be such an easy matter for you toconspire. First of all, you will have no books, no paper,and no conjuring book. It's books that helped MynheerGrotius to get off.""I assure you, Master Gryphus," replied Van Baerle, "that ifI have entertained the idea of escaping, I most decidedlyhave it no longer.""Well, well," said Gryphus, "just look sharp: that's what Ishall do also. But, for all that, I say his Highness hasmade a great mistake.""Not to have cut off my head? thank you, Master Gryphus.""Just so, look whether the Mynheer de Witt don't keep veryquiet now.""That's very shocking what you say now, Master Gryphus,"cried Van Baerle, turning away his head to conceal hisdisgust. "You forget that one of those unfortunate gentlemenwas my friend, and the other my second father.""Yes, but I also remember that the one, as well as theother, was a conspirator. And, moreover, I am speaking fromChristian charity.""Oh, indeed! explain that a little to me, my good MasterGryphus. I do not quite understand it.""Well, then, if you had remained on the block of MasterHarbruck ---- ""What?""You would not suffer any longer; whereas, I will notdisguise it from you, I shall lead you a sad life of it.""Thank you for the promise, Master Gryphus."And whilst the prisoner smiled ironically at the old jailer,Rosa, from the outside, answered by a bright smile, whichcarried sweet consolation to the heart of Van Baerle.
　　Gryphus stepped towards the window.
　　It was still light enough to see, although indistinctly,through the gray haze of the evening, the vast expanse ofthe horizon.
　　"What view has one from here?" asked Gryphus.
　　"Why, a very fine and pleasant one," said Cornelius, lookingat Rosa.
　　"Yes, yes, too much of a view, too much."And at this moment the two pigeons, scared by the sight andespecially by the voice of the stranger, left their nest,and disappeared, quite frightened in the evening mist.
　　"Halloa! what's this?" cried Gryphus.
　　"My pigeons," answered Cornelius.
　　"Your pigeons," cried the jailer, "your pigeons! has aprisoner anything of his own?""Why, then," said Cornelius, "the pigeons which a mercifulFather in Heaven has lent to me.""So, here we have a breach of the rules already," repliedGryphus. "Pigeons! ah, young man, young man! I'll tell youone thing, that before to-morrow is over, your pigeons willboil in my pot.""First of all you should catch them, Master Gryphus. Youwon't allow these pigeons to be mine! Well, I vow they areeven less yours than mine.""Omittance is no acquittance," growled the jailer, "and Ishall certainly wring their necks before twenty-four hoursare over: you may be sure of that."Whilst giving utterance to this ill-natured promise, Gryphusput his head out of the window to examine the nest. Thisgave Van Baerle time to run to the door, and squeeze thehand of Rosa, who whispered to him, --"At nine o'clock this evening."Gryphus, quite taken up with the desire of catching thepigeons next day, as he had promised he would do, saw andheard nothing of this short interlude; and, after havingclosed the window, he took the arm of his daughter, left thecell, turned the key twice, drew the bolts, and went off tomake the same kind promise to the other prisoners.
　　He had scarcely withdrawn, when Cornelius went to the doorto listen to the sound of his footsteps, and, as soon asthey had died away, he ran to the window, and completelydemolished the nest of the pigeons.
　　Rather than expose them to the tender mercies of hisbullying jailer, he drove away for ever those gentlemessengers to whom he owed the happiness of having seen Rosaagain.
　　This visit of the jailer, his brutal threats, and the gloomyprospect of the harshness with which, as he had beforeexperienced, Gryphus watched his prisoners, -- all this wasunable to extinguish in Cornelius the sweet thoughts, andespecially the sweet hope, which the presence of Rosa hadreawakened in his heart.
　　He waited eagerly to hear the clock of the tower ofLoewestein strike nine.
　　The last chime was still vibrating through the air, whenCornelius heard on the staircase the light step and therustle of the flowing dress of the fair Frisian maid, andsoon after a light appeared at the little grated window inthe door, on which the prisoner fixed his earnest gaze.
　　The shutter opened on the outside.
　　"Here I am," said Rosa, out of breath from running up thestairs, "here I am.""Oh, my good Rosa.""You are then glad to see me?""Can you ask? But how did you contrive to get here? tellme.""Now listen to me. My father falls asleep every eveningalmost immediately after his supper; I then make him liedown, a little stupefied with his gin. Don't say anythingabout it, because, thanks to this nap, I shall be able tocome every evening and chat for an hour with you.""Oh, I thank you, Rosa, dear Rosa."Saying these words, Cornelius put his face so near thelittle window that Rosa withdrew hers.
　　"I have brought back to you your bulbs."Cornelius's heart leaped with joy. He had not yet dared toask Rosa what she had done with the precious treasure whichhe had intrusted to her.
　　"Oh, you have preserved them, then?""Did you not give them to me as a thing which was dear toyou?""Yes, but as I have given them to you, it seems to me thatthey belong to you.""They would have belonged to me after your death, but,fortunately, you are alive now. Oh how I blessed hisHighness in my heart! If God grants to him all the happinessthat I have wished him, certainly Prince William will be thehappiest man on earth. When I looked at the Bible of yourgodfather Cornelius, I was resolved to bring back to youyour bulbs, only I did not know how to accomplish it. I had,however, already formed the plan of going to theStadtholder, to ask from him for my father the appointmentof jailer of Loewestein, when your housekeeper brought meyour letter. Oh, how we wept together! But your letter onlyconfirmed me the more in my resolution. I then left forLeyden, and the rest you know.""What, my dear Rosa, you thought, even before receiving myletter, of coming to meet me again?""If I thought of it," said Rosa, allowing her love to getthe better of her bashfulness, "I thought of nothing else."And, saying these words, Rosa looked so exceedingly pretty,that for the second time Cornelius placed his forehead andlips against the wire grating; of course, we must presumewith the laudable desire to thank the young lady.
　　Rosa, however, drew back as before.
　　"In truth," she said, with that coquetry which somehow orother is in the heart of every young girl, "I have oftenbeen sorry that I am not able to read, but never so much soas when your housekeeper brought me your letter. I kept thepaper in my hands, which spoke to other people, and whichwas dumb to poor stupid me.""So you have often regretted not being able to read," saidCornelius. "I should just like to know on what occasions.""Troth," she said, laughing, "to read all the letters whichwere written to me.""Oh, you received letters, Rosa?""By hundreds.""But who wrote to you?""Who! why, in the first place, all the students who passedover the Buytenhof, all the officers who went to parade, allthe clerks, and even the merchants who saw me at my littlewindow.""And what did you do with all these notes, my dear Rosa?""Formerly," she answered, "I got some friend to read them tome, which was capital fun, but since a certain time -- well,what use is it to attend to all this nonsense? -- since acertain time I have burnt them.""Since a certain time!" exclaimed Cornelius, with a lookbeaming with love and joy.
　　Rosa cast down her eyes, blushing. In her sweet confusion,she did not observe the lips of Cornelius, which, alas! onlymet the cold wire-grating. Yet, in spite of this obstacle,they communicated to the lips of the young girl the glowingbreath of the most tender kiss.
　　At this sudden outburst of tenderness, Rosa grew very pale,-- perhaps paler than she had been on the day of theexecution. She uttered a plaintive sob, closed her fineeyes, and fled, trying in vain to still the beating of herheart.
　　And thus Cornelius was again alone.
　　Rosa had fled so precipitately, that she completely forgotto return to Cornelius the three bulbs of the Black Tulip.
Chapter 16 Master and Pupil
    The worthy Master Gryphus, as the reader may have seen, wasfar from sharing the kindly feeling of his daughter for thegodson of Cornelius de Witt.
　　There being only five prisoners at Loewestein, the post ofturnkey was not a very onerous one, but rather a sort ofsinecure, given after a long period of service.
　　But the worthy jailer, in his zeal, had magnified with allthe power of his imagination the importance of his office.
　　To him Cornelius had swelled to the gigantic proportions ofa criminal of the first order. He looked upon him,therefore, as the most dangerous of all his prisoners. Hewatched all his steps, and always spoke to him with an angrycountenance; punishing him for what he called his dreadfulrebellion against such a clement prince as the Stadtholder.
　　Three times a day he entered Van Baerle's cell, expecting tofind him trespassing; but Cornelius had ceased tocorrespond, since his correspondent was at hand. It is evenprobable that, if Cornelius had obtained his full liberty,with permission to go wherever he liked, the prison, withRosa and his bulbs, would have appeared to him preferable toany other habitation in the world without Rosa and hisbulbs.
　　Rosa, in fact, had promised to come and see him everyevening, and from the first evening she had kept her word.
　　On the following evening she went up as before, with thesame mysteriousness and the same precaution. Only she hadthis time resolved within herself not to approach too nearthe grating. In order, however, to engage Van Baerle in aconversation from the very first which would seriouslyoccupy his attention, she tendered to him through thegrating the three bulbs, which were still wrapped up in thesame paper.
　　But to the great astonishment of Rosa, Van Baerle pushedback her white hand with the tips of his fingers.
　　The young man had been considering about the matter.
　　"Listen to me," he said. "I think we should risk too much byembarking our whole fortune in one ship. Only think, my dearRosa, that the question is to carry out an enterprise whichuntil now has been considered impossible, namely, that ofmaking the great black tulip flower. Let us, therefore, takeevery possible precaution, so that in case of a failure wemay not have anything to reproach ourselves with. I will nowtell you the way I have traced out for us."Rosa was all attention to what he would say, much more onaccount of the importance which the unfortunatetulip-fancier attached to it, than that she felt interestedin the matter herself.
　　"I will explain to you, Rosa," he said. "I dare say you havein this fortress a small garden, or some courtyard, or, ifnot that, at least some terrace.""We have a very fine garden," said Rosa, "it runs along theedge of the Waal, and is full of fine old trees.""Could you bring me some soil from the garden, that I mayjudge?""I will do so to-morrow.""Take some from a sunny spot, and some from a shady, so thatI may judge of its properties in a dry and in a moiststate.""Be assured I shall.""After having chosen the soil, and, if it be necessary,modified it, we will divide our three bulbs; you will takeone and plant it, on the day that I will tell you, in thesoil chosen by me. It is sure to flower, if you tend itaccording to my directions.""I will not lose sight of it for a minute.""You will give me another, which I will try to grow here inmy cell, and which will help me to beguile those long wearyhours when I cannot see you. I confess to you I have verylittle hope for the latter one, and I look beforehand onthis unfortunate bulb as sacrificed to my selfishness.
　　However, the sun sometimes visits me. I will, besides, tryto convert everything into an artificial help, even the heatand the ashes of my pipe, and lastly, we, or rather you,will keep in reserve the third sucker as our last resource,in case our first two experiments should prove a failure. Inthis manner, my dear Rosa, it is impossible that we shouldnot succeed in gaining the hundred thousand guilders foryour marriage portion; and how dearly shall we enjoy thatsupreme happiness of seeing our work brought to a successfulissue!""I know it all now," said Rosa. "I will bring you the soilto-morrow, and you will choose it for your bulb and formine. As to that in which yours is to grow, I shall haveseveral journeys to convey it to you, as I cannot bring muchat a time.""There is no hurry for it, dear Rosa; our tulips need not beput into the ground for a month at least. So you see we haveplenty of time before us. Only I hope that, in planting yourbulb, you will strictly follow all my instructions.""I promise you I will.""And when you have once planted it, you will communicate tome all the circumstances which may interest our nursling;such as change of weather, footprints on the walks, orfootprints in the borders. You will listen at night whetherour garden is not resorted to by cats. A couple of thoseuntoward animals laid waste two of my borders at Dort.""I will listen.""On moonlight nights have you ever looked at your garden, mydear child?""The window of my sleeping-room overlooks it.""Well, on moonlight nights you will observe whether any ratscome out from the holes in the wall. The rats are mostmischievous by their gnawing everything; and I have heardunfortunate tulip-growers complain most bitterly of Noah forhaving put a couple of rats in the ark.""I will observe, and if there are cats or rats ---- ""You will apprise me of it, -- that's right. And, moreover,"Van Baerle, having become mistrustful in his captivity,continued, "there is an animal much more to be feared thaneven the cat or the rat.""What animal?""Man. You comprehend, my dear Rosa, a man may steal aguilder, and risk the prison for such a trifle, and,consequently, it is much more likely that some one mightsteal a hundred thousand guilders.""No one ever enters the garden but myself.""Thank you, thank you, my dear Rosa. All the joy of my lifehas still to come from you."And as the lips of Van Baerle approached the grating withthe same ardor as the day before, and as, moreover, the hourfor retiring had struck, Rosa drew back her head, andstretched out her hand.
　　In this pretty little hand, of which the coquettish damselwas particularly proud, was the bulb.
　　Cornelius kissed most tenderly the tips of her fingers. Didhe do so because the hand kept one of the bulbs of the greatblack tulip, or because this hand was Rosa's? We shall leavethis point to the decision of wiser heads than ours.
　　Rosa withdrew with the other two suckers, pressing them toher heart.
　　Did she press them to her heart because they were the bulbsof the great black tulip, or because she had them fromCornelius?
　　This point, we believe, might be more readily decided thanthe other.
　　However that may have been, from that moment life becamesweet, and again full of interest to the prisoner.
　　Rosa, as we have seen, had returned to him one of thesuckers.
　　Every evening she brought to him, handful by handful, aquantity of soil from that part of the garden which he hadfound to be the best, and which, indeed, was excellent.
　　A large jug, which Cornelius had skilfully broken, didservice as a flower-pot. He half filled it, and mixed theearth of the garden with a small portion of dried river mud,a mixture which formed an excellent soil.
　　Then, at the beginning of April, he planted his first suckerin that jug.
　　Not a day passed on which Rosa did not come to have her chatwith Cornelius.
　　The tulips, concerning whose cultivation Rosa was taught allthe mysteries of the art, formed the principal topic of theconversation; but, interesting as the subject was, peoplecannot always talk about tulips.
　　They therefore began to chat also about other things, andthe tulip-fancier found out to his great astonishment what avast range of subjects a conversation may comprise.
　　Only Rosa had made it a habit to keep her pretty faceinvariably six inches distant from the grating, havingperhaps become distrustful of herself.
　　There was one thing especially which gave Cornelius almostas much anxiety as his bulbs -- a subject to which he alwaysreturned -- the dependence of Rosa on her father.
　　Indeed, Van Baerle's happiness depended on the whim of thisman. He might one day find Loewestein dull, or the air ofthe place unhealthy, or the gin bad, and leave the fortress,and take his daughter with him, when Cornelius and Rosawould again be separated.
　　"Of what use would the carrier pigeons then be?" saidCornelius to Rosa, "as you, my dear girl, would not be ableto read what I should write to you, nor to write to me yourthoughts in return.""Well," answered Rosa, who in her heart was as much afraidof a separation as Cornelius himself, "we have one hourevery evening, let us make good use of it.""I don't think we make such a bad use of it as it is.""Let us employ it even better," said Rosa, smiling. "Teachme to read and write. I shall make the best of your lessons,believe me; and, in this way, we shall never be separatedany more, except by our own will.""Oh, then, we have an eternity before us," said Cornelius.
　　Rosa smiled, and quietly shrugged her shoulders.
　　"Will you remain for ever in prison?" she said, "and afterhaving granted you your life, will not his Highness alsogrant you your liberty? And will you not then recover yourfortune, and be a rich man, and then, when you are drivingin your own coach, riding your own horse, will you stilllook at poor Rosa, the daughter of a jailer, scarcely betterthan a hangman?"Cornelius tried to contradict her, and certainly he wouldhave done so with all his heart, and with all the sincerityof a soul full of love.
　　She, however, smilingly interrupted him, saying, "How isyour tulip going on?"To speak to Cornelius of his tulip was an expedient resortedto by her to make him forget everything, even Rosa herself.
　　"Very well, indeed," he said, "the coat is growing black,the sprouting has commenced, the veins of the bulb areswelling, in eight days hence, and perhaps sooner, we maydistinguish the first buds of the leaves protruding. Andyours Rosa?""Oh, I have done things on a large scale, and according toyour directions.""Now, let me hear, Rosa, what you have done," saidCornelius, with as tender an anxiety as he had lately shownto herself.
　　"Well," she said, smiling, for in her own heart she couldnot help studying this double love of the prisoner forherself and for the black tulip, "I have done things on alarge scale; I have prepared a bed as you described it tome, on a clear spot, far from trees and walls, in a soilslightly mixed with sand, rather moist than dry without afragment of stone or pebble.""Well done, Rosa, well done.""I am now only waiting for your further orders to put in thebulb, you know that I must be behindhand with you, as I havein my favour all the chances of good air, of the sun, andabundance of moisture.""All true, all true," exclaimed Cornelius, clapping hishands with joy, "you are a good pupil, Rosa, and you aresure to gain your hundred thousand guilders.""Don't forget," said Rosa, smiling, "that your pupil, as youcall me, has still other things to learn besides thecultivation of tulips.""Yes, yes, and I am as anxious as you are, Rosa, that youshould learn to read.""When shall we begin?""At once.""No, to-morrow.""Why to-morrow?""Because to-day our hour is expired, and I must leave you.""Already? But what shall we read?""Oh," said Rosa, "I have a book, -- a book which I hope willbring us luck.""To-morrow, then.""Yes, to-morrow."On the following evening Rosa returned with the Bible ofCornelius de Witt.
Chapter 17 The First Bulb
    On the following evening, as we have said, Rosa returnedwith the Bible of Cornelius de Witt.
　　Then began between the master and the pupil one of thosecharming scenes which are the delight of the novelist whohas to describe them.
　　The grated window, the only opening through which the twolovers were able to communicate, was too high forconveniently reading a book, although it had been quiteconvenient for them to read each other's faces.
　　Rosa therefore had to press the open book against thegrating edgewise, holding above it in her right hand thelamp, but Cornelius hit upon the lucky idea of fixing it tothe bars, so as to afford her a little rest. Rosa was thenenabled to follow with her finger the letters and syllables,which she was to spell for Cornelius, who with a strawpointed out the letters to his attentive pupil through theholes of the grating.
　　The light of the lamp illuminated the rich complexion ofRosa, her blue liquid eyes, and her golden hair under herhead-dress of gold brocade, with her fingers held up, andshowing in the blood, as it flowed downwards in the veinsthat pale pink hue which shines before the light owing tothe living transparency of the flesh tint.
　　Rosa's intellect rapidly developed itself under theanimating influence of Cornelius, and when the difficultiesseemed too arduous, the sympathy of two loving hearts seemedto smooth them away.
　　And Rosa, after having returned to her room, repeated in hersolitude the reading lessons, and at the same time recalledall the delight which she had felt whilst receiving them.
　　One evening she came half an hour later than usual. This wastoo extraordinary an instance not to call forth at onceCornelius's inquiries after its cause.
　　"Oh! do not be angry with me," she said, "it is not myfault. My father has renewed an acquaintance with an oldcrony who used to visit him at the Hague, and to ask him tolet him see the prison. He is a good sort of fellow, fond ofhis bottle, tells funny stories, and moreover is very freewith his money, so as always to be ready to stand a treat.""You don't know anything further of him?" asked Cornelius,surprised.
　　"No," she answered; "it's only for about a fortnight that myfather has taken such a fancy to this friend who is soassiduous in visiting him.""Ah, so," said Cornelius, shaking his head uneasily as everynew incident seemed to him to forebode some catastrophe;"very likely some spy, one of those who are sent into jailsto watch both prisoners and their keepers.""I don't believe that," said Rosa, smiling; "if that worthyperson is spying after any one, it is certainly not after myfather.""After whom, then?""Me, for instance.""You?""Why not?" said Rosa, smiling.
　　"Ah, that's true," Cornelius observed, with a sigh. "Youwill not always have suitors in vain; this man may becomeyour husband.""I don't say anything to the contrary.""What cause have you to entertain such a happy prospect?""Rather say, this fear, Mynheer Cornelius.""Thank you, Rosa, you are right; well, I will say then, thisfear?""I have only this reason ---- ""Tell me, I am anxious to hear.""This man came several times before to the Buytenhof, at theHague. I remember now, it was just about the time when youwere confined there. When I left, he left too; when I camehere, he came after me. At the Hague his pretext was that hewanted to see you.""See me?""Yes, it must have undoubtedly been only a pretext for now,when he could plead the same reason, as you are my father'sprisoner again, he does not care any longer for you; quitethe contrary, -- I heard him say to my father only yesterdaythat he did not know you.""Go on, Rosa, pray do, that I may guess who that man is, andwhat he wants.""Are you quite sure, Mynheer Cornelius, that none of yourfriends can interest himself for you?""I have no friends, Rosa; I have only my old nurse, whom youknow, and who knows you. Alas, poor Sue! she would comeherself, and use no roundabout ways. She would at once sayto your father, or to you, 'My good sir, or my good miss, mychild is here; see how grieved I am; let me see him only forone hour, and I'll pray for you as long as I live.' No, no,"continued Cornelius; "with the exception of my poor old Sue,I have no friends in this world.""Then I come back to what I thought before; and the more soas last evening at sunset, whilst I was arranging the borderwhere I am to plant your bulb, I saw a shadow glidingbetween the alder trees and the aspens. I did not appear tosee him, but it was this man. He concealed himself and sawme digging the ground, and certainly it was me whom hefollowed, and me whom he was spying after. I could not movemy rake, or touch one atom of soil, without his noticingit.""Oh, yes, yes, he is in love with you," said Cornelius. "Ishe young? Is he handsome?"Saying this he looked anxiously at Rosa, eagerly waiting forher answer.
　　"Young? handsome?" cried Rosa, bursting into a laugh. "He ishideous to look at; crooked, nearly fifty years of age, andnever dares to look me in the face, or to speak, except inan undertone.""And his name?""Jacob Gisels.""I don't know him.""Then you see that, at all events, he does not come afteryou.""At any rate, if he loves you, Rosa, which is very likely,as to see you is to love you, at least you don't love him.""To be sure I don't.""Then you wish me to keep my mind easy?""I should certainly ask you to do so.""Well, then, now as you begin to know how to read you willread all that I write to you of the pangs of jealousy and ofabsence, won't you, Rosa?""I shall read it, if you write with good big letters."Then, as the turn which the conversation took began to makeRosa uneasy, she asked, --"By the bye, how is your tulip going on?""Oh, Rosa, only imagine my joy, this morning I looked at itin the sun, and after having moved the soil aside whichcovers the bulb, I saw the first sprouting of the leaves.
