redoubled clamour and
horrible threats, to which the Count
opposed the most perfect urbanity.
"Gentlemen," he said, "uncock your muskets, one of them may
go off by accident; and if the shot chanced to wound one of
my men, we should knock over a couple of hundreds of yours,
for which we should, indeed, be very sorry, but you even
more so; especially as such a thing is neither contemplated
by you nor by myself."
"If you did that," cried the
burghers, "we should have a pop
at you, too."
"Of course you would; but suppose you killed every man Jack
of us, those whom we should have killed would not, for all
that, be less dead."
"Then leave the place to us, and you will perform the part
of a good citizen."
"First of all," said the Count, "I am not a citizen, but an
officer, which is a very different thing; and
secondly, I am
not a Hollander, but a Frenchman, which is more different
still. I have to do with no one but the States, by whom I am
paid; let me see an order from them to leave the place to
you, and I shall only be too glad to wheel off in an
instant, as I am confoundedly bored here."
"Yes, yes!" cried a hundred voices; the din of which was
immediately swelled by five hundred others; "let us march to
the Town-hall; let us go and see the deputies! Come along!
come along!"
"That's it," Tilly muttered between his teeth, as he saw the
most
violent among the crowd turning away; "go and ask for a
meanness at the Town-hall, and you will see whether they
will 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 the
ear of the Count, "I hope the deputies will give these
madmen a flat
refusal; but, after all, it would do no harm
if they would send us some reinforcement."
In the
meanwhile, John de Witt, whom we left climbing the
stairs, after the conversation with the jailer Gryphus and
his daughter Rosa, had reached the door of the cell, where
on a
mattress his brother Cornelius was resting, after
having
undergone the
preparatory degrees of the
torture. The
sentence of
banishment having been
pronounced, there was no
occasion for inflicting the
torture extraordinary.
Cornelius was stretched on his couch, with broken wrists and
crushed fingers. He had not confessed a crime of which he
was not
guilty; and now, after three days of agony, he once
more breathed
freely, on being informed that the judges,
from whom he had expected death, were only condemning him to
exile.
Endowed with an iron frame and a stout heart, how would he
have disappointed his enemies if they could only have seen,
in the dark cell of the Buytenhof, his pale face lit up by
the smile of the
martyr, who forgets the dross of this earth
after having obtained a
glimpse of the bright glory of
heaven.
The
warden, indeed, had already recovered his full strength,
much more owing to the force of his own strong will than to
actual aid; and he was calculating how long the formalities
of the law would still
detain him in prison.
This was just at the very moment when the mingled shouts of
the
burgher guard and of the mob were raging against the two
brothers, and threatening Captain Tilly, who served as a
rampart to them. This noise, which roared outside of the
walls 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 to
dream it worth his while to inquire after its cause; nor did
he get up to look out of the narrow grated window, which
gave
access to the light and to the noise of the world
without.
He was so absorbed in his never-ceasing pain that it had
almost become a habit with him. He felt with such delight
the bonds which connected his
immortal being with his
perishable frame gradually loosening, that it seemed to him
as if his spirit, freed from the trammels of the body, were
hovering above it, like the expiring flame which rises from
the half-extinguished embers.
He also thought of his brother; and
whilst the latter was
thus
vividly present to his mind the door opened, and John
entered, hurrying to the
bedside of the prisoner, who
stretched out his broken limbs and his hands tied up in
bandages towards that
glorious brother, whom he now
excelled, not in services rendered to the country, but in
the
hatred which the Dutch bore him.
John
tenderly kissed his brother on the
forehead, and put
his 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 you
in such a state."
"And, indeed, I have thought more of you than of myself; and
whilst they were torturing me, I never thought of uttering a
complaint, except once, to say, 'Poor brother!' But now that
you are here, let us forget all. You are coming to take me
away, are you not?"
"I am."
"I am quite healed; help me to get up, and you shall see how
I can walk."
"You will not have to walk far, as I have my coach near the
pond, behind Tilly's dragoons."
"Tilly's dragoons! What are they near the pond for?"
"Well," said the Grand Pensionary with a
melancholy smile
which was
habitual to him, "the gentlemen at the Town-hall
expect that the people at the Hague would like to see you
depart, and there is some
apprehension of a tumult."
"Of a tumult?" replied Cornelius, fixing his eyes on his
perplexed brother; "a tumult?"
"Yes, Cornelius."
"Oh! that's what I heard just now," said the prisoner, as if
speaking to himself. Then, turning to his brother, he
continued, --
"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
gloomybitterness. "I have
made 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 what
people will do in
politics, or on the sea when the wind is
against them, -- I tacked."
At this moment the noise in the square below was heard to
roar with increasing fury. Tilly was parleying with the
burghers.
"Well, well," said Cornelius, "you are a very skilful pilot,
John; but I doubt whether you will as
safely guide your
brother out of the Buytenhof in the midst of this gale, and
through the raging surf of popular
hatred, as you did the
fleet of Van Tromp past the shoals of the Scheldt to
Antwerp."
"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 people
are! 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 us
with 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, they
would have prevented the defeats of Rees, Orsay, Wesel, and
Rheinberg; the Rhine would not have been crossed, and
Holland might still consider herself invincible in the midst
of her marshes and canals."
"All this is quite true, my dear Cornelius, but still more
certain it is, that if at this moment our
correspondencewith the Marquis de Louvois were discovered, skilful pilot
as I am, I should not be able to save the frail barque which
is to carry the brothers De Witt and their fortunes out of
Holland. That
correspondence, which might prove to honest
people how
dearly I love my country, and what sacrifices I
have offered to make for its liberty and glory, would be
ruin to us if it fell into the hands of the Orange party. I
hope you have burned the letters before you left Dort to
join me at the Hague."
"My dear brother," Cornelius answered, "your
correspondencewith M. de Louvois affords ample proof of your having been
of late the greatest, most
generous, and most able citizen
of the Seven United Provinces. I
rejoice in the glory of my
country; 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 save
our 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 thinks
of nothing but of flowers and of God who made them. You have
intrusted 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 he
is strong, he will, when he hears of what has happened to
us, boast of our
acquaintance; if he is weak, he will be
afraid on
account of his
connection with us: if he is
strong, he will
betray the secret by his
boldness; if he is
weak, he will allow it to be forced from him. In either case
he is lost, and so are we. Let us,
therefore, fly, fly, as
long as there is still time."
Cornelius de Witt, raising himself on his couch, and
grasping the hand of his brother, who shuddered at the touch
of his linen bandages, replied, --
"Do not I know my godson? have not I been enabled to read
every thought in Van Baerle's mind, and every
sentiment in
his heart? You ask whether he is strong or weak. He is
neither the one nor the other; but that is not now the
question. The
principal point is, that he is sure not to
divulge the secret, for the very good reason that he does
not know it himself."
John turned round in surprise.
"You must know, my dear brother, that I have been trained in
the school of that
distinguishedpolitician John de Witt;
and I repeat to you, that Van Baerle is not aware of the