victim.
And scarcely had Cornelius made his appearance than a fierce
groan ran through the whole street, spreading all over the
yard, and re-echoing from the streets which led to the
scaffold, and which were
likewisecrowded with spectators.
The scaffold indeed looked like an islet at the confluence
of several rivers.
In the midst of these threats, groans, and yells, Cornelius,
very likely in order not to hear them, had buried himself in
his own thoughts.
And what did he think of in his last
melancholy journey?
Neither of his enemies, nor of his judges, nor of his
executioners.
He thought of the beautiful tulips which he would see from
heaven above, at Ceylon, or Bengal, or
elsewhere, when he
would be able to look with pity on this earth, where John
and Cornelius de Witt had been murdered for having thought
too much of
politics, and where Cornelius van Baerle was
about to be murdered for having thought too much of tulips.
"It is only one stroke of the axe," said the
philosopher to
himself, "and my beautiful dream will begin to be realised."
Only there was still a chance, just as it had happened
before to M. de Chalais, to M. de Thou, and other slovenly
executed people, that the headsman might
inflict more than
one stroke, that is to say, more than one
martyrdom, on the
poor tulip-fancier.
Yet,
notwithstanding all this, Van Baerle mounted the
scaffold not the less
resolutely, proud of having been the
friend of that
illustrious John, and godson of that noble
Cornelius de Witt, whom the ruffians, who were now crowding
to
witness his own doom, had torn to pieces and burnt three
days before.
He knelt down, said his prayers, and observed, not without a
feeling of
sincere joy, that, laying his head on the block,
and keeping his eyes open, he would be able to his last
moment to see the grated window of the Buytenhof.
At length the fatal moment arrived, and Cornelius placed his
chin on the cold damp block. But at this moment his eyes
closed
involuntarily, to receive more
resolutely the
terrible
avalanche which was about to fall on his head, and
to 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, certain
of awaking in another world full of light and glorious
tints.
Three times he felt, with a
shudder, the cold current of air
from the knife near his neck, but what a surprise! he felt
neither pain nor shock.
He saw no change in the colour of the sky, or of the world
around him.
Then suddenly Van Baerle felt gentle hands raising him, and
soon 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 red
wax.
And the same sun, yellow and pale, as it behooves a Dutch
sun to be, was shining in the skies; and the same grated
window looked down upon him from the Buytenhof; and the same
rabble, 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 around
him.
His Highness, William, Prince of Orange, very likely afraid
that Van Baerle's blood would turn the scale of judgment
against him, had compassionately taken into consideration
his good
character, and the
apparent proofs of his
innocence.
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 his
flower borders at Dort.
But Cornelius was
mistaken. To use an expression of Madame
de Sevigne, who wrote about the same time, "there was a
postscript to the letter;" and the most important part of
the letter was contained in the
postscript.
In this
postscript, William of Orange, Stadtholder of
Holland, condemned Cornelius van Baerle to
imprisonment for
life. He was not
sufficientlyguilty to suffer death, but he
was too much so to be set at liberty.
Cornelius heard this
clause, but, the first feeling of
vexation and
disappointment over, he said to himself, --
"Never mind, all this is not lost yet; there is some good in
this
perpetualimprisonment; Rosa will be there, and also my
three bulbs of the black tulip are there."
But Cornelius forgot that the Seven Provinces had seven
prisons, one for each, and that the board of the prisoner is
anywhere else less
expensive than at the Hague, which is a
capital.
His Highness, who, as it seems, did not possess the means to
feed Van Baerle at the Hague, sent him to
undergo his
perpetualimprisonment at the
fortress of Loewestein, very
near Dort, but, alas! also very far from it; for Loewestein,
as the geographers tell us, is
situated at the point of the
islet which is formed by the confluence of the Waal and the
Meuse, opposite Gorcum.
Van Baerle was
sufficiently versed in the history of his
country to know that the
celebrated Grotius was confined in
that castle after the death of Barneveldt; and that the
States, in their
generosity to the
illustrious publicist,
jurist,
historian, poet, and
divine, had granted to him for
his daily
maintenance the sum of twenty-four stivers.
"I," said Van Baerle to himself, "I am worth much less than
Grotius. They will hardly give me twelve stivers, and I
shall live
miserably; but never mind, at all events I shall
live."
Then suddenly a terrible thought struck him.
"Ah!" he exclaimed, "how damp and misty that part of the
country is, and the soil so bad for the tulips! And then
Rosa 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 coach
had
driven up to the scaffold. This
vehicle was for the
prisoner. He was invited to enter it, and he obeyed.
His last look was towards the Buytenhof. He hoped to see at
the window the face of Rosa, brightening up again.
But the coach was drawn by good horses, who soon carried Van
Baerle away from among the shouts which the rabble roared in
honour of the most magnanimous Stadtholder, mixing with it a
spice of abuse against the brothers De Witt and the godson
of Cornelius, who had just now been saved from death.
This reprieve suggested to the
worthy spectators remarks
such as the following: --
"It's very
fortunate that we used such speed in having
justice done to that great
villain John, and to that little
rogue Cornelius,
otherwise his Highness might have snatched
them from us, just as he has done this fellow."