　　This small germ has caused me a much greater emotion thanthe order of his Highness which turned aside the swordalready raised at the Buytenhof.""You hope, then?" said Rosa, smiling.
　　"Yes, yes, I hope.""And I, in my turn, when shall I plant my bulb?""Oh, the first favourable day I will tell you; but, whateveryou do, let nobody help you, and don't confide your secretto any one in the world; do you see, a connoisseur by merelylooking at the bulb would be able to distinguish its value;and so, my dearest Rosa, be careful in locking up the thirdsucker which remains to you.""It is still wrapped up in the same paper in which you putit, and just as you gave it me. I have laid it at the bottomof my chest under my point lace, which keeps it dry, withoutpressing upon it. But good night, my poor captivegentleman.""How? already?""It must be, it must be.""Coming so late and going so soon.""My father might grow impatient not seeing me return, andthat precious lover might suspect a rival."Here she listened uneasily.
　　"What is it?" asked Van Baerle. "I thought I heardsomething.""What, then?""Something like a step, creaking on the staircase.""Surely," said the prisoner, "that cannot be Master Gryphus,he is always heard at a distance""No, it is not my father, I am quite sure, but ---- ""But?""But it might be Mynheer Jacob."Rosa rushed toward the staircase, and a door was reallyheard rapidly to close before the young damsel had got downthe first ten steps.
　　Cornelius was very uneasy about it, but it was after allonly a prelude to greater anxieties.
　　The flowing day passed without any remarkable incident.
　　Gryphus made his three visits, and discovered nothing. Henever came at the same hours as he hoped thus to discoverthe secrets of the prisoner. Van Baerle, therefore, haddevised a contrivance, a sort of pulley, by means of whichhe was able to lower or to raise his jug below the ledge oftiles and stone before his window. The strings by which thiswas effected he had found means to cover with that mosswhich generally grows on tiles, or in the crannies of thewalls.
　　Gryphus suspected nothing, and the device succeeded foreight days. One morning, however, when Cornelius, absorbedin the contemplation of his bulb, from which a germ ofvegetation was already peeping forth, had not heard oldGryphus coming upstairs as a gale of wind was blowing whichshook the whole tower, the door suddenly opened.
　　Gryphus, perceiving an unknown and consequently a forbiddenobject in the hands of his prisoner, pounced upon it withthe same rapidity as the hawk on its prey.
　　As ill luck would have it, his coarse, hard hand, the samewhich he had broken, and which Cornelius van Baerle had setso well, grasped at once in the midst of the jug, on thespot where the bulb was lying in the soil.
　　"What have you got here?" he roared. "Ah! have I caughtyou?" and with this he grabbed in the soil.
　　"I? nothing, nothing," cried Cornelius, trembling.
　　"Ah! have I caught you? a jug and earth in it There is somecriminal secret at the bottom of all this.""Oh, my good Master Gryphus," said Van Baerle, imploringly,and anxious as the partridge robbed of her young by thereaper.
　　In fact, Gryphus was beginning to dig the soil with hiscrooked fingers.
　　"Take care, sir, take care," said Cornelius, growing quitepale.
　　"Care of what? Zounds! of what?" roared the jailer.
　　"Take care, I say, you will crush it, Master Gryphus."And with a rapid and almost frantic movement he snatched thejug from the hands of Gryphus, and hid it like a treasureunder his arms.
　　But Gryphus, obstinate, like an old man, and more and moreconvinced that he was discovering here a conspiracy againstthe Prince of Orange, rushed up to his prisoner, raising hisstick; seeing, however, the impassible resolution of thecaptive to protect his flower-pot he was convinced thatCornelius trembled much less for his head than for his jug.
　　He therefore tried to wrest it from him by force.
　　"Halloa!" said the jailer, furious, "here, you see, you arerebelling.""Leave me my tulip," cried Van Baerle.
　　"Ah, yes, tulip," replied the old man, "we know well theshifts of prisoners.""But I vow to you ---- ""Let go," repeated Gryphus, stamping his foot, "let go, or Ishall call the guard.""Call whoever you like, but you shall not have this flowerexcept with my life."Gryphus, exasperated, plunged his finger a second time intothe soil, and now he drew out the bulb, which certainlylooked quite black; and whilst Van Baerle, quite happy tohave saved the vessel, did not suspect that the adversaryhad possessed himself of its precious contents, Gryphushurled the softened bulb with all his force on the flags,where almost immediately after it was crushed to atoms underhis heavy shoe.
　　Van Baerle saw the work of destruction, got a glimpse of thejuicy remains of his darling bulb, and, guessing the causeof the ferocious joy of Gryphus, uttered a cry of agony,which would have melted the heart even of that ruthlessjailer who some years before killed Pelisson's spider.
　　The idea of striking down this spiteful bully passed likelightning through the brain of the tulip-fancier. The bloodrushed to his brow, and seemed like fire in his eyes, whichblinded him, and he raised in his two hands the heavy jugwith all the now useless earth which remained in it. Oneinstant more, and he would have flung it on the bald head ofold Gryphus.
　　But a cry stopped him; a cry of agony, uttered by poor Rosa,who, trembling and pale, with her arms raised to heaven,made her appearance behind the grated window, and thusinterposed between her father and her friend.
　　Gryphus then understood the danger with which he had beenthreatened, and he broke out in a volley of the mostterrible abuse.
　　"Indeed," said Cornelius to him, "you must be a very meanand spiteful fellow to rob a poor prisoner of his onlyconsolation, a tulip bulb.""For shame, my father," Rosa chimed in, "it is indeed acrime you have committed here.""Ah, is that you, my little chatter-box?" the old man cried,boiling with rage and turning towards her; "don't you meddlewith what don't concern you, but go down as quickly aspossible.""Unfortunate me," continued Cornelius, overwhelmed withgrief.
　　"After all, it is but a tulip," Gryphus resumed, as he beganto be a little ashamed of himself. "You may have as manytulips as you like: I have three hundred of them in myloft.""To the devil with your tulips!" cried Cornelius; "you areworthy of each other: had I a hundred thousand millions ofthem, I would gladly give them for the one which you havejust destroyed.""Oh, so!" Gryphus said, in a tone of triumph; "now there wehave it. It was not your tulip you cared for. There was inthat false bulb some witchcraft, perhaps some means ofcorrespondence with conspirators against his Highness whohas granted you your life. I always said they were wrong innot cutting your head off.""Father, father!" cried Rosa.
　　"Yes, yes! it is better as it is now," repeated Gryphus,growing warm; "I have destroyed it, and I'll do the sameagain, as often as you repeat the trick. Didn't I tell you,my fine fellow, that I would make your life a hard one?""A curse on you!" Cornelius exclaimed, quite beyond himselfwith despair, as he gathered, with his trembling fingers,the remnants of that bulb on which he had rested so manyjoys and so many hopes.
　　"We shall plant the other to-morrow, my dear MynheerCornelius," said Rosa, in a low voice, who understood theintense grief of the unfortunate tulip-fancier, and who,with the pure sacred love of her innocent heart, pouredthese kind words, like a drop of balm, on the bleedingwounds of Cornelius.
Chapter 19 The Maid and the Flower
    But poor Rosa, in her secluded chamber, could not have knownof whom or of what Cornelius was dreaming.
　　From what he had said she was more ready to believe that hedreamed of the black tulip than of her; and yet Rosa wasmistaken.
　　But as there was no one to tell her so, and as the words ofCornelius's thoughtless speech had fallen upon her heartlike drops of poison, she did not dream, but she wept.
　　The fact was, that, as Rosa was a high-spirited creature, ofno mean perception and a noble heart, she took a very clearand judicious view of her own social position, if not of hermoral and physical qualities.
　　Cornelius was a scholar, and was wealthy, -- at least he hadbeen before the confiscation of his property; Corneliusbelonged to the merchant-bourgeoisie, who were prouder oftheir richly emblazoned shop signs than the hereditarynobility of their heraldic bearings. Therefore, although hemight find Rosa a pleasant companion for the dreary hours ofhis captivity, when it came to a question of bestowing hisheart it was almost certain that he would bestow it upon atulip, -- that is to say, upon the proudest and noblest offlowers, rather than upon poor Rosa, the jailer's lowlychild.
　　Thus Rosa understood Cornelius's preference of the tulip toherself, but was only so much the more unhappy therefor.
　　During the whole of this terrible night the poor girl didnot close an eye, and before she rose in the morning she hadcome to the resolution of making her appearance at thegrated window no more.
　　But as she knew with what ardent desire Cornelius lookedforward to the news about his tulip; and as, notwithstandingher determination not to see any more a man her pity forwhose fate was fast growing into love, she did not, on theother hand, wish to drive him to despair, she resolved tocontinue by herself the reading and writing lessons; and,fortunately, she had made sufficient progress to dispensewith the help of a master when the master was not to beCornelius.
　　Rosa therefore applied herself most diligently to readingpoor Cornelius de Witt's Bible, on the second fly leaf ofwhich the last will of Cornelius van Baerle was written.
　　"Alas!" she muttered, when perusing again this document,which she never finished without a tear, the pearl of love,rolling from her limpid eyes on her pale cheeks -- "alas! atthat time I thought for one moment he loved me."Poor Rosa! she was mistaken. Never had the love of theprisoner been more sincere than at the time at which we arenow arrived, when in the contest between the black tulip andRosa the tulip had had to yield to her the first andforemost place in Cornelius's heart.
　　But Rosa was not aware of it.
　　Having finished reading, she took her pen, and began with aslaudable diligence the by far more difficult task ofwriting.
　　As, however, Rosa was already able to write a legible handwhen Cornelius so uncautiously opened his heart, she did notdespair of progressing quickly enough to write, after eightdays at the latest, to the prisoner an account of his tulip.
　　She had not forgotten one word of the directions given toher by Cornelius, whose speeches she treasured in her heart,even when they did not take the shape of directions.
　　He, on his part, awoke deeper in love than ever. The tulip,indeed, was still a luminous and prominent object in hismind; but he no longer looked upon it as a treasure to whichhe ought to sacrifice everything, and even Rosa, but as amarvellous combination of nature and art with which he wouldhave been happy to adorn the bosom of his beloved one.
　　Yet during the whole of that day he was haunted with a vagueuneasiness, at the bottom of which was the fear lest Rosashould not come in the evening to pay him her usual visit.
　　This thought took more and more hold of him, until at theapproach of evening his whole mind was absorbed in it.
　　How his heart beat when darkness closed in! The words whichhe had said to Rosa on the evening before and which had sodeeply afflicted her, now came back to his mind more vividlythan ever, and he asked himself how he could have told hisgentle comforter to sacrifice him to his tulip, -- that isto say, to give up seeing him, if need be, -- whereas to himthe sight of Rosa had become a condition of life.
　　In Cornelius's cell one heard the chimes of the clock of thefortress. It struck seven, it struck eight, it struck nine.
　　Never did the metal voice vibrate more forcibly through theheart of any man than did the last stroke, marking the ninthhour, through the heart of Cornelius.
　　All was then silent again. Cornelius put his hand on hisheart, to repress as it were its violent palpitation, andlistened.
　　The noise of her footstep, the rustling of her gown on thestaircase, were so familiar to his ear, that she had nosooner mounted one step than he used to say to himself, --"Here comes Rosa."This evening none of those little noises broke the silenceof the lobby, the clock struck nine, and a quarter; thehalf-hour, then a quarter to ten, and at last its deep toneannounced, not only to the inmates of the fortress, but alsoto all the inhabitants of Loewestein, that it was ten.
　　This was the hour at which Rosa generally used to leaveCornelius. The hour had struck, but Rosa had not come.
　　Thus then his foreboding had not deceived him; Rosa, beingvexed, shut herself up in her room and left him to himself.
　　"Alas!" he thought, "I have deserved all this. She will comeno more, and she is right in staying away; in her place Ishould do just the same."Yet notwithstanding all this, Cornelius listened, waited,and hoped until midnight, then he threw himself upon thebed, with his clothes on.
　　It was a long and sad night for him, and the day brought nohope to the prisoner.
　　At eight in the morning, the door of his cell opened; butCornelius did not even turn his head; he had heard the heavystep of Gryphus in the lobby, but this step had perfectlysatisfied the prisoner that his jailer was coming alone.
　　Thus Cornelius did not even look at Gryphus.
　　And yet he would have been so glad to draw him out, and toinquire about Rosa. He even very nearly made this inquiry,strange as it would needs have appeared to her father. Totell the truth, there was in all this some selfish hope tohear from Gryphus that his daughter was ill.
　　Except on extraordinary occasions, Rosa never came duringthe day. Cornelius therefore did not really expect her aslong as the day lasted. Yet his sudden starts, his listeningat the door, his rapid glances at every little noise towardsthe grated window, showed clearly that the prisonerentertained some latent hope that Rosa would, somehow orother, break her rule.
　　At the second visit of Gryphus, Cornelius, contrary to allhis former habits, asked the old jailer, with the mostwinning voice, about her health; but Gryphus contentedhimself with giving the laconical answer, --"All's well."At the third visit of the day, Cornelius changed his formerinquiry: --"I hope nobody is ill at Loewestein?""Nobody," replied, even more laconically, the jailer,shutting the door before the nose of the prisoner.
　　Gryphus, being little used to this sort of civility on thepart of Cornelius, began to suspect that his prisoner wasabout to try and bribe him.
　　Cornelius was now alone once more; it was seven o'clock inthe evening, and the anxiety of yesterday returned withincreased intensity.
　　But another time the hours passed away without bringing thesweet vision which lighted up, through the grated window,the cell of poor Cornelius, and which, in retiring, leftlight enough in his heart to last until it came back again.
　　Van Baerle passed the night in an agony of despair. On thefollowing day Gryphus appeared to him even more hideous,brutal, and hateful than usual; in his mind, or rather inhis heart, there had been some hope that it was the old manwho prevented his daughter from coming.
　　In his wrath he would have strangled Gryphus, but would notthis have separated him for ever from Rosa?
　　The evening closing in, his despair changed into melancholy,which was the more gloomy as, involuntarily, Van Baerlemixed up with it the thought of his poor tulip. It was nowjust that week in April which the most experienced gardenerspoint out as the precise time when tulips ought to beplanted. He had said to Rosa, --"I shall tell you the day when you are to put the bulb inthe ground."He had intended to fix, at the vainly hoped for interview,the following day as the time for that momentous operation.
　　The weather was propitious; the air, though still damp,began to be tempered by those pale rays of the April sunwhich, being the first, appear so congenial, although sopale. How if Rosa allowed the right moment for planting thebulb to pass by, -- if, in addition to the grief of seeingher no more, he should have to deplore the misfortune ofseeing his tulip fail on account of its having been plantedtoo late, or of its not having been planted at all!
　　These two vexations combined might well make him leave offeating and drinking.
　　This was the case on the fourth day.
　　It was pitiful to see Cornelius, dumb with grief, and palefrom utter prostration, stretch out his head through theiron bars of his window, at the risk of not being able todraw it back again, to try and get a glimpse of the gardenon the left spoken of by Rosa, who had told him that itsparapet overlooked the river. He hoped that perhaps he mightsee, in the light of the April sun, Rosa or the tulip, thetwo lost objects of his love.
　　In the evening, Gryphus took away the breakfast and dinnerof Cornelius, who had scarcely touched them.
　　On the following day he did not touch them at all, andGryphus carried the dishes away just as he had brought them.
　　Cornelius had remained in bed the whole day.
　　"Well," said Gryphus, coming down from the last visit, "Ithink we shall soon get rid of our scholar."Rosa was startled.
　　"Nonsense!" said Jacob. "What do you mean?""He doesn't drink, he doesn't eat, he doesn't leave his bed.
　　He will get out of it, like Mynheer Grotius, in a chest,only the chest will be a coffin."Rosa grew pale as death.
　　"Ah!" she said to herself, "he is uneasy about his tulip."And, rising with a heavy heart, she returned to her chamber,where she took a pen and paper, and during the whole of thatnight busied herself with tracing letters.
　　On the following morning, when Cornelius got up to draghimself to the window, he perceived a paper which had beenslipped under the door.
　　He pounced upon it, opened it, and read the following words,in a handwriting which he could scarcely have recognized asthat of Rosa, so much had she improved during her shortabsence of seven days, --"Be easy; your tulip is going on well."Although these few words of Rosa's somewhat soothed thegrief of Cornelius, yet he felt not the less the irony whichwas at the bottom of them. Rosa, then, was not ill, she wasoffended; she had not been forcibly prevented from coming,but had voluntarily stayed away. Thus Rosa, being atliberty, found in her own will the force not to come and seehim, who was dying with grief at not having seen her.
　　Cornelius had paper and a pencil which Rosa had brought tohim. He guessed that she expected an answer, but that shewould not come before the evening to fetch it. He thereforewrote on a piece of paper, similar to that which he hadreceived, --"It was not my anxiety about the tulip that has made me ill,but the grief at not seeing you."After Gryphus had made his last visit of the day, anddarkness had set in, he slipped the paper under the door,and listened with the most intense attention, but he neitherheard Rosa's footsteps nor the rustling of her gown.
　　He only heard a voice as feeble as a breath, and gentle likea caress, which whispered through the grated little windowin the door the word, --"To-morrow!"Now to-morrow was the eighth day. For eight days Corneliusand Rosa had not seen each other.
Chapter 20 The Events which took place during those Eight Days
    On the following evening, at the usual hour, Van Baerleheard some one scratch at the grated little window, just asRosa had been in the habit of doing in the heyday of theirfriendship.
　　Cornelius being, as may easily be imagined, not far off fromthe door, perceived Rosa, who at last was waiting again forhim with her lamp in her hand.
　　Seeing him so sad and pale, she was startled, and said, --"You are ill, Mynheer Cornelius?""Yes, I am," he answered, as indeed he was suffering in mindand in body.
　　"I saw that you did not eat," said Rosa; "my father told methat you remained in bed all day. I then wrote to calm youruneasiness concerning the fate of the most precious objectof your anxiety.""And I," said Cornelius, "I have answered. Seeing yourreturn, my dear Rosa, I thought you had received my letter.""It is true; I have received it.""You cannot this time excuse yourself with not being able toread. Not only do you read very fluently, but also you havemade marvellous progress in writing.""Indeed, I have not only received, but also read your note.
　　Accordingly I am come to see whether there might not be someremedy to restore you to health.""Restore me to health?" cried Cornelius; "but have you anygood news to communicate to me?"Saying this, the poor prisoner looked at Rosa, his eyessparkling with hope.
　　Whether she did not, or would not, understand this look,Rosa answered gravely, --"I have only to speak to you about your tulip, which, as Iwell know, is the object uppermost in your mind."Rosa pronounced those few words in a freezing tone, whichcut deeply into the heart of Cornelius. He did not suspectwhat lay hidden under this appearance of indifference withwhich the poor girl affected to speak of her rival, theblack tulip.
　　"Oh!" muttered Cornelius, "again! again! Have I not toldyou, Rosa, that I thought but of you? that it was you alonewhom I regretted, you whom I missed, you whose absence Ifelt more than the loss of liberty and of life itself?"Rosa smiled with a melancholy air.
　　"Ah!" she said, "your tulip has been in such danger."Cornelius trembled involuntarily, and showed himself clearlyto be caught in the trap, if ever the remark was meant assuch.
　　"Danger!" he cried, quite alarmed; "what danger?"Rosa looked at him with gentle compassion; she felt thatwhat she wished was beyond the power of this man, and thathe must be taken as he was, with his little foible.
　　"Yes," she said, "you have guessed the truth; that suitorand amorous swain, Jacob, did not come on my account.""And what did he come for?" Cornelius anxiously asked.
　　"He came for the sake of the tulip.""Alas!" said Cornelius, growing even paler at this piece ofinformation than he had been when Rosa, a fortnight before,had told him that Jacob was coming for her sake.
　　Rosa saw this alarm, and Cornelius guessed, from theexpression of her face, in what direction her thoughts wererunning.
　　"Oh, pardon me, Rosa!" he said, "I know you, and I am wellaware of the kindness and sincerity of your heart. To youGod has given the thought and strength for defendingyourself; but to my poor tulip, when it is in danger, Godhas given nothing of the sort."Rosa, without replying to this excuse of the prisoner,continued, --"From the moment when I first knew that you were uneasy onaccount of the man who followed me, and in whom I hadrecognized Jacob, I was even more uneasy myself. On the day,therefore, after that on which I saw you last, and on whichyou said -- "Cornelius interrupted her.
　　"Once more, pardon me, Rosa!" he cried. "I was wrong insaying to you what I said. I have asked your pardon for thatunfortunate speech before. I ask it again: shall I alwaysask it in vain?""On the following day," Rosa continued, "remembering whatyou had told me about the stratagem which I was to employ toascertain whether that odious man was after the tulip, orafter me ---- ""Yes, yes, odious. Tell me," he said, "do you hate thatman?""I do hate him," said Rosa, "as he is the cause of all theunhappiness I have suffered these eight days.""You, too, have been unhappy, Rosa? I thank you a thousandtimes for this kind confession.""Well, on the day after that unfortunate one, I went downinto the garden and proceeded towards the border where I wasto plant your tulip, looking round all the while to seewhether I was again followed as I was last time.""And then?" Cornelius asked.
　　"And then the same shadow glided between the gate and thewall, and once more disappeared behind the elder-trees.""You feigned not to see him, didn't you?" Cornelius asked,remembering all the details of the advice which he had givento Rosa.
　　"Yes, and I stooped over the border, in which I dug with aspade, as if I was going to put the bulb in.""And he, -- what did he do during all this time?""I saw his eyes glisten through the branches of the treelike those of a tiger.""There you see, there you see!" cried Cornelius.
　　"Then, after having finished my make-believe work, Iretired.""But only behind the garden door, I dare say, so that youmight see through the keyhole what he was going to do whenyou had left?""He waited for a moment, very likely to make sure of my notcoming back, after which he sneaked forth from hishiding-place, and approached the border by a longround-about; at last, having reached his goal, that is tosay, the spot where the ground was newly turned, he stoppedwith a careless air, looking about in all directions, andscanning every corner of the garden, every window of theneighbouring houses, and even the sky; after which, thinkinghimself quite alone, quite isolated, and out of everybody'ssight, he pounced upon the border, plunged both his handsinto the soft soil, took a handful of the mould, which hegently frittered between his fingers to see whether the bulbwas in it, and repeated the same thing twice or three times,until at last he perceived that he was outwitted. Then,keeping down the agitation which was raging in his breast,he took up the rake, smoothed the ground, so as to leave iton his retiring in the same state as he had found it, and,quite abashed and rueful, walked back to the door, affectingthe unconcerned air of an ordinary visitor of the garden.""Oh, the wretch!" muttered Cornelius, wiping the cold sweatfrom his brow. "Oh, the wretch! I guessed his intentions.
　　But the bulb, Rosa; what have you done with it? It isalready rather late to plant it.""The bulb? It has been in the ground for these six days.""Where? and how?" cried Cornelius. "Good Heaven, whatimprudence! What is it? In what sort of soil is it? It whataspect? Good or bad? Is there no risk of having it filchedby that detestable Jacob?""There is no danger of its being stolen," said Rosa, "unlessJacob will force the door of my chamber.""Oh! then it is with you in your bedroom?" said Cornelius,somewhat relieved. "But in what soil? in what vessel? Youdon't let it grow, I hope, in water like those good ladiesof Haarlem and Dort, who imagine that water could replacethe earth?""You may make yourself comfortable on that score," saidRosa, smiling; "your bulb is not growing in water.""I breathe again.""It is in a good, sound stone pot, just about the size ofthe jug in which you had planted yours. The soil is composedof three parts of common mould, taken from the best spot ofthe garden, and one of the sweepings of the road. I haveheard you and that detestable Jacob, as you call him, sooften talk about what is the soil best fitted for growingtulips, that I know it as well as the first gardener ofHaarlem.""And now what is the aspect, Rosa?""At present it has the sun all day long, -- that is to saywhen the sun shines. But when it once peeps out of theground, I shall do as you have done here, dear MynheerCornelius: I shall put it out of my window on the easternside from eight in the morning until eleven and in my windowtowards the west from three to five in the afternoon.""That's it! that's it!" cried Cornelius; "and you are aperfect gardener, my pretty Rosa. But I am afraid thenursing of my tulip will take up all your time.""Yes, it will," said Rosa; "but never mind. Your tulip is mydaughter. I shall devote to it the same time as I should toa child of mine, if I were a mother. Only by becoming itsmother," Rosa added, smilingly, "can I cease to be itsrival.""My kind and pretty Rosa!" muttered Cornelius casting on hera glance in which there was much more of the lover than ofthe gardener, and which afforded Rosa some consolation.
　　Then, after a silence of some moments, during whichCornelius had grasped through the openings of the gratingfor the receding hand of Rosa, he said, --"Do you mean to say that the bulb has now been in the groundfor six days?""Yes, six days, Mynheer Cornelius," she answered.
　　"And it does not yet show leaf""No, but I think it will to-morrow.""Well, then, to-morrow you will bring me news about it, andabout yourself, won't you, Rosa? I care very much for thedaughter, as you called it just now, but I care even muchmore for the mother.""To-morrow?" said Rosa, looking at Cornelius askance. "Idon't know whether I shall be able to come to-morrow.""Good heavens!" said Cornelius, "why can't you cometo-morrow?""Mynheer Cornelius, I have lots of things to do.""And I have only one," muttered Cornelius.
　　"Yes," said Rosa, "to love your tulip.""To love you, Rosa."Rosa shook her head, after which followed a pause.
　　"Well," -- Cornelius at last broke the silence, -- "well,Rosa, everything changes in the realm of nature; the flowersof spring are succeeded by other flowers; and the bees,which so tenderly caressed the violets and the wall-flowers,will flutter with just as much love about the honey-suckles,the rose, the jessamine, and the carnation.""What does all this mean?" asked Rosa.
　　"You have abandoned me, Miss Rosa, to seek your pleasureelsewhere. You have done well, and I will not complain. Whatclaim have I to your fidelity?""My fidelity!" Rosa exclaimed, with her eyes full of tears,and without caring any longer to hide from Cornelius thisdew of pearls dropping on her cheeks, "my fidelity! have Inot been faithful to you?""Do you call it faithful to desert me, and to leave me hereto die?""But, Mynheer Cornelius," said Rosa, "am I not doingeverything for you that could give you pleasure? have I notdevoted myself to your tulip?""You are bitter, Rosa, you reproach me with the onlyunalloyed pleasure which I have had in this world.""I reproach you with nothing, Mynheer Cornelius, except,perhaps, with the intense grief which I felt when peoplecame to tell me at the Buytenhof that you were about to beput to death.""You are displeased, Rosa, my sweet girl, with my lovingflowers.""I am not displeased with your loving them, MynheerCornelius, only it makes me sad to think that you love thembetter than you do me.""Oh, my dear, dear Rosa! look how my hands tremble; look atmy pale cheek, hear how my heart beats. It is for you, mylove, not for the black tulip. Destroy the bulb, destroy thegerm of that flower, extinguish the gentle light of thatinnocent and delightful dream, to which I have accustomedmyself; but love me, Rosa, love me; for I feel deeply that Ilove but you.""Yes, after the black tulip," sighed Rosa, who at last nolonger coyly withdrew her warm hands from the grating, asCornelius most affectionately kissed them.
　　"Above and before everything in this world, Rosa.""May I believe you?""As you believe in your own existence.""Well, then, be it so; but loving me does not bind you toomuch.""Unfortunately, it does not bind me more than I am bound;but it binds you, Rosa, you.""To what?""First of all, not to marry."She smiled.
　　"That's your way," she said; "you are tyrants all of you.
　　You worship a certain beauty, you think of nothing but her.
　　Then you are condemned to death, and whilst walking to thescaffold, you devote to her your last sigh; and now youexpect poor me to sacrifice to you all my dreams and myhappiness.""But who is the beauty you are talking of, Rosa?" saidCornelius, trying in vain to remember a woman to whom Rosamight possibly be alluding.
　　"The dark beauty with a slender waist, small feet, and anoble head; in short, I am speaking of your flower."Cornelius smiled.
　　"That is an imaginary lady love, at all events; whereas,without counting that amorous Jacob, you by your own accountare surrounded with all sorts of swains eager to make loveto you. Do you remember Rosa, what you told me of thestudents, officers, and clerks of the Hague? Are there noclerks, officers, or students at Loewestein?""Indeed there are, and lots of them.""Who write letters?""They do write.""And now, as you know how to read ---- "Here Cornelius heaved a sigh at the thought, that, poorcaptive as he was, to him alone Rosa owed the faculty ofreading the love-letters which she received.
　　"As to that," said Rosa, "I think that in reading the notesaddressed to me, and passing the different swains in reviewwho send them to me, I am only following your instructions.""How so? My instructions?""Indeed, your instructions, sir," said Rosa, sighing in herturn; "have you forgotten the will written by your hand onthe Bible of Cornelius de Witt? I have not forgotten it; fornow, as I know how to read, I read it every day over andover again. In that will you bid me to love and marry ahandsome young man of twenty-six or eight years. I am on thelook-out for that young man, and as the whole of my day istaken up with your tulip, you must needs leave me theevenings to find him.""But, Rosa, the will was made in the expectation of death,and, thanks to Heaven, I am still alive.""Well, then, I shall not be after the handsome young man,and I shall come to see you.""That's it, Rosa, come! come!""Under one condition.""Granted beforehand!""That the black tulip shall not be mentioned for the nextthree days.""It shall never be mentioned any more, if you wish it,Rosa.""No, no," the damsel said, laughing, "I will not ask forimpossibilities."And, saying this, she brought her fresh cheek, as ifunconsciously, so near the iron grating, that Cornelius wasable to touch it with his lips.
　　Rosa uttered a little scream, which, however, was full oflove, and disappeared.
Chapter 21 The Second Bulb
    The night was a happy one, and the whole of the next dayhappier still.
　　During the last few days, the prison had been heavy, dark,and lowering, as it were, with all its weight on theunfortunate captive. Its walls were black, its air chilling,the iron bars seemed to exclude every ray of light.
　　But when Cornelius awoke next morning, a beam of the morningsun was playing about those iron bars; pigeons were hoveringabout with outspread wings, whilst others were lovinglycooing on the roof or near the still closed window.
　　Cornelius ran to that window and opened it; it seemed to himas if new life, and joy, and liberty itself were enteringwith this sunbeam into his cell, which, so dreary of late,was now cheered and irradiated by the light of love.
　　When Gryphus, therefore, came to see his prisoner in themorning, he no longer found him morose and lying in bed, butstanding at the window, and singing a little ditty.
　　"Halloa!" exclaimed the jailer.
　　"How are you this morning?" asked Cornelius.
　　Gryphus looked at him with a scowl.
　　"And how is the dog, and Master Jacob, and our pretty Rosa?"Gryphus ground his teeth, saying. --"Here is your breakfast.""Thank you, friend Cerberus," said the prisoner; "you arejust in time; I am very hungry.""Oh! you are hungry, are you?" said Gryphus.
　　"And why not?" asked Van Baerle.
　　"The conspiracy seems to thrive," remarked Gryphus.
　　"What conspiracy?""Very well, I know what I know, Master Scholar; just bequiet, we shall be on our guard.""Be on your guard, friend Gryphus; be on your guard as longas you please; my conspiracy, as well as my person, isentirely at your service.""We'll see that at noon."Saying this, Gryphus went out.
　　"At noon?" repeated Cornelius; "what does that mean? Well,let us wait until the clock strikes twelve, and we shallsee."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 notonly the steps of Gryphus, but also those of three or foursoldiers, who were coming up with him.
　　The door opened. Gryphus entered, led his men in, and shutthe door after them.
　　"There, now search!"They searched not only the pockets of Cornelius, but evenhis person; yet they found nothing.
　　They then searched the sheets, the mattress, and the strawmattress of his bed; and again they found nothing.
　　Now, Cornelius rejoiced that he had not taken the thirdsucker under his own care. Gryphus would have been sure toferret it out in the search, and would then have treated itas he did the first.
　　And certainly never did prisoner look with greatercomplacency at a search made in his cell than Cornelius.
　　Gryphus retired with the pencil and the two or three leavesof white paper which Rosa had given to Van Baerle, this wasthe only trophy brought back from the expedition.
　　At six Gryphus came back again, but alone; Cornelius triedto propitiate him, but Gryphus growled, showed a large toothlike a tusk, which he had in the corner of his mouth, andwent out backwards, like a man who is afraid of beingattacked from behind.
　　Cornelius burst out laughing, to which Gryphus answeredthrough the grating, --"Let him laugh that wins."The winner that day was Cornelius; Rosa came at nine.
　　She was without a lantern. She needed no longer a light, asshe could now read. Moreover, the light might betray her, asJacob was dogging her steps more than ever. And lastly, thelight would have shown her blushes.
　　Of what did the young people speak that evening? Of thosematters of which lovers speak at the house doors in France,or from a balcony into the street in Spain, or down from aterrace into a garden in the East.
　　They spoke of those things which give wings to the hours;they spoke of everything except the black tulip.
　　At last, when the clock struck ten, they parted as usual.
　　Cornelius was happy, as thoroughly happy as a tulip-fancierwould be to whom one has not spoken of his tulip.
　　He found Rosa pretty, good, graceful, and charming.
　　But why did Rosa object to the tulip being spoken of?
　　This was indeed a great defect in Rosa.
　　Cornelius confessed to himself, sighing, that woman was notperfect.
　　Part of the night he thought of this imperfection; that isto say, so long as he was awake he thought of Rosa.
　　After having fallen asleep, he dreamed of her.
　　But the Rosa of his dreams was by far more perfect than theRosa of real life. Not only did the Rosa of his dreams speakof the tulip, but also brought to him a black one in a chinavase.
　　Cornelius then awoke, trembling with joy, and muttering, --"Rosa, Rosa, I love you."And as it was already day, he thought it right not to fallasleep again, and he continued following up the line ofthought in which his mind was engaged when he awoke.
　　Ah! if Rosa had only conversed about the tulip, Corneliuswould have preferred her to Queen Semiramis, to QueenCleopatra, to Queen Elizabeth, to Queen Anne of Austria;that is to say, to the greatest or most beautiful queenswhom the world has seen.
　　But Rosa had forbidden it under pain of not returning; Rosahad forbidden the least mention of the tulip for three days.
　　That meant seventy-two hours given to the lover to be sure;but it was seventy-two hours stolen from the horticulturist.
　　There was one consolation: of the seventy-two hours duringwhich Rosa would not allow the tulip to be mentioned,thirty-six had passed already; and the remaining thirty-sixwould pass quickly enough: eighteen with waiting for theevening's interview, and eighteen with rejoicing in itsremembrance.
　　Rosa came at the same hour, and Cornelius submitted mostheroically to the pangs which the compulsory silenceconcerning the tulip gave him.
　　His fair visitor, however, was well aware that, to commandon the one point, people must yield on another; shetherefore no longer drew back her hands from the grating,and even allowed Cornelius tenderly to kiss her beautifulgolden tresses.
　　Poor girl! she had no idea that these playful little lovers'
　　tricks were much more dangerous than speaking of the tulipwas; but she became aware of the fact as she returned with abeating heart, with glowing cheeks, dry lips, and moisteyes.
　　And on the following evening, after the first exchange ofsalutations, she retired a step, looking at him with aglance, the expression of which would have rejoiced hisheart could he but have seen it.
　　"Well," she said, "she is up.""She is up! Who? What?" asked Cornelius, who did not ventureon a belief that Rosa would, of her own accord, haveabridged the term of his probation.
　　"She? Well, my daughter, the tulip," said Rosa.
　　"What!" cried Cornelius, "you give me permission, then?""I do," said Rosa, with the tone of an affectionate motherwho grants a pleasure to her child.
　　"Ah, Rosa!" said Cornelius, putting his lips to the gratingwith the hope of touching a cheek, a hand, a forehead, --anything, in short.
　　He touched something much better, -- two warm and half openlips.
　　Rosa uttered a slight scream.
　　Cornelius understood that he must make haste to continue theconversation. He guessed that this unexpected kiss hadfrightened Rosa.
　　"Is it growing up straight?""Straight as a rocket," said Rosa.
　　"How high?""At least two inches.""Oh, Rosa, take good care of it, and we shall soon see itgrow quickly.""Can I take more care of it?" said she. "Indeed, I think ofnothing else but the tulip.""Of nothing else, Rosa? Why, now I shall grow jealous in myturn.""Oh, you know that to think of the tulip is to think of you;I never lose sight of it. I see it from my bed, on awakingit is the first object that meets my eyes, and on fallingasleep the last on which they rest. During the day I sit andwork by its side, for I have never left my chamber since Iput it there.""You are right Rosa, it is your dowry, you know.""Yes, and with it I may marry a young man of twenty-six ortwenty-eight years, whom I shall be in love with.""Don't talk in that way, you naughty girl."That evening Cornelius was one of the happiest of men. Rosaallowed him to press her hand in his, and to keep it as longas he would, besides which he might talk of his tulip asmuch as he liked.
　　From that hour every day marked some progress in the growthof the tulip and in the affection of the two young people.
　　At one time it was that the leaves had expanded, and atanother that the flower itself had formed.
　　Great was the joy of Cornelius at this news, and hisquestions succeeded one another with a rapidity which gaveproof of their importance.
　　"Formed!" exclaimed Cornelius, "is it really formed?""It is," repeated Rosa.
　　Cornelius trembled with joy, so much so that he was obligedto hold by the grating.
　　"Good heavens!" he exclaimed.
　　Then, turning again to Rosa, he continued his questions.
　　"Is the oval regular? the cylinder full? and are the pointsvery green?""The oval is almost one inch long, and tapers like a needle,the cylinder swells at the sides, and the points are readyto open."Two days after Rosa announced that they were open.
　　"Open, Rosa!" cried Cornelius. "Is the involucrum open? butthen one may see and already distinguish ---- "Here the prisoner paused, anxiously taking breath.
　　"Yes," answered Rosa, "one may already distinguish a threadof different colour, as thin as a hair.""And its colour?" asked Cornelius, trembling.
　　"Oh," answered Rosa, "it is very dark!""Brown?""Darker than that.""Darker, my good Rosa, darker? Thank you. Dark as ---- ""Dark as the ink with which I wrote to you."Cornelius uttered a cry of mad joy.
　　Then, suddenly stopping and clasping his hands, he said, --"Oh, there is not an angel in heaven that may be compared toyou, Rosa!""Indeed!" said Rosa, smiling at his enthusiasm.
　　"Rosa, you have worked with such ardour, -- you have done somuch for me! Rosa, my tulip is about to flower, and it willflower black! Rosa, Rosa, you are the most perfect being onearth!""After the tulip, though.""Ah! be quiet, you malicious little creature, be quiet! Forshame! Do not spoil my pleasure. But tell me, Rosa, -- asthe tulip is so far advanced, it will flower in two or threedays, at the latest?""To-morrow, or the day after.""Ah! and I shall not see it," cried Cornelius, startingback, "I shall not kiss it, as a wonderful work of theAlmighty, as I kiss your hand and your cheek, Rosa, when bychance they are near the grating."Rosa drew near, not by accident, but intentionally, andCornelius kissed her tenderly.
　　"Faith, I shall cull it, if you wish it.""Oh, no, no, Rosa! when it is open, place it carefully inthe shade, and immediately send a message to Haarlem, to thePresident of the Horticultural Society, that the grand blacktulip is in flower. I know well it is far to Haarlem, butwith money you will find a messenger. Have you any money,Rosa?"Rosa smiled.
　　"Oh, yes!" she said.
　　"Enough?" said Cornelius.
　　"I have three hundred guilders.""Oh, if you have three hundred guilders, you must not send amessenger, Rosa, but you must go to Haarlem yourself.""But what in the meantime is to become of the flower?""Oh, the flower! you must take it with you. You understandthat you must not separate from it for an instant.""But whilst I am not separating from it, I am separatingfrom you, Mynheer Cornelius.""Ah! that's true, my sweet Rosa. Oh, my God! how wicked menare! What have I done to offend them, and why have theydeprived me of my liberty? You are right, Rosa, I cannotlive without you. Well, you will send some one to Haarlem,-- that's settled; really, the matter is wonderful enoughfor the President to put himself to some trouble. He willcome himself to Loewestein to see the tulip."Then, suddenly checking himself, he said, with a falteringvoice, --"Rosa, Rosa, if after all it should not flower black!""Oh, surely, surely, you will know to-morrow, or the dayafter.""And to wait until evening to know it, Rosa! I shall diewith impatience. Could we not agree about a signal?""I shall do better than that.""What will you do?""If it opens at night, I shall come and tell you myself. Ifit is day, I shall pass your door, and slip you a noteeither under the door, or through the grating, during thetime between my father's first and second inspection.""Yes, Rosa, let it be so. One word of yours, announcing thisnews to me, will be a double happiness.""There, ten o'clock strikes," said Rosa, "I must now leaveyou.""Yes, yes," said Cornelius, "go, Rosa, go!"Rosa withdrew, almost melancholy, for Cornelius had all butsent her away.
　　It is true that he did so in order that she might watch overhis black tulip.
Chapter 22 The Opening of the Flower
    The night passed away very sweetly for Cornelius, althoughin great agitation. Every instant he fancied he heard thegentle voice of Rosa calling him. He then started up, wentto the door, and looked through the grating, but no one wasbehind it, and the lobby was empty.
　　Rosa, no doubt, would be watching too, but, happier than he,she watched over the tulip; she had before her eyes thatnoble flower, that wonder of wonders. which not only wasunknown, but was not even thought possible until then.
　　What would the world say when it heard that the black tulipwas found, that it existed and that it was the prisoner VanBaerle who had found it?
　　How Cornelius would have spurned the offer of his liberty inexchange for his tulip!
　　Day came, without any news; the tulip was not yet in flower.
　　The day passed as the night. Night came, and with it Rosa,joyous and cheerful as a bird.
　　"Well?" asked Cornelius.
　　"Well, all is going on prosperously. This night, without anydoubt, our tulip will be in flower.""And will it flower black?""Black as jet.""Without a speck of any other colour.""Without one speck.""Good Heavens! my dear Rosa, I have been dreaming all night,in the first place of you," (Rosa made a sign ofincredulity,) "and then of what we must do.""Well?""Well, and I will tell you now what I have decided on. Thetulip once being in flower, and it being quite certain thatit is perfectly black, you must find a messenger.""If it is no more than that, I have a messenger quiteready.""Is he safe?""One for whom I will answer, -- he is one of my lovers.""I hope not Jacob.""No, be quiet, it is the ferryman of Loewestein, a smartyoung man of twenty-five.""By Jove!""Be quiet," said Rosa, smiling, "he is still under age, asyou have yourself fixed it from twenty-six to twenty-eight.""In fine, do you think you may rely on this young man?""As on myself; he would throw himself into the Waal or theMeuse if I bade him.""Well, Rosa, this lad may be at Haarlem in ten hours; youwill give me paper and pencil, and, perhaps better still,pen and ink, and I will write, or rather, on secondthoughts, you will, for if I did, being a poor prisoner,people might, like your father, see a conspiracy in it. Youwill write to the President of the Horticultural Society,and I am sure he will come.""But if he tarries?""Well, let us suppose that he tarries one day, or even two;but it is impossible. A tulip-fancier like him will nottarry one hour, not one minute, not one second, to set outto see the eighth wonder of the world. But, as I said, if hetarried one or even two days, the tulip will still be in itsfull splendour. The flower once being seen by the President,and the protocol being drawn up, all is in order; you willonly keep a duplicate of the protocol, and intrust the tulipto him. Ah! if we had been able to carry it ourselves, Rosa,it would never have left my hands but to pass into yours;but this is a dream, which we must not entertain," continuedCornelius with a sigh, "the eyes of strangers will see itflower to the last. And above all, Rosa, before thePresident has seen it, let it not be seen by any one. Alas!
　　if any one saw the black tulip, it would be stolen.""Oh!""Did you not tell me yourself of what you apprehended fromyour lover Jacob? People will steal one guilder, why not ahundred thousand?""I shall watch; be quiet.""But if it opened whilst you were here?""The whimsical little thing would indeed be quite capable ofplaying such a trick," said Rosa.
　　"And if on your return you find it open?""Well?""Oh, Rosa, whenever it opens, remember that not a momentmust be lost in apprising the President.""And in apprising you. Yes, I understand."Rosa sighed, yet without any bitter feeling, but rather likea woman who begins to understand a foible, and to accustomherself to it.
　　"I return to your tulip, Mynheer van Baerle, and as soon asit opens I will give you news, which being done themessenger will set out immediately.""Rosa, Rosa, I don't know to what wonder under the sun Ishall compare you.""Compare me to the black tulip, and I promise you I shallfeel very much flattered. Good night, then, till we meetagain, Mynheer Cornelius.""Oh, say 'Good night, my friend.'""Good night, my friend," said Rosa, a little consoled.
　　"Say, 'My very dear friend.'""Oh, my friend -- ""Very dear friend, I entreat you, say 'very dear,' Rosa,very dear.""Very dear, yes, very dear," said Rosa, with a beatingheart, beyond herself with happiness.
　　"And now that you have said 'very dear,' dear Rosa, say also'most happy': say 'happier and more blessed than ever manwas under the sun.' I only lack one thing, Rosa.""And that is?""Your cheek, -- your fresh cheek, your soft, rosy cheek. Oh,Rosa, give it me of your own free will, and not by chance.
　　Ah!"The prisoner's prayer ended in a sigh of ecstasy; his lipsmet those of the maiden, -- not by chance, nor by stratagem,but as Saint-Preux's was to meet the lips of Julie a hundredyears later.
　　Rosa made her escape.
　　Cornelius stood with his heart upon his lips, and his faceglued to the wicket in the door.
　　He was fairly choking with happiness and joy. He opened hiswindow, and gazed long, with swelling heart, at thecloudless vault of heaven, and the moon, which shone likesilver upon the two-fold stream flowing from far beyond thehills. He filled his lungs with the pure, sweet air, whilehis brain dwelt upon thoughts of happiness, and his heartoverflowed with gratitude and religious fervour.
　　"Oh Thou art always watching from on high, my God," hecried, half prostrate, his glowing eyes fixed upon thestars: "forgive me that I almost doubted Thy existenceduring these latter days, for Thou didst hide Thy facebehind the clouds, and wert for a moment lost to my sight, OThou merciful God, Thou pitying Father everlasting! Butto-day, this evening, and to-night, again I see Thee in allThy wondrous glory in the mirror of Thy heavenly abode, andmore clearly still in the mirror of my grateful heart."He was well again, the poor invalid; the wretched captivewas free once more.
　　During part of the night Cornelius, with his heart full ofjoy and delight, remained at his window, gazing at thestars, and listening for every sound.
　　Then casting a glance from time to time towards the lobby,--"Down there," he said, "is Rosa, watching like myself, andwaiting from minute to minute; down there, under Rosa'seyes, is the mysterious flower, which lives, which expands,which opens, perhaps Rosa holds in this moment the stem ofthe tulip between her delicate fingers. Touch it gently,Rosa. Perhaps she touches with her lips its expandingchalice. Touch it cautiously, Rosa, your lips are burning.
　　Yes, perhaps at this moment the two objects of my dearestlove caress each other under the eye of Heaven."At this moment, a star blazed in the southern sky, and shotthrough the whole horizon, falling down, as it were, on thefortress of Loewestein.
　　Cornelius felt a thrill run through his frame.
　　"Ah!" he said, "here is Heaven sending a soul to my flower."And as if he had guessed correctly, nearly at that verymoment the prisoner heard in the lobby a step light as thatof a sylph, and the rustling of a gown, and a well-knownvoice, which said to him, --"Cornelius, my friend, my very dear friend, and very happyfriend, come, come quickly."Cornelius darted with one spring from the window to thedoor, his lips met those of Rosa, who told him, with a kiss,--"It is open, it is black, here it is.""How! here it is?" exclaimed Cornelius.
　　"Yes, yes, we ought indeed to run some little risk to give agreat joy; here it is, take it."And with one hand she raised to the level of the grating adark lantern, which she had lit in the meanwhile, whilstwith the other she held to the same height the miraculoustulip.
　　Cornelius uttered a cry, and was nearly fainting.
　　"Oh!" muttered he, "my God, my God, Thou dost reward me formy innocence and my captivity, as Thou hast allowed two suchflowers to grow at the grated window of my prison!"The tulip was beautiful, splendid, magnificent; its stem wasmore than eighteen inches high; it rose from out of fourgreen leaves, which were as smooth and straight as ironlance-heads; the whole of the flower was as black andshining as jet.
　　"Rosa," said Cornelius, almost gasping, "Rosa, there is notone moment to lose in writing the letter.""It is written, my dearest Cornelius," said Rosa.
　　"Is it, indeed?""Whilst the tulip opened I wrote it myself, for I did notwish to lose a moment. Here is the letter, and tell mewhether you approve of it."Cornelius took the letter, and read, in a handwriting whichwas much improved even since the last little note he hadreceived from Rosa, as follows: --"Mynheer President, -- The black tulip is about to open,perhaps in ten minutes. As soon as it is open, I shall senda messenger to you, with the request that you will come andfetch it in person from the fortress at Loewestein. I am thedaughter of the jailer, Gryphus, almost as much of a captiveas the prisoners of my father. I cannot, therefore, bring toyou this wonderful flower. This is the reason why I beg youto come and fetch it yourself.
　　"It is my wish that it should be called Rosa Barlaensis.
　　"It has opened; it is perfectly black; come, MynheerPresident, come.
　　"I have the honour to be your humble servant,"Rosa Gryphus.
　　"That's it, dear Rosa, that's it. Your letter is admirable!
　　I could not have written it with such beautiful simplicity.
　　You will give to the committee all the information that willbe required of you. They will then know how the tulip hasbeen grown, how much care and anxiety, and how manysleepless nights, it has cost. But for the present not aminute must be lost. The messenger! the messenger!""What's the name of the President?""Give me the letter, I will direct it. Oh, he is very wellknown: it is Mynheer van Systens, the burgomaster ofHaarlem; give it to me, Rosa, give it to me."And with a trembling hand Cornelius wrote the address, --"To Mynheer Peter van Systens, Burgomaster, and President ofthe Horticultural Society of Haarlem.""And now, Rosa, go, go," said Cornelius, "and let us implorethe protection of God, who has so kindly watched over usuntil now."
Chapter 23 The Rival
    And in fact the poor young people were in great need of protection.
　　They had never been so near the destruction of their hopesas at this moment, when they thought themselves certain oftheir fulfilment.
　　The reader cannot but have recognized in Jacob our oldfriend, or rather enemy, Isaac Boxtel, and has guessed, nodoubt, that this worthy had followed from the Buytenhof toLoewestein the object of his love and the object of hishatred, -- the black tulip and Cornelius van Baerle.
　　What no one but a tulip-fancier, and an envioustulip-fancier, could have discovered, -- the existence ofthe bulbs and the endeavours of the prisoner, -- jealousyhad enabled Boxtel, if not to discover, at least to guess.
　　We have seen him, more successful under the name of Jacobthan under that of Isaac, gain the friendship of Gryphus,which for several months he cultivated by means of the bestGenievre ever distilled from the Texel to Antwerp, and helulled the suspicion of the jealous turnkey by holding outto him the flattering prospect of his designing to marryRosa.
　　Besides thus offering a bait to the ambition of the father,he managed, at the same time, to interest his zeal as ajailer, picturing to him in the blackest colours the learnedprisoner whom Gryphus had in his keeping, and who, as thesham Jacob had it, was in league with Satan, to thedetriment of his Highness the Prince of Orange.
　　At first he had also made some way with Rosa; not, indeed,in her affections, but inasmuch as, by talking to her ofmarriage and of love, he had evaded all the suspicions whichhe might otherwise have excited.
　　We have seen how his imprudence in following Rosa into thegarden had unmasked him in the eyes of the young damsel, andhow the instinctive fears of Cornelius had put the twolovers on their guard against him.
　　The reader will remember that the first cause of uneasinesswas given to the prisoner by the rage of Jacob when Gryphuscrushed the first bulb. In that moment Boxtel's exasperationwas the more fierce, as, though suspecting that Corneliuspossessed a second bulb, he by no means felt sure of it.
　　From that moment he began to dodge the steps of Rosa, notonly following her to the garden, but also to the lobbies.
　　Only as this time he followed her in the night, andbare-footed, he was neither seen nor heard except once, whenRosa thought she saw something like a shadow on thestaircase.
　　Her discovery, however, was made too late, as Boxtel hadheard from the mouth of the prisoner himself that a secondbulb existed.
　　Taken in by the stratagem of Rosa, who had feigned to put itin the ground, and entertaining no doubt that this littlefarce had been played in order to force him to betrayhimself, he redoubled his precaution, and employed everymeans suggested by his crafty nature to watch the otherswithout being watched himself.
　　He saw Rosa conveying a large flower-pot of whiteearthenware from her father's kitchen to her bedroom. He sawRosa washing in pails of water her pretty little hands,begrimed as they were with the mould which she had handled,to give her tulip the best soil possible.
　　And at last he hired, just opposite Rosa's window, a littleattic, distant enough not to allow him to be recognized withthe naked eye, but sufficiently near to enable him, with thehelp of his telescope, to watch everything that was going onat the Loewestein in Rosa's room, just as at Dort he hadwatched the dry-room of Cornelius.
　　He had not been installed more than three days in his atticbefore all his doubts were removed.
　　From morning to sunset the flower-pot was in the window,and, like those charming female figures of Mieris andMetzys, Rosa appeared at that window as in a frame, formedby the first budding sprays of the wild vine and thehoneysuckle encircling her window.
　　Rosa watched the flower-pot with an interest which betrayedto Boxtel the real value of the object enclosed in it.
　　This object could not be anything else but the second bulb,that is to say, the quintessence of all the hopes of theprisoner.
　　When the nights threatened to be too cold, Rosa took in theflower-pot.
　　Well, it was then quite evident she was following theinstructions of Cornelius, who was afraid of the bulb beingkilled by frost.
　　When the sun became too hot, Rosa likewise took in the potfrom eleven in the morning until two in the afternoon.
　　Another proof: Cornelius was afraid lest the soil shouldbecome too dry.
　　But when the first leaves peeped out of the earth Boxtel wasfully convinced; and his telescope left him no longer in anyuncertainty before they had grown one inch in height.
　　Cornelius possessed two bulbs, and the second was intrustedto the love and care of Rosa.
　　For it may well be imagined that the tender secret of thetwo lovers had not escaped the prying curiosity of Boxtel.
　　The question, therefore, was how to wrest the second bulbfrom the care of Rosa.
　　Certainly this was no easy task.
　　Rosa watched over her tulip as a mother over her child, or adove over her eggs.
　　Rosa never left her room during the day, and, more thanthat, strange to say, she never left it in the evening.
　　For seven days Boxtel in vain watched Rosa; she was alwaysat her post.
　　This happened during those seven days which made Corneliusso unhappy, depriving him at the same time of all news ofRosa and of his tulip.
　　Would the coolness between Rosa and Cornelius last for ever?
　　This would have made the theft much more difficult thanMynheer Isaac had at first expected.
　　We say the theft, for Isaac had simply made up his mind tosteal the tulip; and as it grew in the most profoundsecrecy, and as, moreover, his word, being that of arenowned tulip-grower, would any day be taken against thatof an unknown girl without any knowledge of horticulture, oragainst that of a prisoner convicted of high treason, heconfidently hoped that, having once got possession of thebulb, he would be certain to obtain the prize; and then thetulip, instead of being called Tulipa nigra Barlaensis,would go down to posterity under the name of Tulipa nigraBoxtellensis or Boxtellea.
　　Mynheer Isaac had not yet quite decided which of these twonames he would give to the tulip, but, as both meant thesame thing, this was, after all, not the important point.
　　The point was to steal the tulip. But in order that Boxtelmight steal the tulip, it was necessary that Rosa shouldleave her room.
　　Great therefore was his joy when he saw the usual eveningmeetings of the lovers resumed.
　　He first of all took advantage of Rosa's absence to makehimself fully acquainted with all the peculiarities of thedoor of her chamber. The lock was a double one and in goodorder, but Rosa always took the key with her.
　　Boxtel at first entertained an idea of stealing the key, butit soon occurred to him, not only that it would beexceedingly difficult to abstract it from her pocket, butalso that, when she perceived her loss, she would not leaveher room until the lock was changed, and then Boxtel's firsttheft would be useless.
　　He thought it, therefore, better to employ a differentexpedient. He collected as many keys as he could, and triedall of them during one of those delightful hours which Rosaand Cornelius passed together at the grating of the cell.
　　Two of the keys entered the lock, and one of them turnedround once, but not the second time.
　　There was, therefore, only a little to be done to this key.
　　Boxtel covered it with a slight coat of wax, and when hethus renewed the experiment, the obstacle which preventedthe key from being turned a second time left its impressionon the wax.
　　It cost Boxtel two days more to bring his key to perfection,with the aid of a small file.
　　Rosa's door thus opened without noise and withoutdifficulty, and Boxtel found himself in her room alone withthe tulip.
　　The first guilty act of Boxtel had been to climb over a wallin order to dig up the tulip; the second, to introducehimself into the dry-room of Cornelius, through an openwindow; and the third, to enter Rosa's room by means of afalse key.
　　Thus envy urged Boxtel on with rapid steps in the career ofcrime.
　　Boxtel, as we have said, was alone with the tulip.
　　A common thief would have taken the pot under his arm, andcarried it off.
　　But Boxtel was not a common thief, and he reflected.
　　It was not yet certain, although very probable, that thetulip would flower black; if, therefore, he stole it now, henot only might be committing a useless crime, but also thetheft might be discovered in the time which must elapseuntil the flower should open.
　　He therefore -- as being in possession of the key, he mightenter Rosa's chamber whenever he liked -- thought it betterto wait and to take it either an hour before or afteropening, and to start on the instant to Haarlem, where thetulip would be before the judges of the committee before anyone else could put in a reclamation.
　　Should any one then reclaim it, Boxtel would in his turncharge him or her with theft.
　　This was a deep-laid scheme, and quite worthy of its author.
　　Thus, every evening during that delightful hour which thetwo lovers passed together at the grated window, Boxtelentered Rosa's chamber to watch the progress which the blacktulip had made towards flowering.
　　On the evening at which we have arrived he was going toenter according to custom; but the two lovers, as we haveseen, only exchanged a few words before Cornelius sent Rosaback to watch over the tulip.
　　Seeing Rosa enter her room ten minutes after she had leftit, Boxtel guessed that the tulip had opened, or was aboutto open.
　　During that night, therefore, the great blow was to bestruck. Boxtel presented himself before Gryphus with adouble supply of Genievre, that is to say, with a bottle ineach pocket.
　　Gryphus being once fuddled, Boxtel was very nearly master ofthe house.
　　At eleven o'clock Gryphus was dead drunk. At two in themorning Boxtel saw Rosa leaving the chamber; but evidentlyshe held in her arms something which she carried with greatcare.
　　He did not doubt that this was the black tulip which was inflower.
　　But what was she going to do with it? Would she set out thatinstant to Haarlem with it?
　　It was not possible that a young girl should undertake sucha journey alone during the night.
　　Was she only going to show the tulip to Cornelius? This wasmore likely.
　　He followed Rosa in his stocking feet, walking on tiptoe.
　　He saw her approach the grated window. He heard her callingCornelius. By the light of the dark lantern he saw the tulipopen, and black as the night in which he was hidden.
　　He heard the plan concerted between Cornelius and Rosa tosend a messenger to Haarlem. He saw the lips of the loversmeet, and then heard Cornelius send Rosa away.
　　He saw Rosa extinguish the light and return to her chamber.
　　Ten minutes after, he saw her leave the room again, and lockit twice.
　　Boxtel, who saw all this whilst hiding himself on thelanding-place of the staircase above, descended step by stepfrom his story as Rosa descended from hers; so that, whenshe touched with her light foot the lowest step of thestaircase, Boxtel touched with a still lighter hand the lockof Rosa's chamber.
　　And in that hand, it must be understood, he held the falsekey which opened Rosa's door as easily as did the real one.
　　And this is why, in the beginning of the chapter, we saidthat the poor young people were in great need of theprotection of God.
Chapter 24 The Black Tulip changes Masters
    Cornelius remained standing on the spot where Rosa had left him.
　　He was quite overpowered with the weight of his twofold happiness.
　　Half an hour passed away. Already did the first rays of thesun enter through the iron grating of the prison, whenCornelius was suddenly startled at the noise of steps whichcame up the staircase, and of cries which approached nearerand nearer.
　　Almost at the same instant he saw before him the pale anddistracted face of Rosa.
　　He started, and turned pale with fright.
　　"Cornelius, Cornelius!" she screamed, gasping for breath.
　　"Good Heaven! what is it?" asked the prisoner.
　　"Cornelius! the tulip ---- ""Well?""How shall I tell you?""Speak, speak, Rosa!""Some one has taken -- stolen it from us.""Stolen -- taken?" said Cornelius.
　　"Yes," said Rosa, leaning against the door to supportherself; "yes, taken, stolen!"And saying this, she felt her limbs failing her, and shefell on her knees.
　　"But how? Tell me, explain to me.""Oh, it is not my fault, my friend."Poor Rosa! she no longer dared to call him "My beloved one.""You have then left it alone," said Cornelius, ruefully.
　　"One minute only, to instruct our messenger, who livesscarcely fifty yards off, on the banks of the Waal.""And during that time, notwithstanding all my injunctions,you left the key behind, unfortunate child!""No, no, no! this is what I cannot understand. The key wasnever out of my hands; I clinched it as if I were afraid itwould take wings.""But how did it happen, then?""That's what I cannot make out. I had given the letter to mymessenger; he started before I left his house; I came home,and my door was locked, everything in my room was as I hadleft it, except the tulip, -- that was gone. Some one musthave had a key for my room, or have got a false one made onpurpose."She was nearly choking with sobs, and was unable tocontinue.
　　Cornelius, immovable and full of consternation, heard almostwithout understanding, and only muttered, --"Stolen, stolen, and I am lost!""O Cornelius, forgive me, forgive me, it will kill me!"Seeing Rosa's distress, Cornelius seized the iron bars ofthe grating, and furiously shaking them, called out, --"Rosa, Rosa, we have been robbed, it is true, but shall weallow ourselves to be dejected for all that? No, no; themisfortune is great, but it may perhaps be remedied. Rosa,we know the thief!""Alas! what can I say about it?""But I say that it is no one else but that infamous Jacob.
　　Shall we allow him to carry to Haarlem the fruit of ourlabour, the fruit of our sleepless nights, the child of ourlove? Rosa, we must pursue, we must overtake him!""But how can we do all this, my friend, without letting myfather know we were in communication with each other? Howshould I, a poor girl, with so little knowledge of the worldand its ways, be able to attain this end, which perhaps youcould not attain yourself?""Rosa, Rosa, open this door to me, and you will see whetherI will not find the thief, -- whether I will not make himconfess his crime and beg for mercy.""Alas!" cried Rosa, sobbing, "can I open the door for you?
　　have I the keys? If I had had them, would not you have beenfree long ago?""Your father has them, -- your wicked father, who hasalready crushed the first bulb of my tulip. Oh, the wretch!
　　he is an accomplice of Jacob!""Don't speak so loud, for Heaven's sake!""Oh, Rosa, if you don't open the door to me," Corneliuscried in his rage, "I shall force these bars, and killeverything I find in the prison.""Be merciful, be merciful, my friend!""I tell you, Rosa, that I shall demolish this prison, stonefor stone!" and the unfortunate man, whose strength wasincreased tenfold by his rage, began to shake the door witha great noise, little heeding that the thunder of his voicewas re-echoing through the spiral staircase.
　　Rosa, in her fright, made vain attempts to check thisfurious outbreak.
　　"I tell you that I shall kill that infamous Gryphus?" roaredCornelius. "I tell you I shall shed his blood as he did thatof my black tulip."The wretched prisoner began really to rave.
　　"Well, then, yes," said Rosa, all in a tremble. "Yes, yes,only be quiet. Yes, yes, I will take his keys, I will openthe door for you! Yes, only be quiet, my own dearCornelius."She did not finish her speech, as a growl by her sideinterrupted her.
　　"My father!" cried Rosa.
　　"Gryphus!" roared Van Baerle. "Oh, you villain!"Old Gryphus, in the midst of all the noise, had ascended thestaircase without being heard.
　　He rudely seized his daughter by the wrist.
　　"So you will take my keys?" he said, in a voice choked withrage. "Ah! this dastardly fellow, this monster, thisgallows-bird of a conspirator, is your own dear Cornelius,is he? Ah! Missy has communications with prisoners of state.
　　Ah! won't I teach you -- won't I?"Rosa clasped her hands in despair.
　　"Ah!" Gryphus continued, passing from the madness of angerto the cool irony of a man who has got the better of hisenemy, -- "Ah, you innocent tulip-fancier, you gentlescholar; you will kill me, and drink my blood! Very well!
　　very well! And you have my daughter for an accomplice. Am I,forsooth, in a den of thieves, -- in a cave of brigands?
　　Yes, but the Governor shall know all to-morrow, and hisHighness the Stadtholder the day after. We know the law, --we shall give a second edition of the Buytenhof, MasterScholar, and a good one this time. Yes, yes, just gnaw yourpaws like a bear in his cage, and you, my fine little lady,devour your dear Cornelius with your eyes. I tell you, mylambkins, you shall not much longer have the felicity ofconspiring together. Away with you, unnatural daughter! Andas to you, Master Scholar, we shall see each other again.
　　Just be quiet, -- we shall."Rosa, beyond herself with terror and despair, kissed herhands to her friend; then, suddenly struck with a brightthought, she rushed toward the staircase, saying, --"All is not yet lost, Cornelius. Rely on me, my Cornelius."Her father followed her, growling.
　　As to poor Cornelius, he gradually loosened his hold of thebars, which his fingers still grasped convulsively. His headwas heavy, his eyes almost started from their sockets, andhe fell heavily on the floor of his cell, muttering, --"Stolen! it has been stolen from me!"During this time Boxtel had left the fortress by the doorwhich Rosa herself had opened. He carried the black tulipwrapped up in a cloak, and, throwing himself into a coach,which was waiting for him at Gorcum, he drove off, without,as may well be imagined, having informed his friend Gryphusof his sudden departure.
　　And now, as we have seen him enter his coach, we shall withthe consent of the reader, follow him to the end of hisjourney.
　　He proceeded but slowly, as the black tulip could not beartravelling post-haste.
　　But Boxtel, fearing that he might not arrive early enough,procured at Delft a box, lined all round with fresh moss, inwhich he packed the tulip. The flower was so lightly pressedupon all sides, with a supply of air from above, that thecoach could now travel full speed without any possibility ofinjury to the tulip.
　　He arrived next morning at Haarlem, fatigued but triumphant;and, to do away with every trace of the theft, hetransplanted the tulip, and, breaking the originalflower-pot, threw the pieces into the canal. After which hewrote the President of the Horticultural Society a letter,in which he announced to him that he had just arrived atHaarlem with a perfectly black tulip; and, with his flowerall safe, took up his quarters at a good hotel in the town,and there he waited.
Chapter 25 The President van Systens
    Rosa, on leaving Cornelius, had fixed on her plan, which wasno other than to restore to Cornelius the stolen tulip, ornever to see him again.
　　She had seen the despair of the prisoner, and she knew thatit was derived from a double source, and that it wasincurable.
　　On the one hand, separation became inevitable, -- Gryphushaving at the same time surprised the secret of their loveand of their secret meetings.
　　On the other hand, all the hopes on the fulfilment of whichCornelius van Baerle had rested his ambition for the lastseven years were now crushed.
　　Rosa was one of those women who are dejected by trifles, butwho in great emergencies are supplied by the misfortuneitself with the energy for combating or with the resourcesfor remedying it.
　　She went to her room, and cast a last glance about her tosee whether she had not been mistaken, and whether the tulipwas not stowed away in some corner where it had escaped hernotice. But she sought in vain, the tulip was still missing;the tulip was indeed stolen.
　　Rosa made up a little parcel of things indispensable for ajourney; took her three hundred guilders, -- that is to say,all her fortune, -- fetched the third bulb from among herlace, where she had laid it up, and carefully hid it in herbosom; after which she locked her door twice to disguise herflight as long as possible, and, leaving the prison by thesame door which an hour before had let out Boxtel, she wentto a stable-keeper to hire a carriage.
　　The man had only a two-wheel chaise, and this was thevehicle which Boxtel had hired since last evening, and inwhich he was now driving along the road to Delft; for theroad from Loewestein to Haarlem, owing to the many canals,rivers, and rivulets intersecting the country, isexceedingly circuitous.
　　Not being able to procure a vehicle, Rosa was obliged totake a horse, with which the stable-keeper readily intrustedher, knowing her to be the daughter of the jailer of thefortress.
　　Rosa hoped to overtake her messenger, a kind-hearted andhonest lad, whom she would take with her, and who might atthe same time serve her as a guide and a protector.
　　And in fact she had not proceeded more than a league beforeshe saw him hastening along one of the side paths of a verypretty road by the river. Setting her horse off at a canter,she soon came up with him.
　　The honest lad was not aware of the important character ofhis message; nevertheless, he used as much speed as if hehad known it; and in less than an hour he had already gone aleague and a half.
　　Rosa took from him the note, which had now become useless,and explained to him what she wanted him to do for her. Theboatman placed himself entirely at her disposal, promisingto keep pace with the horse if Rosa would allow him to takehold of either the croup or the bridle of her horse. The twotravellers had been on their way for five hours, and mademore than eight leagues, and yet Gryphus had not the leastsuspicion of his daughter having left the fortress.
　　The jailer, who was of a very spiteful and crueldisposition, chuckled within himself at the idea of havingstruck such terror into his daughter's heart.
　　But whilst he was congratulating himself on having such anice story to tell to his boon companion, Jacob, that worthywas on his road to Delft; and, thanks to the swiftness ofthe horse, had already the start of Rosa and her companionby four leagues.
　　And whilst the affectionate father was rejoicing at thethought of his daughter weeping in her room, Rosa was makingthe best of her way towards Haarlem.
　　Thus the prisoner alone was where Gryphus thought him to be.
　　Rosa was so little with her father since she took care ofthe tulip, that at his dinner hour, that is to say, attwelve o'clock, he was reminded for the first time by hisappetite that his daughter was fretting rather too long.
　　He sent one of the under-turnkeys to call her; and, when theman came back to tell him that he had called and sought herin vain, he resolved to go and call her himself.
　　He first went to her room, but, loud as he knocked, Rosaanswered not.
　　The locksmith of the fortress was sent for; he opened thedoor, but Gryphus no more found Rosa than she had found thetulip.
　　At that very moment she entered Rotterdam.
　　Gryphus therefore had just as little chance of finding herin the kitchen as in her room, and just as little in thegarden as in the kitchen.
　　The reader may imagine the anger of the jailer when, afterhaving made inquiries about the neighbourhood, he heard thathis daughter had hired a horse, and, like an adventuress,set out on a journey without saying where she was going.
　　Gryphus again went up in his fury to Van Baerle, abused him,threatened him, knocked all the miserable furniture of hiscell about, and promised him all sorts of misery, evenstarvation and flogging.
　　Cornelius, without even hearing what his jailer said,allowed himself to be ill-treated, abused, and threatened,remaining all the while sullen, immovable, dead to everyemotion and fear.
　　After having sought for Rosa in every direction, Gryphuslooked out for Jacob, and, as he could not find him either,he began to suspect from that moment that Jacob had run awaywith her.
　　The damsel, meanwhile, after having stopped for two hours atRotterdam, had started again on her journey. On that eveningshe slept at Delft, and on the following morning she reachedHaarlem, four hours after Boxtel had arrived there.
　　Rosa, first of all, caused herself to be led before Mynheervan Systens, the President of the Horticultural Society ofHaarlem.
　　She found that worthy gentleman in a situation which, to dojustice to our story, we must not pass over in ourdescription.
　　The President was drawing up a report to the committee ofthe society.
　　This report was written on large-sized paper, in the finesthandwriting of the President.
　　Rosa was announced simply as Rosa Gryphus; but as her name,well as it might sound, was unknown to the President, shewas refused admittance.
　　Rosa, however, was by no means abashed, having vowed in herheart, in pursuing her cause, not to allow herself to be putdown either by refusal, or abuse, or even brutality.
　　"Announce to the President," she said to the servant, "thatI want to speak to him about the black tulip."These words seemed to be an "Open Sesame," for she soonfound herself in the office of the President, Van Systens,who gallantly rose from his chair to meet her.
　　He was a spare little man, resembling the stem of a flower,his head forming its chalice, and his two limp armsrepresenting the double leaf of the tulip; the resemblancewas rendered complete by his waddling gait which made himeven more like that flower when it bends under a breeze.
　　"Well, miss," he said, "you are coming, I am told, about theaffair of the black tulip."To the President of the Horticultural Society the Tulipanigra was a first-rate power, which, in its character asqueen of the tulips, might send ambassadors.
　　"Yes, sir," answered Rosa; "I come at least to speak of it.""Is it doing well, then?" asked Van Systens, with a smile oftender veneration.
　　"Alas! sir, I don't know," said Rosa.
　　"How is that? could any misfortune have happened to it?""A very great one, sir; yet not to it, but to me.""What?""It has been stolen from me.""Stolen! the black tulip?""Yes, sir.""Do you know the thief?""I have my suspicions, but I must not yet accuse any one.""But the matter may very easily be ascertained.""How is that?""As it has been stolen from you, the thief cannot be faroff.""Why not?""Because I have seen the black tulip only two hours ago.""You have seen the black tulip!" cried Rosa, rushing up toMynheer van Systens.
　　"As I see you, miss.""But where?""Well, with your master, of course.""With my master?""Yes, are you not in the service of Master Isaac Boxtel?""I?""Yes, you.""But for whom do you take me, sir?""And for whom do you take me?""I hope, sir, I take you for what you are, -- that is tosay, for the honorable Mynheer van Systens, Burgomaster ofHaarlem, and President of the Horticultural Society.""And what is it you told me just now?""I told you, sir, that my tulip has been stolen.""Then your tulip is that of Mynheer Boxtel. Well, my child,you express yourself very badly. The tulip has been stolen,not from you, but from Mynheer Boxtel.""I repeat to you, sir, that I do not know who this MynheerBoxtel is, and that I have now heard his name pronounced forthe first time.""You do not know who Mynheer Boxtel is, and you also had ablack tulip?""But is there any other besides mine?" asked Rosa,trembling.
　　"Yes, -- that of Mynheer Boxtel.""How is it?""Black, of course.""Without speck?""Without a single speck, or even point.""And you have this tulip, -- you have it deposited here?""No, but it will be, as it has to be exhibited before thecommittee previous to the prize being awarded.""Oh, sir!" cried Rosa, "this Boxtel -- this Isaac Boxtel --who calls himself the owner of the black tulip ---- ""And who is its owner?""Is he not a very thin man?""Bald?""Yes.""With sunken eyes?""I think he has.""Restless, stooping, and bowlegged?""In truth, you draw Master Boxtel's portrait feature byfeature.""And the tulip, sir? Is it not in a pot of white and blueearthenware, with yellowish flowers in a basket on threesides?""Oh, as to that I am not quite sure; I looked more at theflower than at the pot.""Oh, sir! that's my tulip, which has been stolen from me. Icame here to reclaim it before you and from you.""Oh! oh!" said Van Systens, looking at Rosa. "What! you arehere to claim the tulip of Master Boxtel? Well, I must say,you are cool enough.""Honoured sir," a little put out by this apostrophe, "I donot say that I am coming to claim the tulip of MasterBoxtel, but to reclaim my own.""Yours?""Yes, the one which I have myself planted and nursed.""Well, then, go and find out Master Boxtel, at the WhiteSwan Inn, and you can then settle matters with him; as forme, considering that the cause seems to me as difficult tojudge as that which was brought before King Solomon, andthat I do not pretend to be as wise as he was, I shallcontent myself with making my report, establishing theexistence of the black tulip, and ordering the hundredthousand guilders to be paid to its grower. Good-bye, mychild.""Oh, sir, sir!" said Rosa, imploringly.
　　"Only, my child," continued Van Systens, "as you are youngand pretty, and as there may be still some good in you, I'llgive you some good advice. Be prudent in this matter, for wehave a court of justice and a prison here at Haarlem, and,moreover, we are exceedingly ticklish as far as the honourof our tulips is concerned. Go, my child, go, remember,Master Isaac Boxtel at the White Swan Inn."And Mynheer van Systens, taking up his fine pen, resumed hisreport, which had been interrupted by Rosa's visit.
Chapter 26 A Member of the Horticultural Society
    Rosa, beyond herself and nearly mad with joy and fear at theidea of the black tulip being found again, started for theWhite Swan, followed by the boatman, a stout lad fromFrisia, who was strong enough to knock down a dozen Boxtelssingle-handed.
　　He had been made acquainted in the course of the journeywith the state of affairs, and was not afraid of anyencounter; only he had orders, in such a case, to spare thetulip.
　　But on arriving in the great market-place Rosa at oncestopped, a sudden thought had struck her, just as Homer'sMinerva seizes Achilles by the hair at the moment when he isabout to be carried away by his anger.
　　"Good Heaven!" she muttered to herself, "I have made agrievous blunder; it may be I have ruined Cornelius, thetulip, and myself. I have given the alarm, and perhapsawakened suspicion. I am but a woman; these men may leaguethemselves against me, and then I shall be lost. If I amlost that matters nothing, -- but Cornelius and the tulip!"She reflected for a moment.
　　"If I go to that Boxtel, and do not know him; if that Boxtelis not my Jacob, but another fancier, who has alsodiscovered the black tulip; or if my tulip has been stolenby some one else, or has already passed into the hands of athird person; -- if I do not recognize the man, only thetulip, how shall I prove that it belongs to me? On the otherhand, if I recognise this Boxtel as Jacob, who knows whatwill come out of it? whilst we are contesting with eachother, the tulip will die."In the meanwhile, a great noise was heard, like the distantroar of the sea, at the other extremity of the market-place.
　　People were running about, doors opening and shutting, Rosaalone was unconscious of all this hubbub among themultitude.
　　"We must return to the President," she muttered.
　　"Well, then, let us return," said the boatman.
　　They took a small street, which led them straight to themansion of Mynheer van Systens, who with his best pen in hisfinest hand continued to draw up his report.
　　Everywhere on her way Rosa heard people speaking only of theblack tulip, and the prize of a hundred thousand guilders.
　　The news had spread like wildfire through the town.
　　Rosa had not a little difficulty is penetrating a secondtime into the office of Mynheer van Systens, who, however,was again moved by the magic name of the black tulip.
　　But when he recognised Rosa, whom in his own mind he had setdown as mad, or even worse, he grew angry, and wanted tosend her away.
　　Rosa, however, clasped her hands, and said with that tone ofhonest truth which generally finds its way to the hearts ofmen, --"For Heaven's sake, sir, do not turn me away; listen to whatI have to tell you, and if it be not possible for you to dome justice, at least you will not one day have to reproachyourself before God for having made yourself the accompliceof a bad action."Van Systens stamped his foot with impatience; it was thesecond time that Rosa interrupted him in the midst of acomposition which stimulated his vanity, both as aburgomaster and as President of the Horticultural Society.
　　"But my report!" he cried, -- "my report on the blacktulip!""Mynheer van Systens," Rosa continued, with the firmness ofinnocence and truth, "your report on the black tulip will,if you don't hear me, be based on crime or on falsehood. Iimplore you, sir, let this Master Boxtel, whom I assert tobe Master Jacob, be brought here before you and me, and Iswear that I will leave him in undisturbed possession of thetulip if I do not recognise the flower and its holder.""Well, I declare, here is a proposal," said Van Systens.
　　"What do you mean?""I ask you what can be proved by your recognising them?""After all," said Rosa, in her despair, "you are an honestman, sir; how would you feel if one day you found out thatyou had given the prize to a man for something which he notonly had not produced, but which he had even stolen?"Rosa's speech seemed to have brought a certain convictioninto the heart of Van Systens, and he was going to answerher in a gentler tone, when at once a great noise was heardin the street, and loud cheers shook the house.
　　"What is this?" cried the burgomaster; "what is this? Is itpossible? have I heard aright?"And he rushed towards his anteroom, without any longerheeding Rosa, whom he left in his cabinet.
　　Scarcely had he reached his anteroom when he cried out aloudon seeing his staircase invaded, up to the verylanding-place, by the multitude, which was accompanying, orrather following, a young man, simply clad in aviolet-coloured velvet, embroidered with silver; who, with acertain aristocratic slowness, ascended the white stonesteps of the house.
　　In his wake followed two officers, one of the navy, and theother of the cavalry.
　　Van Systens, having found his way through the frighteneddomestics, began to bow, almost to prostrate himself beforehis visitor, who had been the cause of all this stir.
　　"Monseigneur," he called out, "Monseigneur! Whatdistinguished honour is your Highness bestowing for ever onmy humble house by your visit?""Dear Mynheer van Systens," said William of Orange, with aserenity which, with him, took the place of a smile, "I am atrue Hollander, I am fond of the water, of beer, and offlowers, sometimes even of that cheese the flavour of whichseems so grateful to the French; the flower which I preferto all others is, of course, the tulip. I heard at Leydenthat the city of Haarlem at last possessed the black tulip;and, after having satisfied myself of the truth of newswhich seemed so incredible, I have come to know all about itfrom the President of the Horticultural Society.""Oh, Monseigneur, Monseigneur!" said Van Systens, "whatglory to the society if its endeavours are pleasing to yourHighness!""Have you got the flower here?" said the Prince, who, verylikely, already regretted having made such a long speech.
　　"I am sorry to say we have not.""And where is it?""With its owner.""Who is he?""An honest tulip-grower of Dort.""His name?""Boxtel.""His quarters?""At the White Swan; I shall send for him, and if in themeanwhile your Highness will do me the honour of steppinginto my drawing-room, he will be sure -- knowing that yourHighness is here -- to lose no time in bringing his tulip.""Very well, send for him.""Yes, your Highness, but ----"What is it?""Oh, nothing of any consequence, Monseigneur.""Everything is of consequence, Mynheer van Systens.""Well, then, Monseigneur, if it must be said, a littledifficulty has presented itself.""What difficulty?""This tulip has already been claimed by usurpers. It's truethat it is worth a hundred thousand guilders.""Indeed!""Yes, Monseigneur, by usurpers, by forgers.""This is a crime, Mynheer van Systens.""So it is, your Highness.""And have you any proofs of their guilt? '
　　"No, Monseigneur, the guilty woman ---- ""The guilty woman, Sir?""I ought to say, the woman who claims the tulip,Monseigneur, is here in the room close by.""And what do you think of her?""I think, Monseigneur, that the bait of a hundred thousandguilders may have tempted her.""And so she claims the tulip?""Yes Monseigneur.""And what proof does she offer?""I was just going to question her when your Highness camein.""Question her, Mynheer van Systens, question her. I am thefirst magistrate of the country; I will hear the case andadminister justice.""I have found my King Solomon," said Van Systens, bowing,and showing the way to the Prince.
　　His Highness was just going to walk ahead, but, suddenlyrecollecting himself he said --"Go before me, and call me plain Mynheer."The two then entered the cabinet.
　　Rosa was still standing at the same place, leaning on thewindow, and looking through the panes into the garden.
　　"Ah! a Frisian girl," said the Prince, as he observed Rosa'sgold brocade headdress and red petticoat.
　　At the noise of their footsteps she turned round, butscarcely saw the Prince, who seated himself in the darkestcorner of the apartment.
　　All her attention, as may be easily imagined, was fixed onthat important person who was called Van Systens, so thatshe had no time to notice the humble stranger who wasfollowing the master of the house, and who, for aught sheknew, might be somebody or nobody.
　　The humble stranger took a book down from the shelf, andmade Van Systens a sign to commence the examinationforthwith.
　　Van Systens, likewise at the invitation of the young man inthe violet coat, sat down in his turn, and, quite happy andproud of the importance thus cast upon him, began, --"My child, you promise to tell me the truth and the entiretruth concerning this tulip?""I promise.""Well, then, speak before this gentleman; this gentleman isone of the members of the Horticultural Society.""What am I to tell you, sir," said Rosa, "beside that whichI have told you already.""Well, then, what is it?""I repeat the question I have addressed to you before.""Which?""That you will order Mynheer Boxtel to come here with histulip. If I do not recognise it as mine I will frankly tellit; but if I do recognise it I will reclaim it, even if I gobefore his Highness the Stadtholder himself, with my proofsin my hands.""You have, then, some proofs, my child?""God, who knows my good right, will assist me to some."Van Systens exchanged a look with the Prince, who, since thefirst words of Rosa, seemed to try to remember her, as if itwere not for the first time that this sweet voice rang inhis ears.
　　An officer went off to fetch Boxtel, and Van Systens in themeanwhile continued his examination.
　　"And with what do you support your assertion that you arethe real owner of the black tulip?""With the very simple fact of my having planted and grown itin my own chamber.""In your chamber? Where was your chamber?""At Loewestein.""You are from Loewestein?""I am the daughter of the jailer of the fortress."The Prince made a little movement, as much as to say, "Well,that's it, I remember now."And, all the while feigning to be engaged with his book, hewatched Rosa with even more attention than he had before.
　　"And you are fond of flowers?" continued Mynheer vanSystens.
　　"Yes, sir.""Then you are an experienced florist, I dare say?"Rosa hesitated a moment; then with a tone which came fromthe depth of her heart, she said, --"Gentlemen, I am speaking to men of honor."There was such an expression of truth in the tone of hervoice, that Van Systens and the Prince answeredsimultaneously by an affirmative movement of their heads.
　　"Well, then, I am not an experienced florist; I am only apoor girl, one of the people, who, three months ago, knewneither how to read nor how to write. No, the black tuliphas not been found by myself.""But by whom else?""By a poor prisoner of Loewestein.""By a prisoner of Loewestein?" repeated the Prince.
　　The tone of his voice startled Rosa, who was sure she hadheard it before.
　　"By a prisoner of state, then," continued the Prince, "asthere are none else there."Having said this he began to read again, at least inappearance.
　　"Yes," said Rosa, with a faltering voice, "yes, by aprisoner of state."Van Systens trembled as he heard such a confession made inthe presence of such a witness.
　　"Continue," said William dryly, to the President of theHorticultural Society.
　　"Ah, sir," said Rosa, addressing the person whom she thoughtto be her real judge, "I am going to incriminate myself veryseriously.""Certainly," said Van Systens, "the prisoner of state oughtto be kept in close confinement at Loewestein.""Alas! sir.""And from what you tell me you took advantage of yourposition, as daughter of the jailer, to communicate with aprisoner of state about the cultivation of flowers.""So it is, sir," Rosa murmured in dismay; "yes, I am boundto confess, I saw him every day.""Unfortunate girl!" exclaimed Van Systens.
　　The Prince, observing the fright of Rosa and the pallor ofthe President, raised his head, and said, in his clear anddecided tone, --"This cannot signify anything to the members of theHorticultural Society; they have to judge on the blacktulip, and have no cognizance to take of political offences.
　　Go on, young woman, go on."Van Systens, by means of an eloquent glance, offered, in thename of the tulip, his thanks to the new member of theHorticultural Society.
　　Rosa, reassured by this sort of encouragement which thestranger was giving her, related all that had happened forthe last three months, all that she had done, and all thatshe had suffered. She described the cruelty of Gryphus; thedestruction of the first bulb; the grief of the prisoner;the precautions taken to insure the success of the secondbulb; the patience of the prisoner and his anxiety duringtheir separation; how he was about to starve himself becausehe had no longer any news of his tulip; his joy when shewent to see him again; and, lastly, their despair when theyfound that the tulip which had come into flower was stolenjust one hour after it had opened.
　　All this was detailed with an accent of truth which,although producing no change in the impassible mien of thePrince, did not fail to take effect on Van Systens.
　　"But," said the Prince, "it cannot be long since you knewthe prisoner."Rosa opened her large eyes and looked at the stranger, whodrew back into the dark corner, as if he wished to escapeher observation.
　　"Why, sir?" she asked him.
　　"Because it is not yet four months since the jailer Gryphusand his daughter were removed to Loewestein.""That is true, sir.""Otherwise, you must have solicited the transfer of yourfather, in order to be able to follow some prisoner who mayhave been transported from the Hague to Loewestein.""Sir," said Rosa, blushing.
　　"Finish what you have to say," said William.
　　"I confess I knew the prisoner at the Hague.""Happy prisoner!" said William, smiling.
　　At this moment the officer who had been sent for Boxtelreturned, and announced to the Prince that the person whomhe had been to fetch was following on his heels with his tulip.
Chapter 27 The Third Bulb
    Boxtel's return was scarcely announced, when he entered inperson the drawing-room of Mynheer van Systens, followed bytwo men, who carried in a box their precious burden anddeposited it on a table.
　　The Prince, on being informed, left the cabinet, passed intothe drawing-room, admired the flower, and silently resumedhis seat in the dark corner, where he had himself placed hischair.
　　Rosa, trembling, pale and terrified, expected to be invitedin her turn to see the tulip.
　　She now heard the voice of Boxtel.
　　"It is he!" she exclaimed.
　　The Prince made her a sign to go and look through the opendoor into the drawing-room.
　　"It is my tulip," cried Rosa, "I recognise it. Oh, my poorCornelius!"And saying this she burst into tears.
　　The Prince rose from his seat, went to the door, where hestood for some time with the full light falling upon hisfigure.
　　As Rosa's eyes now rested upon him, she felt more than everconvinced that this was not the first time she had seen thestranger.
　　"Master Boxtel," said the Prince, "come in here, if youplease."Boxtel eagerly approached, and, finding himself face to facewith William of Orange, started back.
　　"His Highness!" he called out.
　　"His Highness!" Rosa repeated in dismay.
　　Hearing this exclamation on his left, Boxtel turned round,and perceived Rosa.
　　At this sight the whole frame of the thief shook as if underthe influence of a galvanic shock.
　　"Ah!" muttered the Prince to himself, "he is confused."But Boxtel, making a violent effort to control his feelings,was already himself again.
　　"Master Boxtel," said William, "you seem to have discoveredthe secret of growing the black tulip?""Yes, your Highness," answered Boxtel, in a voice whichstill betrayed some confusion.
　　It is true his agitation might have been attributable to theemotion which the man must have felt on suddenly recognisingthe Prince.
　　"But," continued the Stadtholder, "here is a young damselwho also pretends to have found it."Boxtel, with a disdainful smile, shrugged his shoulders.
　　William watched all his movements with evident interest andcuriosity.
　　"Then you don't know this young girl?" said the Prince.
　　"No, your Highness!""And you, child, do you know Master Boxtel?""No, I don't know Master Boxtel, but I know Master Jacob.""What do you mean?""I mean to say that at Loewestein the man who here callshimself Isaac Boxtel went by the name of Master Jacob.""What do you say to that, Master Boxtel?""I say that this damsel lies, your Highness.""You deny, therefore, having ever been at Loewestein?"Boxtel hesitated; the fixed and searching glance of theproud eye of the Prince prevented him from lying.
　　"I cannot deny having been at Loewestein, your Highness, butI deny having stolen the tulip.""You have stolen it, and that from my room," cried Rosa,with indignation.
　　"I deny it.""Now listen to me. Do you deny having followed me into thegarden, on the day when I prepared the border where I was toplant it? Do you deny having followed me into the gardenwhen I pretended to plant it? Do you deny that, on thatevening, you rushed after my departure to the spot where youhoped to find the bulb? Do you deny having dug in the groundwith your hands -- but, thank God! in vain, as it was astratagem to discover your intentions. Say, do you deny allthis?"Boxtel did not deem it fit to answer these several charges,but, turning to the Prince, continued, --"I have now for twenty years grown tulips at Dort. I haveeven acquired some reputation in this art; one of my hybridsis entered in the catalogue under the name of an illustriouspersonage. I have dedicated it to the King of Portugal. Thetruth in the matter is as I shall now tell your Highness.
　　This damsel knew that I had produced the black tulip, and,in concert with a lover of hers in the fortress ofLoewestein, she formed the plan of ruining me byappropriating to herself the prize of a hundred thousandguilders, which, with the help of your Highness's justice, Ihope to gain.""Yah!" cried Rosa, beyond herself with anger.
　　"Silence!" said the Prince.
　　Then, turning to Boxtel, he said, --"And who is that prisoner to whom you allude as the lover ofthis young woman?"Rosa nearly swooned, for Cornelius was designated as adangerous prisoner, and recommended by the Prince to theespecial surveillance of the jailer.
　　Nothing could have been more agreeable to Boxtel than thisquestion.
　　"This prisoner," he said, "is a man whose name in itselfwill prove to your Highness what trust you may place in hisprobity. He is a prisoner of state, who was once condemnedto death.""And his name?"Rosa hid her face in her hands with a movement of despair.
　　"His name is Cornelius van Baerle," said Boxtel, "and he isgodson of that villain Cornelius de Witt."The Prince gave a start, his generally quiet eye flashed,and a death-like paleness spread over his impassiblefeatures.
　　He went up to Rosa, and with his finger, gave her a sign toremove her hands from her face.
　　Rosa obeyed, as if under mesmeric influence, without havingseen the sign.
　　"It was, then to follow this man that you came to me atLeyden to solicit for the transfer of your father?"Rosa hung down her head, and, nearly choking, said, --"Yes, your Highness.""Go on," said the Prince to Boxtel.
　　"I have nothing more to say," Isaac continued. "YourHighness knows all. But there is one thing which I did notintend to say, because I did not wish to make this girlblush for her ingratitude. I came to Loewestein because Ihad business there. On this occasion I made the acquaintanceof old Gryphus, and, falling in love with his daughter, madean offer of marriage to her; and, not being rich, Icommitted the imprudence of mentioning to them my prospectof gaining a hundred thousand guilders, in proof of which Ishowed to them the black tulip. Her lover having himselfmade a show at Dort of cultivating tulips to hide hispolitical intrigues, they now plotted together for my ruin.
　　On the eve of the day when the flower was expected to open,the tulip was taken away by this young woman. She carried itto her room, from which I had the good luck to recover it atthe very moment when she had the impudence to despatch amessenger to announce to the members of the HorticulturalSociety that she had produced the grand black tulip. But shedid not stop there. There is no doubt that, during the fewhours which she kept the flower in her room, she showed itto some persons whom she may now call as witnesses. But,fortunately, your Highness has now been warned against thisimpostor and her witnesses.""Oh, my God, my God! what infamous falsehoods!" said Rosa,bursting into tears, and throwing herself at the feet of theStadtholder, who, although thinking her guilty, felt pityfor her dreadful agony.
　　"You have done very wrong, my child," he said, "and yourlover shall be punished for having thus badly advised you.
　　For you are so young, and have such an honest look, that Iam inclined to believe the mischief to have been his doing,and not yours.""Monseigneur! Monseigneur!" cried Rosa, "Cornelius is notguilty."William started.
　　"Not guilty of having advised you? that's what you want tosay, is it not?""What I wish to say, your Highness, is that Cornelius is aslittle guilty of the second crime imputed to him as he wasof the first.""Of the first? And do you know what was his first crime? Doyou know of what he was accused and convicted? Of having, asan accomplice of Cornelius de Witt, concealed thecorrespondence of the Grand Pensionary and the Marquis deLouvois.""Well, sir, he was ignorant of this correspondence beingdeposited with him; completely ignorant. I am as certain asof my life, that, if it were not so, he would have told me;for how could that pure mind have harboured a secret withoutrevealing it to me? No, no, your Highness, I repeat it, andeven at the risk of incurring your displeasure, Cornelius isno more guilty of the first crime than of the second; and ofthe second no more than of the first. Oh, would to Heaventhat you knew my Cornelius; Monseigneur!""He is a De Witt!" cried Boxtel. "His Highness knows onlytoo much of him, having once granted him his life.""Silence!" said the Prince; "all these affairs of state, asI have already said, are completely out of the province ofthe Horticultural Society of Haarlem."Then, knitting his brow, he added, --"As to the tulip, make yourself easy, Master Boxtel, youshall have justice done to you."Boxtel bowed with a heart full of joy, and received thecongratulations of the President.
　　"You, my child," William of Orange continued, "you weregoing to commit a crime. I will not punish you; but the realevil-doer shall pay the penalty for both. A man of his namemay be a conspirator, and even a traitor, but he ought notto be a thief.""A thief!" cried Rosa. "Cornelius a thief? Pray, yourHighness, do not say such a word, it would kill him, if heknew it. If theft there has been, I swear to you, Sir, noone else but this man has committed it.""Prove it," Boxtel coolly remarked.
　　"I shall prove it. With God's help I shall."Then, turning towards Boxtel, she asked, --"The tulip is yours?""It is.""How many bulbs were there of it?"Boxtel hesitated for a moment, but after a shortconsideration he came to the conclusion that she would notask this question if there were none besides the two bulbsof which he had known already. He therefore answered, --"Three.""What has become of these bulbs?""Oh! what has become of them? Well, one has failed; thesecond has produced the black tulip.""And the third?
　　"The third!""The third, -- where is it?""I have it at home," said Boxtel, quite confused.
　　"At home? Where? At Loewestein, or at Dort?""At Dort," said Boxtel.
　　"You lie!" cried Rosa. "Monseigneur," she continued, whilstturning round to the Prince, "I will tell you the true storyof these three bulbs. The first was crushed by my father inthe prisoner's cell, and this man is quite aware of it, forhe himself wanted to get hold of it, and, being balked inhis hope, he very nearly fell out with my father, who hadbeen the cause of his disappointment. The second bulb,planted by me, has produced the black tulip, and the thirdand last" -- saying this, she drew it from her bosom --"here it is, in the very same paper in which it was wrappedup together with the two others. When about to be led to thescaffold, Cornelius van Baerle gave me all the three. Takeit, Monseigneur, take it."And Rosa, unfolding the paper, offered the bulb to thePrince, who took it from her hands and examined it.
　　"But, Monseigneur, this young woman may have stolen thebulb, as she did the tulip," Boxtel said, with a falteringvoice, and evidently alarmed at the attention with which thePrince examined the bulb; and even more at the movements ofRosa, who was reading some lines written on the paper whichremained in her hands.
　　Her eyes suddenly lighted up; she read, with breathlessanxiety, the mysterious paper over and over again; and atlast, uttering a cry, held it out to the Prince and said,"Read, Monseigneur, for Heaven's sake, read!"William handed the third bulb to Van Systens, took thepaper, and read.
　　No sooner had he looked at it than he began to stagger; hishand trembled, and very nearly let the paper fall to theground; and the expression of pain and compassion in hisfeatures was really frightful to see.
　　It was that fly-leaf, taken from the Bible, which Corneliusde Witt had sent to Dort by Craeke, the servant of hisbrother John, to request Van Baerle to burn thecorrespondence of the Grand Pensionary with the Marquis deLouvois.
　　This request, as the reader may remember, was couched in thefollowing terms: --"My Dear Godson, --"Burn the parcel which I have intrusted to you. Burn itwithout looking at it, and without opening it, so that itscontents may for ever remain unknown to yourself. Secrets ofthis description are death to those with whom they aredeposited. Burn it, and you will have saved John andCornelius de Witt.
　　"Farewell, and love me.
　　Cornelius de Witt.
　　"August 20, 1672."This slip of paper offered the proofs both of Van Baerle'sinnocence and of his claim to the property of the tulip.
　　Rosa and the Stadtholder exchanged one look only.
　　That of Rosa was meant to express, "Here, you see yourself."That of the Stadtholder signified, "Be quiet, and wait."The Prince wiped the cold sweat from his forehead, andslowly folded up the paper, whilst his thoughts werewandering in that labyrinth without a goal and without aguide, which is called remorse and shame for the past.
　　Soon, however, raising his head with an effort, he said, inhis usual voice, --"Go, Mr. Boxtel; justice shall be done, I promise you."Then, turning to the President, he added, --"You, my dear Mynheer van Systens, take charge of this youngwoman and of the tulip. Good-bye."All bowed, and the Prince left, among the deafening cheersof the crowd outside.
　　Boxtel returned to his inn, rather puzzled and uneasy,tormented by misgivings about that paper which William hadreceived from the hand of Rosa, and which his Highness hadread, folded up, and so carefully put in his pocket. Whatwas the meaning of all this?
　　Rosa went up to the tulip, tenderly kissed its leaves and,with a heart full of happiness and confidence in the ways ofGod, broke out in the words, --"Thou knowest best for what end Thou madest my goodCornelius teach me to read."
Chapter 28 The Hymn of the Flowers
    Whilst the events we have described in our last chapter weretaking place, the unfortunate Van Baerle, forgotten in hiscell in the fortress of Loewestein, suffered at the hands ofGryphus all that a prisoner can suffer when his jailer hasformed the determination of playing the part of hangman.
　　Gryphus, not having received any tidings of Rosa or ofJacob, persuaded himself that all that had happened was thedevil's work, and that Dr. Cornelius van Baerle had beensent on earth by Satan.
　　The result of it was, that, one fine morning, the thirdafter the disappearance of Jacob and Rosa, he went up to thecell of Cornelius in even a greater rage than usual.
　　The latter, leaning with his elbows on the window-sill andsupporting his head with his two hands, whilst his eyeswandered over the distant hazy horizon where the windmillsof Dort were turning their sails, was breathing the freshair, in order to be able to keep down his tears and tofortify himself in his philosophy.
　　The pigeons were still there, but hope was not there; therewas no future to look forward to.
　　Alas! Rosa, being watched, was no longer able to come. Couldshe not write? and if so, could she convey her letters tohim?
　　No, no. He had seen during the two preceding days too muchfury and malignity in the eyes of old Gryphus to expect thathis vigilance would relax, even for one moment. Moreover,had not she to suffer even worse torments than those ofseclusion and separation? Did this brutal, blaspheming,drunken bully take revenge on his daughter, like theruthless fathers of the Greek drama? And when the Genievrehad heated his brain, would it not give to his arm, whichhad been only too well set by Cornelius, even double force?
　　The idea that Rosa might perhaps be ill-treated nearly droveCornelius mad.
　　He then felt his own powerlessness. He asked himself whetherGod was just in inflicting so much tribulation on twoinnocent creatures. And certainly in these moments he beganto doubt the wisdom of Providence. It is one of the cursesof misfortune that it thus begets doubt.
　　Van Baerle had proposed to write to Rosa, but where was she?
　　He also would have wished to write to the Hague to bebeforehand with Gryphus, who, he had no doubt, would bydenouncing him do his best to bring new storms on his head.
　　But how should he write? Gryphus had taken the paper andpencil from him, and even if he had both, he could hardlyexpect Gryphus to despatch his letter.
　　Then Cornelius revolved in his mind all those stratagemsresorted to by unfortunate prisoners.
　　He had thought of an attempt to escape, a thing which neverentered his head whilst he could see Rosa every day; but themore he thought of it, the more clearly he saw theimpracticability of such an attempt. He was one of thosechoice spirits who abhor everything that is common, and whooften lose a good chance through not taking the way of thevulgar, that high road of mediocrity which leads toeverything.
　　"How is it possible," said Cornelius to himself, "that Ishould escape from Loewestein, as Grotius has done the samething before me? Has not every precaution been taken since?
　　Are not the windows barred? Are not the doors of double andeven of treble strength, and the sentinels ten times morewatchful? And have not I, besides all this, an Argus so muchthe more dangerous as he has the keen eyes of hatred?
　　Finally, is there not one fact which takes away all myspirit, I mean Rosa's absence? But suppose I should wasteten years of my life in making a file to file off my bars,or in braiding cords to let myself down from the window, orin sticking wings on my shoulders to fly, like Daedalus? Butluck is against me now. The file would get dull, the ropewould break, or my wings would melt in the sun; I shouldsurely kill myself, I should be picked up maimed andcrippled; I should be labelled, and put on exhibition in themuseum at the Hague between the blood-stained doublet ofWilliam the Taciturn and the female walrus captured atStavesen, and the only result of my enterprise will havebeen to procure me a place among the curiosities of Holland.
　　"But no; and it is much better so. Some fine day Gryphuswill commit some atrocity. I am losing my patience, since Ihave lost the joy and company of Rosa, and especially sinceI have lost my tulip. Undoubtedly, some day or other Gryphuswill attack me in a manner painful to my self-respect, or tomy love, or even threaten my personal safety. I don't knowhow it is, but since my imprisonment I feel a strange andalmost irresistible pugnacity. Well, I shall get at thethroat of that old villain, and strangle him."Cornelius at these words stopped for a moment, biting hislips and staring out before him; then, eagerly returning toan idea which seemed to possess a strange fascination forhim, he continued, --"Well, and once having strangled him, why should I not takehis keys from him, why not go down the stairs as if I haddone the most virtuous action, why not go and fetch Rosafrom her room, why not tell her all, and jump from herwindow into the Waal? I am expert enough as a swimmer tosave both of us. Rosa, -- but, oh Heaven, Gryphus is herfather! Whatever may be her affection for me, she will neverapprove of my having strangled her father, brutal andmalicious as he has been.
　　"I shall have to enter into an argument with her; and in themidst of my speech some wretched turnkey who has foundGryphus with the death-rattle in his throat, or perhapsactually dead, will come along and put his hand on myshoulder. Then I shall see the Buytenhof again, and thegleam of that infernal sword, -- which will not stophalf-way a second time, but will make acquaintance with thenape of my neck.
　　"It will not do, Cornelius, my fine fellow, -- it is a badplan. But, then, what is to become of me, and how shall Ifind Rosa again?"Such were the cogitations of Cornelius three days after thesad scene of separation from Rosa, at the moment when wefind him standing at the window.
　　And at that very moment Gryphus entered.
　　He held in his hand a huge stick, his eyes glistening withspiteful thoughts, a malignant smile played round his lips,and the whole of his carriage, and even all his movements,betokened bad and malicious intentions.
　　Cornelius heard him enter, and guessed that it was he, butdid not turn round, as he knew well that Rosa was not comingafter him.
　　There is nothing more galling to angry people than thecoolness of those on whom they wish to vent their spleen.
　　The expense being once incurred, one does not like to loseit; one's passion is roused, and one's blood boiling, so itwould be labour lost not to have at least a nice little row.
　　Gryphus, therefore, on seeing that Cornelius did not stir,tried to attract his attention by a loud --"Umph, umph!"Cornelius was humming between his teeth the "Hymn ofFlowers," -- a sad but very charming song, --"We are the daughters of the secret fireOf the fire which runs through the veins of the earth;We are the daughters of Aurora and of the dew;We are the daughters of the air;We are the daughters of the water;But we are, above all, the daughters of heaven."This song, the placid melancholy of which was stillheightened 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," andthen began his song again: --"Men defile us and kill us while loving us,We hang to the earth by a thread;This thread is our root, that is to say, our life,But we raise on high our arms towards heaven.""Ah, you accursed sorcerer! you are making game of me, Ibelieve," roared Gryphus.
　　Cornelius continued: --"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.
　　And, as he now for the first time observed the frenziedfeatures, the flashing eyes, and foaming mouth of the oldjailer, he said, --"Bless the man, he is more than mad, he is furious."Gryphus flourished his stick above his head, but Van Baerlemoved not, and remained standing with his arms akimbo.
　　"It seems your intention to threaten me, Master Gryphus.""Yes, indeed, I threaten you," cried the jailer.
　　"And with what?""First of all, look at what I have in my hand.""I think that's a stick," said Cornelius calmly, "but Idon't suppose you will threaten me with that.""Oh, you don't suppose! why not?""Because any jailer who strikes a prisoner is liable to twopenalties, -- the first laid down in Article 9 of theregulations at Loewestein: --"'Any jailer, inspector, or turnkey who lays hands upon anyprisoner of State will be dismissed.'""Yes, who lays hands," said Gryphus, mad with rage, "butthere is not a word about a stick in the regulation.""And the second," continued Cornelius, "which is not writtenin the regulation, but which is to be found elsewhere: --"'Whosoever takes up the stick will be thrashed by thestick.'"Gryphus, growing more and more exasperated by the calm andsententious tone of Cornelius, brandished his cudgel, but atthe moment when he raised it Cornelius rushed at him,snatched it from his hands, and put it under his own arm.
　　Gryphus fairly bellowed with rage.
　　"Hush, hush, my good man," said Cornelius, "don't doanything to lose your place.""Ah, you sorcerer! I'll pinch you worse," roared Gryphus.
　　"I wish you may.""Don't you see my hand is empty?""Yes, I see it, and I am glad of it.""You know that it is not generally so when I come upstairsin the morning.""It's true, you generally bring me the worst soup, and themost miserable rations one can imagine. But that's not apunishment to me; I eat only bread, and the worse the breadis to your taste, the better it is to mine.""How so?""Oh, it's a very simple thing.""Well, tell it me," said Gryphus.
　　"Very willingly. I know that in giving me bad bread youthink you do me harm.""Certainly; I don't give it you to please you, you brigand.""Well, then, I, who am a sorcerer, as you know, change yourbad into excellent bread, which I relish more than the bestcake; and then I have the double pleasure of eatingsomething that gratifies my palate, and of doing somethingthat puts you in a rage.
　　Gryphus answered with a growl.
　　"Oh! you confess, then, that you are a sorcerer.""Indeed, I am one. I don't say it before all the world,because they might burn me for it, but as we are alone, Idon't mind telling you.""Well, well, well," answered Gryphus. "But if a sorcerer canchange black bread into white, won't he die of hunger if hehas no bread at all?""What's that?" said Cornelius.
　　"Consequently, I shall not bring you any bread at all, andwe shall see how it will be after eight days."Cornelius grew pale.
　　"And," continued Gryphus, "we'll begin this very day. As youare such a clever sorcerer, why, you had better change thefurniture of your room into bread; as to myself, I shallpocket the eighteen sous which are paid to me for yourboard.""But that's murder," cried Cornelius, carried away by thefirst impulse of the very natural terror with which thishorrible mode of death inspired him.
　　"Well," Gryphus went on, in his jeering way, "as you are asorcerer, you will live, notwithstanding."Cornelius put on a smiling face again, and said, --"Have you not seen me make the pigeons come here from Dort?""Well?" said Gryphus.
　　"Well, a pigeon is a very dainty morsel, and a man who eatsone 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. Doyou think the devil will leave me without fire? Why, fire ishis proper element.""A man, however healthy his appetite may be, would not eat apigeon every day. Wagers have been laid to do so, and thosewho made them gave them up.""Well, but when I am tired of pigeons, I shall make the fishof the Waal and of the Meuse come up to me."Gryphus opened his large eyes, quite bewildered.
　　"I am rather fond of fish," continued Cornelius; "you neverlet me have any. Well, I shall turn your starving me toadvantage, and regale myself with fish."Gryphus nearly fainted with anger and with fright, but hesoon rallied, and said, putting his hand in his pocket, --"Well, as you force me to it," and with these words he drewforth a clasp-knife and opened it.
　　"Halloa! a knife?" said Cornelius, preparing to defendhimself with his stick.
Chapter 29 Settles Accounts with Gryphus
    In which Van Baerle, before leaving Loewestein,Settles Accounts with Gryphus
    The two remained silent for some minutes, Gryphus on theoffensive, and Van Baerle on the defensive.
　　Then, as the situation might be prolonged to an indefinitelength, Cornelius, anxious to know something more of thecauses which had so fiercely exasperated his jailer, spokefirst by putting the question, --"Well, what do you want, after all?""I'll tell you what I want," answered Gryphus; "I want you torestore to me my daughter Rosa.""Your daughter?" cried Van Baerle.
　　"Yes, my daughter Rosa, whom you have taken from me by yourdevilish magic. Now, will you tell me where she is?"And the attitude of Gryphus became more and morethreatening.
　　"Rosa is not at Loewestein?" cried Cornelius.
　　"You know well she is not. Once more, will you restore herto me?""I see," said Cornelius, "this is a trap you are laying forme.""Now, for the last time, will you tell me where my daughteris?""Guess it, you rogue, if you don't know it.""Only wait, only wait," growled Gryphus, white with rage,and with quivering lips, as his brain began to turn. "Ah,you will not tell me anything? Well, I'll unlock yourteeth!"He advanced a step towards Cornelius, and said, showing himthe weapon which he held in his hands, --"Do you see this knife? Well, I have killed more than fiftyblack cocks with it, and I vow I'll kill their master, thedevil, as well as them.""But, you blockhead," said Cornelius, "will you really killme?""I shall open your heart to see in it the place where youhide my daughter."Saying this, Gryphus in his frenzy rushed towards Cornelius,who had barely time to retreat behind his table to avoid thefirst thrust; but as Gryphus continued, with horrid threats,to brandish his huge knife, and as, although out of thereach of his weapon, yet, as long as it remained in themadman's hand, the ruffian might fling it at him, Corneliuslost no time, and availing himself of the stick, which heheld tight under his arm, dealt the jailer a vigorous blowon the wrist of that hand which held the knife.
　　The knife fell to the ground, and Cornelius put his foot onit.
　　Then, as Gryphus seemed bent upon engaging in a strugglewhich the pain in his wrist, and shame for having allowedhimself to be disarmed, would have made desperate, Corneliustook a decisive step, belaboring his jailer with the mostheroic self-possession, and selecting the exact spot forevery blow of the terrible cudgel.
　　It was not long before Gryphus begged for mercy. But beforebegging for mercy, he had lustily roared for help, and hiscries had roused all the functionaries of the prison. Twoturnkeys, an inspector, and three or four guards, made theirappearance all at once, and found Cornelius still using thestick, with the knife under his foot.
　　At the sight of these witnesses, who could not know all thecircumstances which had provoked and might justify hisoffence, Cornelius felt that he was irretrievably lost.
　　In fact, appearances were sadly against him.
　　In one moment Cornelius was disarmed, and Gryphus raised andsupported; and, bellowing with rage and pain, he was able tocount on his back and shoulders the bruises which werebeginning to swell like the hills dotting the slopes of amountain ridge.
　　A protocol of the violence practiced by the prisoner againsthis jailer was immediately drawn up, and as it was made onthe depositions of Gryphus, it certainly could not be saidto be too tame; the prisoner being charged with neither morenor less than with an attempt to murder, for a long timepremeditated, with open rebellion.
　　Whilst the charge was made out against Cornelius, Gryphus,whose presence was no longer necessary after having made hisdepositions, was taken down by his turnkeys to his lodge,groaning and covered with bruises.
　　During this time, the guards who had seized Cornelius busiedthemselves in charitably informing their prisoner of theusages and customs of Loewestein, which however he knew aswell as they did. The regulations had been read to him atthe moment of his entering the prison, and certain articlesin them remained fixed in his memory.
　　Among other things they told him that this regulation hadbeen carried out to its full extent in the case of aprisoner named Mathias, who in 1668, that is to say, fiveyears before, had committed a much less violent act ofrebellion than that of which Cornelius was guilty. He hadfound his soup too hot, and thrown it at the head of thechief turnkey, who in consequence of this ablution had beenput to the inconvenience of having his skin come off as hewiped his face.
　　Mathias was taken within twelve hours from his cell, thenled to the jailer's lodge, where he was registered asleaving Loewestein, then taken to the Esplanade, from whichthere is a very fine prospect over a wide expanse ofcountry. There they fettered his hands, bandaged his eyes,and let him say his prayers.
　　Hereupon he was invited to go down on his knees, and theguards of Loewestein, twelve in number, at a sign from asergeant, very cleverly lodged a musket-ball each in hisbody.
　　In consequence of this proceeding, Mathias incontinently didthen and there die.
　　Cornelius listened with the greatest attention to thisdelightful recital, and then said, --"Ah! ah! within twelve hours, you say?""Yes, the twelfth hour had not even struck, if I rememberright," said the guard who had told him the story.
　　"Thank you," said Cornelius.
　　The guard still had the smile on his face with which heaccompanied and as it were accentuated his tale, whenfootsteps and a jingling of spurs were heard ascending thestair-case.
　　The guards fell back to allow an officer to pass, whoentered the cell of Cornelius at the moment when the clerkof Loewestein was still making out his report.
　　"Is this No. 11?" he asked.
　　"Yes, Captain," answered a non-commissioned officer.
　　"Then this is the cell of the prisoner Cornelius vanBaerle?""Exactly, Captain.""Where is the prisoner?""Here I am, sir," answered Cornelius, growing rather pale,notwithstanding all his courage.
　　"You are Dr. Cornelius van Baerle?" asked he, this timeaddressing the prisoner himself.
　　"Yes, sir.""Then follow me.""Oh! oh!" said Cornelius, whose heart felt oppressed by thefirst dread of death. "What quick work they make here in thefortress of Loewestein. And the rascal talked to me oftwelve hours!""Ah! what did I tell you?" whispered the communicative guardin the ear of the culprit.
　　"A lie.""How so?""You promised me twelve hours.""Ah, yes, but here comes to you an aide-de-camp of hisHighness, even one of his most intimate companions VanDeken. Zounds! they did not grant such an honour to poorMathias.""Come, come!" said Cornelius, drawing a long breath. "Come,I'll show to these people that an honest burgher, godson ofCornelius de Witt, can without flinching receive as manymusket-balls as that Mathias."Saying this, he passed proudly before the clerk, who, beinginterrupted in his work, ventured to say to the officer, --"But, Captain van Deken, the protocol is not yet finished.""It is not worth while finishing it," answered the officer.
　　"All right," replied the clerk, philosophically putting uphis paper and pen into a greasy and well-worn writing-case.
　　"It was written," thought poor Cornelius, "that I should notin this world give my name either to a child to a flower, orto a book, -- the three things by which a man's memory isperpetuated."Repressing his melancholy thoughts, he followed the officerwith a resolute heart, and carrying his head erect.
　　Cornelius counted the steps which led to the Esplanade,regretting that he had not asked the guard how many therewere of them, which the man, in his official complaisance,would not have failed to tell him.
　　What the poor prisoner was most afraid of during this walk,which he considered as leading him to the end of the journeyof life, was to see Gryphus and not to see Rosa. What savagesatisfaction would glisten in the eyes of the father, andwhat sorrow dim those of the daughter!
　　How Gryphus would glory in his punishment! Punishment?
　　Rather savage vengeance for an eminently righteous deed,which Cornelius had the satisfaction of having performed asa bounden duty.
　　But Rosa, poor girl! must he die without a glimpse of her,without an opportunity to give her one last kiss, or even tosay one last word of farewell?
　　And, worst of all, must he die without any intelligence ofthe black tulip, and regain his consciousness in heaven withno idea in what direction he should look to find it?
　　In truth, to restrain his tears at such a crisis the poorwretch's heart must have been encased in more of the aestriplex -- "the triple brass" -- than Horace bestows uponthe sailor who first visited the terrifying Acroceraunianshoals.
　　In vain did Cornelius look to the right and to the left; hesaw no sign either of Rosa or Gryphus.
　　On reaching the Esplanade, he bravely looked about for theguards who were to be his executioners, and in reality saw adozen soldiers assembled. But they were not standing inline, or carrying muskets, but talking together so gaylythat Cornelius felt almost shocked.
　　All at once, Gryphus, limping, staggering, and supportinghimself on a crooked stick, came forth from the jailer'slodge; his old eyes, gray as those of a cat, were lit up bya gleam in which all his hatred was concentrated. He thenbegan to pour forth such a torrent of disgustingimprecations against Cornelius, that the latter, addressingthe officer, said, --"I do not think it very becoming sir, that I should be thusinsulted by this man, especially at a moment like this.""Well! hear me," said the officer, laughing, "it is quitenatural that this worthy fellow should bear you a grudge, --you seem to have given it him very soundly.""But, sir, it was only in self-defence.""Never mind," said the Captain, shrugging his shoulders likea true philosopher, "let him talk; what does it matter toyou now?"The cold sweat stood on the brow of Cornelius at thisanswer, which he looked upon somewhat in the light of brutalirony, especially as coming from an officer of whom he hadheard it said that he was attached to the person of thePrince.
　　The unfortunate tulip-fancier then felt that he had no moreresources, and no more friends, and resigned himself to hisfate.
　　"God's will be done," he muttered, bowing his head; then,turning towards the officer, who seemed complacently to waituntil he had finished his meditations he asked, --"Please, sir, tell me now, where am I to go?"The officer pointed to a carriage, drawn by four horses,which reminded him very strongly of that which, undersimilar circumstances, had before attracted his attention atBuytenhof.
　　"Enter," said the officer.
　　"Ah!" muttered Cornelius to himself, "it seems they are notgoing to treat me to the honours of the Esplanade."He uttered these words loud enough for the chatty guard, whowas at his heels, to overhear him.
　　That kind soul very likely thought it his duty to giveCornelius some new information; for, approaching the door ofthe carriage, whilst the officer, with one foot on the step,was still giving some orders, he whispered to Van Baerle, --"Condemned prisoners have sometimes been taken to their owntown to be made an example of, and have then been executedbefore the door of their own house. It's all according tocircumstances."Cornelius thanked him by signs, and then said to himself, --"Well, here is a fellow who never misses giving consolationwhenever an opportunity presents itself. In truth, myfriend, I'm very much obliged to you. Goodbye."The carriage drove away.
　　"Ah! you villain, you brigand," roared Gryphus, clinchinghis fists at the victim who was escaping from his clutches,"is it not a shame that this fellow gets off without havingrestored my daughter to me?""If they take me to Dort," thought Cornelius, "I shall see,in passing my house, whether my poor borders have been muchspoiled."
Chapter 30 Wherein the Reader begins to guess the Kind of Execution
    The carriage rolled on during the whole day; it passed onthe right of Dort, went through Rotterdam, and reachedDelft. At five o'clock in the evening, at least twentyleagues had been travelled.
　　Cornelius addressed some questions to the officer, who wasat the same time his guard and his companion; but, cautiousas were his inquiries, he had the disappointment ofreceiving no answer.
　　Cornelius regretted that he had no longer by his side thechatty soldier, who would talk without being questioned.
　　That obliging person would undoubtedly have given him aspleasant details and exact explanations concerning thisthird strange part of his adventures as he had doneconcerning the first two.
　　The travellers passed the night in the carriage. On thefollowing morning at dawn Cornelius found himself beyondLeyden, having the North Sea on his left, and the Zuyder Zeeon his right.
　　Three hours after, he entered Haarlem.
　　Cornelius was not aware of what had passed at Haarlem, andwe shall leave him in ignorance of it until the course ofevents enlightens him.
　　But the reader has a right to know all about it even beforeour hero, and therefore we shall not make him wait.
　　We have seen that Rosa and the tulip, like two orphansisters, had been left by Prince William of Orange at thehouse of the President van Systens.
　　Rosa did not hear again from the Stadtholder until theevening of that day on which she had seen him face to face.
　　Toward evening, an officer called at Van Systen's house. Hecame from his Highness, with a request for Rosa to appear atthe Town Hall.
　　There, in the large Council Room into which she was ushered,she found the Prince writing.
　　He was alone, with a large Frisian greyhound at his feet,which looked at him with a steady glance, as if the faithfulanimal were wishing to do what no man could do, -- read thethoughts of his master in his face.
　　William continued his writing for a moment; then, raisinghis eyes, and seeing Rosa standing near the door, he said,without laying down his pen, --"Come here, my child."Rosa advanced a few steps towards the table.
　　"Sit down," he said.
　　Rosa obeyed, for the Prince was fixing his eyes upon her,but he had scarcely turned them again to his paper when shebashfully retired to the door.
　　The Prince finished his letter.
　　During this time, the greyhound went up to Rosa, surveyedher and began to caress her.
　　"Ah, ah!" said William to his dog, "it's easy to see thatshe is a countrywoman of yours, and that you recognise her."Then, turning towards Rosa, and fixing on her hisscrutinising, and at the same time impenetrable glance, hesaid, --"Now, my child."The Prince was scarcely twenty-three, and Rosa eighteen ortwenty. He might therefore perhaps better have said, Mysister.
　　"My child," he said, with that strangely commanding accentwhich chilled all those who approached him, "we are alone;let us speak together."Rosa began to tremble, and yet there was nothing butkindness in the expression of the Prince's face.
　　"Monseigneur," she stammered.
　　"You have a father at Loewestein?""Yes, your Highness.""You do not love him?""I do not; at least, not as a daughter ought to do,Monseigneur.""It is not right not to love one's father, but it is rightnot to tell a falsehood."Rosa cast her eyes to the ground.
　　"What is the reason of your not loving your father?""He is wicked.""In what way does he show his wickedness?""He ill-treats the prisoners.""All of them?""All.""But don't you bear him a grudge for ill-treating some onein particular?""My father ill-treats in particular Mynheer van Baerle, who---- ""Who is your lover?"Rosa started back a step.
　　"Whom I love, Monseigneur," she answered proudly.
　　"Since when?" asked the Prince.
　　"Since the day when I first saw him.""And when was that?""The day after that on which the Grand Pensionary John andhis brother Cornelius met with such an awful death."The Prince compressed his lips, and knit his brow and hiseyelids dropped so as to hide his eyes for an instant. Aftera momentary silence, he resumed the conversation.
　　"But to what can it lead to love a man who is doomed to liveand die in prison?""It will lead, if he lives and dies in prison, to my aidinghim in life and in death.""And would you accept the lot of being the wife of aprisoner?""As the wife of Mynheer van Baerle, I should, under anycircumstances, be the proudest and happiest woman in theworld; but ---- ""But what?""I dare not say, Monseigneur.""There is something like hope in your tone; what do youhope?"She raised her moist and beautiful eyes, and looked atWilliam with a glance full of meaning, which was calculatedto stir up in the recesses of his heart the clemency whichwas slumbering there.
　　"Ah, I understand you," he said.
　　Rosa, with a smile, clasped her hands.
　　"You hope in me?" said the Prince.
　　"Yes, Monseigneur.""Umph!"The Prince sealed the letter which he had just written, andsummoned one of his officers, to whom he said, --"Captain van Deken, carry this despatch to Loewestein; youwill read the orders which I give to the Governor, andexecute them as far as they regard you."The officer bowed, and a few minutes afterwards the gallopof a horse was heard resounding in the vaulted archway.
　　"My child," continued the Prince, "the feast of the tulipwill be on Sunday next, that is to say, the day afterto-morrow. Make yourself smart with these five hundredguilders, as I wish that day to be a great day for you.""How does your Highness wish me to be dressed?" falteredRosa.
　　"Take the costume of a Frisian bride." said William; "itwill suit you very well indeed."
Chapter 31 Haarlem
    Haarlem, whither, three days ago, we conducted our gentlereader, and whither we request him to follow us once more inthe footsteps of the prisoner, is a pleasant city, whichjustly prides itself on being one of the most shady in allthe Netherlands.
　　While other towns boast of the magnificence of theirarsenals and dock-yards, and the splendour of their shopsand markets, Haarlem's claims to fame rest upon hersuperiority to all other provincial cities in the number andbeauty of her spreading elms, graceful poplars, and, morethan all, upon her pleasant walks, shaded by the lovelyarches of magnificent oaks, lindens, and chestnuts.
　　Haarlem, -- just as her neighbour, Leyden, became the centreof science, and her queen, Amsterdam, that of commerce, --Haarlem preferred to be the agricultural, or, more strictlyspeaking, the horticultural metropolis.
　　In fact, girt about as she was, breezy and exposed to thesun's hot rays, she seemed to offer to gardeners so manymore guarantees of success than other places, with theirheavy sea air, and their scorching heat.
　　On this account all the serene souls who loved the earth andits fruits had gradually gathered together at Haarlem, justas all the nervous, uneasy spirits, whose ambition was fortravel and commerce, had settled in Rotterdam and Amsterdam,and all the politicians and selfish worldlings at the Hague.
　　We have observed that Leyden overflowed with scholars. Inlike manner Haarlem was devoted to the gentle pursuits ofpeace, -- to music and painting, orchards and avenues,groves and parks. Haarlem went wild about flowers, andtulips received their full share of worship.
　　Haarlem offered prizes for tulip-growing; and this factbrings us in the most natural manner to that celebrationwhich the city intended to hold on May 15th, 1673 in honourof the great black tulip, immaculate and perfect, whichshould gain for its discoverer one hundred thousandguilders!
　　Haarlem, having placed on exhibition its favourite, havingadvertised its love of flowers in general and of tulips inparticular, at a period when the souls of men were filledwith war and sedition, -- Haarlem, having enjoyed theexquisite pleasure of admiring the very purest ideal oftulips in full bloom, -- Haarlem, this tiny town, full oftrees and of sunshine, of light and shade, had determinedthat the ceremony of bestowing the prize should be a fetewhich should live for ever in the memory of men.
　　So much the more reason was there, too, in herdetermination, in that Holland is the home of fetes; neverdid sluggish natures manifest more eager energy of thesinging and dancing sort than those of the good republicansof the Seven Provinces when amusement was the order of theday.
　　Study the pictures of the two Teniers.
　　It is certain that sluggish folk are of all men the mostearnest in tiring themselves, not when they are at work, butat play.
　　Thus Haarlem was thrice given over to rejoicing, for athree-fold celebration was to take place.
　　In the first place, the black tulip had been produced;secondly, the Prince William of Orange, as a true Hollander,had promised to be present at the ceremony of itsinauguration; and, thirdly, it was a point of honour withthe States to show to the French, at the conclusion of sucha disastrous war as that of 1672, that the flooring of theBatavian Republic was solid enough for its people to danceon it, with the accompaniment of the cannon of their fleets.
　　The Horticultural Society of Haarlem had shown itself worthyof its fame by giving a hundred thousand guilders for thebulb of a tulip. The town, which did not wish to be outdone,voted a like sum, which was placed in the hands of thatnotable body to solemnise the auspicious event.
　　And indeed on the Sunday fixed for this ceremony there wassuch a stir among the people, and such an enthusiasm amongthe townsfolk, that even a Frenchman, who laughs ateverything at all times, could not have helped admiring thecharacter of those honest Hollanders, who were equally readyto spend their money for the construction of a man-of-war --that is to say, for the support of national honour -- asthey were to reward the growth of a new flower, destined tobloom for one day, and to serve during that day to divertthe ladies, the learned, and the curious.
　　At the head of the notables and of the HorticulturalCommittee shone Mynheer van Systens, dressed in his richesthabiliments.
　　The worthy man had done his best to imitate his favouriteflower in the sombre and stern elegance of his garments; andwe are bound to record, to his honour, that he had perfectlysucceeded in his object.
　　Dark crimson velvet, dark purple silk, and jet-black cloth,with linen of dazzling whiteness, composed the festive dressof the President, who marched at the head of his Committeecarrying an enormous nosegay, like that which a hundred andtwenty-one years later, Monsieur de Robespierre displayed atthe festival of "The Supreme Being."There was, however, a little difference between the two;very different from the French tribune, whose heart was sofull of hatred and ambitious vindictiveness, was the honestPresident, who carried in his bosom a heart as innocent asthe flowers which he held in his hand.
　　Behind the Committee, who were as gay as a meadow, and asfragrant as a garden in spring, marched the learnedsocieties of the town, the magistrates, the military, thenobles and the boors.
　　The people, even among the respected republicans of theSeven Provinces, had no place assigned to them in theprocession; they merely lined the streets.
　　This is the place for the multitude, which with truephilosophic spirit, waits until the triumphal pageants havepassed, to know what to say of them, and sometimes also toknow what to do.
　　This time, however, there was no question either of thetriumph of Pompey or of Caesar; neither of the defeat ofMithridates, nor of the conquest of Gaul. The procession wasas placid as the passing of a flock of lambs, and asinoffensive as a flight of birds sweeping through the air.
　　Haarlem had no other triumphers, except its gardeners.
　　Worshipping flowers, Haarlem idolised the florist.
　　In the centre of this pacific and fragrant cortege the blacktulip was seen, carried on a litter, which was covered withwhite velvet and fringed with gold.
　　The handles of the litter were supported by four men, whowere from time to time relieved by fresh relays, -- even asthe bearers of Mother Cybele used to take turn and turnabout at Rome in the ancient days, when she was brought fromEtruria to the Eternal City, amid the blare of trumpets andthe worship of a whole nation.
　　This public exhibition of the tulip was an act of adorationrendered by an entire nation, unlettered and unrefined, tothe refinement and culture of its illustrious and devoutleaders, whose blood had stained the foul pavement of theBuytenhof, reserving the right at a future day to inscribethe names of its victims upon the highest stone of the DutchPantheon.
　　It was arranged that the Prince Stadtholder himself shouldgive the prize of a hundred thousand guilders, whichinterested the people at large, and it was thought thatperhaps he would make a speech which interested moreparticularly his friends and enemies.
　　For in the most insignificant words of men of politicalimportance their friends and their opponents alwaysendeavour to detect, and hence think they can interpret,something of their true thoughts.
　　As if your true politician's hat were not a bushel underwhich he always hides his light!
　　At length the great and long-expected day -- May 15, 1673 --arrived; and all Haarlem, swelled by her neighbours, wasgathered in the beautiful tree-lined streets, determined onthis occasion not to waste its applause upon militaryheroes, or those who had won notable victories in the fieldof science, but to reserve their applause for those who hadovercome Nature, and had forced the inexhaustible mother tobe delivered of what had theretofore been regarded asimpossible, -- a completely black tulip.
　　Nothing however, is more fickle than such a resolution ofthe people. When a crowd is once in the humour to cheer, itis just the same as when it begins to hiss. It never knowswhen to stop.
　　It therefore, in the first place, cheered Van Systens andhis nosegay, then the corporation, then followed a cheer forthe people; and, at last, and for once with great justice,there was one for the excellent music with which thegentlemen of the town councils generously treated theassemblage at every halt.
　　Every eye was looking eagerly for the heroine of thefestival, -- that is to say, the black tulip, -- and for itshero in the person of the one who had grown it.
　　In case this hero should make his appearance after theaddress we have seen worthy Van Systens at work on soconscientiously, he would not fail to make as much of asensation as the Stadtholder himself.
　　But the interest of the day's proceedings for us is centredneither in the learned discourse of our friend Van Systens,however eloquent it might be, nor in the young dandies,resplendent in their Sunday clothes, and munching theirheavy cakes; nor in the poor young peasants, gnawing smokedeels as if they were sticks of vanilla sweetmeat; neither isour interest in the lovely Dutch girls, with red cheeks andivory bosoms; nor in the fat, round mynheers, who had neverleft their homes before; nor in the sallow, thin travellersfrom Ceylon or Java; nor in the thirsty crowds, who quenchedtheir thirst with pickled cucumbers; -- no, so far as we areconcerned, the real interest of the situation, thefascinating, dramatic interest, is not to be found here.
　　Our interest is in a smiling, sparkling face to be seen amidthe members of the Horticultural Committee; in the personwith a flower in his belt, combed and brushed, and all cladin scarlet, -- a colour which makes his black hair andyellow skin stand out in violent contrast.
　　This hero, radiant with rapturous joy, who had thedistinguished honour of making the people forget the speechof Van Systens, and even the presence of the Stadtholder,was Isaac Boxtel, who saw, carried on his right before him,the black tulip, his pretended daughter; and on his left, ina large purse, the hundred thousand guilders in glitteringgold pieces, towards which he was constantly squinting,fearful of losing sight of them for one moment.
　　Now and then Boxtel quickened his step to rub elbows for amoment with Van Systens. He borrowed a little importancefrom everybody to make a kind of false importance forhimself, as he had stolen Rosa's tulip to effect his ownglory, and thereby make his fortune.
　　Another quarter of an hour and the Prince will arrive andthe procession will halt for the last time; after the tulipis placed on its throne, the Prince, yielding precedence tothis rival for the popular adoration, will take amagnificently emblazoned parchment, on which is written thename of the grower; and his Highness, in a loud and audibletone, will proclaim him to be the discoverer of a wonder;that Holland, by the instrumentality of him, Boxtel, hasforced Nature to produce a black flower, which shallhenceforth be called Tulipa nigra Boxtellea.
　　From time to time, however, Boxtel withdrew his eyes for amoment from the tulip and the purse, timidly looking amongthe crowd, for more than anything he dreaded to descry therethe pale face of the pretty Frisian girl.
　　She would have been a spectre spoiling the joy of thefestival for him, just as Banquo's ghost did that ofMacbeth.
　　And yet, if the truth must be told, this wretch, who hadstolen what was the boast of man, and the dowry of a woman,did not consider himself as a thief. He had so intentlywatched this tulip, followed it so eagerly from the drawerin Cornelius's dry-room to the scaffold of the Buytenhof,and from the scaffold to the fortress of Loewestein; he hadseen it bud and grow in Rosa's window, and so often warmedthe air round it with his breath, that he felt as if no onehad a better right to call himself its producer than he had;and any one who would now take the black tulip from himwould have appeared to him as a thief.
　　Yet he did not perceive Rosa; his joy therefore was notspoiled.
　　In the centre of a circle of magnificent trees, which weredecorated with garlands and inscriptions, the processionhalted, amidst the sounds of lively music, and the youngdamsels of Haarlem made their appearance to escort the tulipto the raised seat which it was to occupy on the platform,by the side of the gilded chair of his Highness theStadtholder.
　　And the proud tulip, raised on its pedestal, soon overlookedthe assembled crowd of people, who clapped their hands, andmade the old town of Haarlem re-echo with their tremendouscheers.
Chapter 32 A Last Request
    At this solemn moment, and whilst the cheers stillresounded, a carriage was driving along the road on theoutskirts of the green on which the scene occurred; itpursued its way slowly, on account of the flocks of childrenwho were pushed out of the avenue by the crowd of men andwomen.
　　This carriage, covered with dust, and creaking on its axles,the result of a long journey, enclosed the unfortunate VanBaerle, who was just beginning to get a glimpse through theopen window of the scene which we have tried -- with poorsuccess, no doubt -- to present to the eyes of the reader.
　　The crowd and the noise and the display of artificial andnatural magnificence were as dazzling to the prisoner as aray of light flashing suddenly into his dungeon.
　　Notwithstanding the little readiness which his companion hadshown in answering his questions concerning his fate, heventured once more to ask the meaning of all this bustle,which at first sight seemed to be utterly disconnected withhis own affairs.
　　"What is all this, pray, Mynheer Lieutenant?" he asked ofhis conductor.
　　"As you may see, sir," replied the officer, "it is a feast.""Ah, a feast," said Cornelius, in the sad tone ofindifference of a man to whom no joy remains in this world.
　　Then, after some moments, silence, during which the carriagehad proceeded a few yards, he asked once more, --"The feast of the patron saint of Haarlem? as I see so manyflowers.""It is, indeed, a feast in which flowers play a principalpart.""Oh, the sweet scents! oh, the beautiful colours!" criedCornelius.
　　"Stop, that the gentleman may see," said the officer, withthat frank kindliness which is peculiar to military men, tothe soldier who was acting as postilion.
　　"Oh, thank you, Sir, for your kindness," replied Van Baerle,in a melancholy tone; "the joy of others pains me; pleasespare me this pang.""Just as you wish. Drive on! I ordered the driver to stopbecause I thought it would please you, as you are said tolove flowers, and especially that the feast of which iscelebrated to-day.""And what flower is that?""The tulip.""The tulip!" cried Van Baerle, "is to-day the feast oftulips?""Yes, sir; but as this spectacle displeases you, let usdrive on."The officer was about to give the order to proceed, butCornelius stopped him, a painful thought having struck him.
　　He asked, with faltering voice, --"Is the prize given to-day, sir?""Yes, the prize for the black tulip."Cornelius's cheek flushed, his whole frame trembled, and thecold sweat stood on his brow.
　　"Alas! sir," he said, "all these good people will be asunfortunate as myself, for they will not see the solemnitywhich they have come to witness, or at least they will seeit incompletely.""What is it you mean to say?""I mean to say." replied Cornelius, throwing himself back inthe carriage, "that the black tulip will not be found,except by one whom I know.""In this case," said the officer, "the person whom you knowhas found it, for the thing which the whole of Haarlem islooking at at this moment is neither more nor less than theblack tulip.""The black tulip!" replied Van Baerle, thrusting half hisbody out of the carriage window. "Where is it? where is it?""Down there on the throne, -- don't you see?""I do see it.""Come along, sir," said the officer. "Now we must driveoff.""Oh, have pity, have mercy, sir!" said Van Baerle, "don'ttake me away! Let me look once more! Is what I see downthere the black tulip? Quite black? Is it possible? Oh, sir,have you seen it? It must have specks, it must be imperfect,it must only be dyed black. Ah! if I were there, I shouldsee it at once. Let me alight, let me see it close, I beg ofyou.""Are you mad, Sir? How could I allow such a thing?""I implore you.""But you forget that you are a prisoner.""It is true I am a prisoner, but I am a man of honour, and Ipromise you on my word that I will not run away, I will notattempt to escape, -- only let me see the flower.""But my orders, Sir, my orders." And the officer again madethe driver a sign to proceed.
　　Cornelius stopped him once more.
　　"Oh, be forbearing, be generous! my whole life depends uponyour pity. Alas! perhaps it will not be much longer. Youdon't know, sir, what I suffer. You don't know the strugglegoing on in my heart and mind. For after all," Corneliuscried in despair, "if this were my tulip, if it were the onewhich has been stolen from Rosa! Oh, I must alight, sir! Imust see the flower! You may kill me afterwards if you like,but I will see it, I must see it.""Be quiet, unfortunate man, and come quickly back into thecarriage, for here is the escort of his Highness theStadtholder, and if the Prince observed any disturbance, orheard any noise, it would be ruin to me, as well as to you."Van Baerle, more afraid for his companion than himself,threw himself back into the carriage, but he could only keepquiet for half a minute, and the first twenty horsemen hadscarcely passed when he again leaned out of the carriagewindow, gesticulating imploringly towards the Stadtholder atthe very moment when he passed.
　　William, impassible and quiet as usual, was proceeding tothe green to fulfil his duty as chairman. He held in hishand the roll of parchment, which, on this festive day, hadbecome his baton.
　　Seeing the man gesticulate with imploring mien, and perhapsalso recognising the officer who accompanied him, hisHighness ordered his carriage to stop.
　　In an instant his snorting steeds stood still, at a distanceof about six yards from the carriage in which Van Baerle wascaged.
　　"What is this?" the Prince asked the officer, who at thefirst order of the Stadtholder had jumped out of thecarriage, and was respectfully approaching him.
　　"Monseigneur," he cried, "this is the prisoner of state whomI have fetched from Loewestein, and whom I have brought toHaarlem according to your Highness's command.""What does he want?""He entreats for permission to stop here for minute.""To see the black tulip, Monseigneur," said Van Baerle,clasping his hands, "and when I have seen it, when I haveseen what I desire to know, I am quite ready to die, if dieI must; but in dying I shall bless your Highness's mercy forhaving allowed me to witness the glorification of my work."It was, indeed, a curious spectacle to see these two men atthe windows of their several carriages; the one surroundedby his guards, and all powerful, the other a prisoner andmiserable; the one going to mount a throne, the otherbelieving himself to be on his way to the scaffold.
　　William, looking with his cold glance on Cornelius, listenedto his anxious and urgent request.
　　Then addressing himself to the officer, he said, --"Is this person the mutinous prisoner who has attempted tokill his jailer at Loewestein?"Cornelius heaved a sigh and hung his head. His good-temperedhonest face turned pale and red at the same instant. Thesewords of the all-powerful Prince, who by some secretmessenger unavailable to other mortals had already beenapprised of his crime, seemed to him to forebode not onlyhis doom, but also the refusal of his last request.
　　He did not try to make a struggle, or to defend himself; andhe presented to the Prince the affecting spectacle ofdespairing innocence, like that of a child, -- a spectaclewhich was fully understood and felt by the great mind andthe great heart of him who observed it.
　　"Allow the prisoner to alight, and let him see the blacktulip; it is well worth being seen once.""Thank you, Monseigneur, thank you," said Cornelius, nearlyswooning with joy, and staggering on the steps of hiscarriage; had not the officer supported him, our poor friendwould have made his thanks to his Highness prostrate on hisknees with his forehead in the dust.
　　After having granted this permission, the Prince proceededon his way over the green amidst the most enthusiasticacclamations.
　　He soon arrived at the platform, and the thunder of cannonshook the air.
Chapter 33 Conclusion
    Van Baerle, led by four guards, who pushed their way throughthe crowd, sidled up to the black tulip, towards which hisgaze was attracted with increasing interest the nearer heapproached to it.
　　He saw it at last, that unique flower, which he was to seeonce and no more. He saw it at the distance of six paces,and was delighted with its perfection and gracefulness; hesaw it surrounded by young and beautiful girls, who formed,as it were, a guard of honour for this queen of excellenceand purity. And yet, the more he ascertained with his owneyes the perfection of the flower, the more wretched andmiserable he felt. He looked all around for some one to whomhe might address only one question, but his eyes everywheremet strange faces, and the attention of all was directedtowards the chair of state, on which the Stadtholder hadseated himself.
　　William rose, casting a tranquil glance over theenthusiastic crowd, and his keen eyes rested by turns on thethree extremities of a triangle formed opposite to him bythree persons of very different interests and feelings.
　　At one of the angles, Boxtel, trembling with impatience, andquite absorbed in watching the Prince, the guilders, theblack tulip, and the crowd.
　　At the other, Cornelius, panting for breath, silent, and hisattention, his eyes, his life, his heart, his love, quiteconcentrated on the black tulip.
　　And thirdly, standing on a raised step among the maidens ofHaarlem, a beautiful Frisian girl, dressed in fine scarletwoollen cloth, embroidered with silver, and covered with alace veil, which fell in rich folds from her head-dress ofgold brocade; in one word, Rosa, who, faint and withswimming eyes, was leaning on the arm of one of the officersof William.
　　The Prince then slowly unfolded the parchment, and said,with a calm clear voice, which, although low, made itselfperfectly heard amidst the respectful silence, which all atonce arrested the breath of fifty thousand spectators. --"You know what has brought us here?
　　"A prize of one hundred thousand guilders has been promisedto whosoever should grow the black tulip.
　　"The black tulip has been grown; here it is before youreyes, coming up to all the conditions required by theprogramme of the Horticultural Society of Haarlem.
　　"The history of its production, and the name of its grower,will be inscribed in the book of honour of the city.
　　"Let the person approach to whom the black tulip belongs."In pronouncing these words, the Prince, to judge of theeffect they produced, surveyed with his eagle eye the threeextremities of the triangle.
　　He saw Boxtel rushing forward. He saw Cornelius make aninvoluntary movement; and lastly he saw the officer who wastaking care of Rosa lead, or rather push her forward towardshim.
　　At the sight of Rosa, a double cry arose on the right andleft of the Prince.
　　Boxtel, thunderstruck, and Cornelius, in joyful amazement,both exclaimed, --"Rosa! Rosa!""This tulip is yours, is it not, my child?" said the Prince.
　　"Yes, Monseigneur," stammered Rosa, whose striking beautyexcited a general murmur of applause.
　　"Oh!" muttered Cornelius, "she has then belied me, when shesaid this flower was stolen from her. Oh! that's why sheleft Loewestein. Alas! am I then forgotten, betrayed by herwhom I thought my best friend on earth?""Oh!" sighed Boxtel, "I am lost.""This tulip," continued the Prince, "will therefore bear thename of its producer, and figure in the catalogue under thetitle, Tulipa nigra Rosa Barlaensis, because of the name VanBaerle, which will henceforth be the name of this damsel."And at the same time William took Rosa's hand, and placed itin that of a young man, who rushed forth, pale and beyondhimself with joy, to the foot of the throne salutingalternately the Prince and his bride; and who with agrateful look to heaven, returned his thanks to the Giver ofall this happiness.
　　At the same moment there fell at the feet of the Presidentvan Systens another man, struck down by a very differentemotion.
　　Boxtel, crushed by the failure of his hopes, lay senselesson the ground.
　　When they raised him, and examined his pulse and his heart,he was quite dead.
　　This incident did not much disturb the festival, as neitherthe Prince nor the President seemed to mind it much.
　　Cornelius started back in dismay, when in the thief, in thepretended Jacob, he recognised his neighbour, Isaac Boxtel,whom, in the innocence of his heart, he had not for oneinstant suspected of such a wicked action.
　　Then, to the sound of trumpets, the procession marched backwithout any change in its order, except that Boxtel was nowdead, and that Cornelius and Rosa were walking triumphantlyside by side and hand in hand.
　　On their arriving at the Hotel de Ville, the Prince,pointing with his finger to the purse with the hundredthousand guilders, said to Cornelius, --"It is difficult to say by whom this money is gained, by youor by Rosa; for if you have found the black tulip, she hasnursed it and brought it into flower. It would therefore beunjust to consider it as her dowry; it is the gift of thetown of Haarlem to the tulip."Cornelius wondered what the Prince was driving at. Thelatter continued, --"I give to Rosa the sum of a hundred thousand guilders,which she has fairly earned, and which she can offer to you.
　　They are the reward of her love, her courage, and herhonesty. As to you, Sir -- thanks to Rosa again, who hasfurnished the proofs of your innocence ---- "And, saying these words, the Prince handed to Cornelius thatfly-leaf of the Bible on which was written the letter ofCornelius de Witt, and in which the third bulb had beenwrapped, --"As to you, it has come to light that you were imprisonedfor a crime which you had not committed. This means, thatyou are not only free, but that your property will berestored to you; as the property of an innocent man cannotbe confiscated. Cornelius van Baerle, you are the godson ofCornelius de Witt and the friend of his brother John. Remainworthy of the name you have received from one of them, andof the friendship you have enjoyed with the other. The twoDe Witts, wrongly judged and wrongly punished in a moment ofpopular error, were two great citizens, of whom Holland isnow proud."The Prince, after these last words, which contrary to hiscustom, he pronounced with a voice full of emotion, gave hishands to the lovers to kiss, whilst they were kneelingbefore him.
　　Then heaving a sigh, he said, --"Alas! you are very happy, who, dreaming only of whatperhaps is the true glory of Holland, and forms especiallyher true happiness, do not attempt to acquire for heranything beyond new colours of tulips."And, casting a glance towards that point of the compasswhere France lay, as if he saw new clouds gathering there,he entered his carriage and drove off.
　　Cornelius started on the same day for Dort with Rosa, whosent her lover's old housekeeper as a messenger to herfather, to apprise him of all that had taken place.
　　Those who, thanks to our description, have learned thecharacter of old Gryphus, will comprehend that it was hardfor him to become reconciled to his son-in-law. He had notyet forgotten the blows which he had received in that famousencounter. To judge from the weals which he counted, theirnumber, he said, amounted to forty-one; but at last, inorder, as he declared, not to be less generous than hisHighness the Stadtholder, he consented to make his peace.
　　Appointed to watch over the tulips, the old man made therudest keeper of flowers in the whole of the SevenProvinces.
　　It was indeed a sight to see him watching the obnoxiousmoths and butterflies, killing slugs, and driving away thehungry bees.
　　As he had heard Boxtel's story, and was furious at havingbeen the dupe of the pretended Jacob, he destroyed thesycamore behind which the envious Isaac had spied into thegarden; for the plot of ground belonging to him had beenbought by Cornelius, and taken into his own garden.
　　Rosa, growing not only in beauty, but in wisdom also, aftertwo years of her married life, could read and write so wellthat she was able to undertake by herself the education oftwo beautiful children which she had borne in 1674 and 1675,both in May, the month of flowers.
　　As a matter of course, one was a boy, the other a girl, theformer being called Cornelius, the other Rosa.
　　Van Baerle remained faithfully attached to Rosa and to histulips. The whole of his life was devoted to the happinessof his wife and the culture of flowers, in the latter ofwhich occupations he was so successful that a great numberof his varieties found a place in the catalogue of Holland.
　　The two principal ornaments of his drawing-room were thosetwo leaves from the Bible of Cornelius de Witt, in largegolden frames; one of them containing the letter in whichhis godfather enjoined him to burn the correspondence of theMarquis de Louvois, and the other his own will, in which hebequeathed to Rosa his bulbs under condition that she shouldmarry a young man of from twenty-six to twenty-eight years,who loved her and whom she loved, a condition which wasscrupulously fulfilled, although, or rather because,Cornelius did not die.
　　And to ward off any envious attempts of another IsaacBoxtel, he wrote over his door the lines which Grotius had,on the day of his flight, scratched on the walls of hisprison: --"Sometimes one has suffered so much that he has the rightnever to be able to say, 'I am too happy.'"