more than eighteen inches high; it rose from out of four
green leaves, which were as smooth and straight as iron
lance-heads; the whole of the flower was as black and
shining as jet.
"Rosa," said Cornelius, almost gasping, "Rosa, there is not
one 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 not
wish to lose a moment. Here is the letter, and tell me
whether you
approve of it."
Cornelius took the letter, and read, in a hand
writing which
was much improved even since the last little note he had
received 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 send
a
messenger to you, with the request that you will come and
fetch it in person from the
fortress at Loewestein. I am the
daughter of the jailer, Gryphus, almost as much of a captive
as the prisoners of my father. I cannot,
therefore, bring to
you this wonderful flower. This is the reason why I beg you
to come and fetch it yourself.
"It is my wish that it should be called Rosa Barlaensis.
"It has opened; it is
perfectly black; come, Mynheer
President, 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 will
be required of you. They will then know how the tulip has
been grown, how much care and
anxiety, and how many
sleepless nights, it has cost. But for the present not a
minute 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 well
known: it is Mynheer van Systens, the burgomaster of
Haarlem; 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 of
the Horticultural Society of Haarlem."
"And now, Rosa, go, go," said Cornelius, "and let us implore
the
protection of God, who has so kindly watched over us
until 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 hopes
as at this moment, when they thought themselves certain of
their fulfilment.
The reader cannot but have recognized in Jacob our old
friend, or rather enemy, Isaac Boxtel, and has guessed, no
doubt, that this
worthy had followed from the Buytenhof to
Loewestein the object of his love and the object of his
hatred, -- the black tulip and Cornelius van Baerle.
What no one but a tulip-fancier, and an envious
tulip-fancier, could have discovered, -- the
existence of
the bulbs and the endeavours of the prisoner, --
jealousy
had
enabled Boxtel, if not to discover, at least to guess.
We have seen him, more successful under the name of Jacob
than under that of Isaac, gain the friendship of Gryphus,
which for several months he
cultivated by means of the best
Genievre ever distilled from the Texel to Antwerp, and he
lulled the
suspicion of the
jealous turnkey by
holding out
to him the
flatteringprospect of his designing to marry
Rosa.
Besides thus
offering a bait to the
ambition of the father,
he managed, at the same time, to interest his zeal as a
jailer, picturing to him in the blackest colours the learned
prisoner whom Gryphus had in his keeping, and who, as the
sham Jacob had it, was in
league with Satan, to the
detriment 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 of
marriage and of love, he had evaded all the
suspicions which
he might
otherwise have excited.
We have seen how his imprudence in following Rosa into the
garden had unmasked him in the eyes of the young
damsel, and
how the
instinctive fears of Cornelius had put the two
lovers on their guard against him.
The reader will remember that the first cause of uneasiness
was given to the prisoner by the rage of Jacob when Gryphus
crushed the first bulb. In that moment Boxtel's exasperation
was the more
fierce, as, though suspecting that Cornelius
possessed a second bulb, he by no means felt sure of it.
From that moment he began to dodge the steps of Rosa, not
only following her to the garden, but also to the lobbies.
Only as this time he followed her in the night, and
bare-footed, he was neither seen nor heard except once, when
Rosa thought she saw something like a shadow on the
staircase.
Her discovery, however, was made too late, as Boxtel had
heard from the mouth of the prisoner himself that a second
bulb existed.
Taken in by the
stratagem of Rosa, who had feigned to put it
in the ground, and entertaining no doubt that this little
farce had been played in order to force him to betray
himself, he redoubled his
precaution, and employed every
means suggested by his
crafty nature to watch the others
without being watched himself.
He saw Rosa conveying a large flower-pot of white
earthenware from her father's kitchen to her bedroom. He saw
Rosa 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 little
attic, distant enough not to allow him to be recognized with
the naked eye, but
sufficiently near to
enable him, with the
help of his
telescope, to watch everything that was going on
at the Loewestein in Rosa's room, just as at Dort he had
watched the dry-room of Cornelius.
He had not been installed more than three days in his attic
before all his doubts were removed.
From morning to
sunset the flower-pot was in the window,
and, like those
charmingfemale figures of Mieris and
Metzys, Rosa appeared at that window as in a frame, formed
by the first budding sprays of the wild vine and the
honeysuckle encircling her window.
Rosa watched the flower-pot with an interest which betrayed
to 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 the
prisoner.
When the nights threatened to be too cold, Rosa took in the
flower-pot.
Well, it was then quite
evident she was following the
instructions of Cornelius, who was afraid of the bulb being
killed by frost.
When the sun became too hot, Rosa
likewise took in the pot
from eleven in the morning until two in the afternoon.
Another proof: Cornelius was afraid lest the soil should
become too dry.
But when the first leaves peeped out of the earth Boxtel was
fully convinced; and his
telescope left him no longer in any
uncertainty before they had grown one inch in height.
Cornelius possessed two bulbs, and the second was intrusted
to the love and care of Rosa.
For it may well be imagined that the tender secret of the
two lovers had not escaped the prying
curiosity of Boxtel.
The question,
therefore, was how to wrest the second bulb
from the care of Rosa.
Certainly this was no easy task.
Rosa watched over her tulip as a mother over her child, or a
dove over her eggs.
Rosa never left her room during the day, and, more than
that, strange to say, she never left it in the evening.
For seven days Boxtel in vain watched Rosa; she was always
at her post.
This happened during those seven days which made Cornelius
so
unhappy, depriving him at the same time of all news of
Rosa and of his tulip.
Would the
coolness between Rosa and Cornelius last for ever?
This would have made the theft much more difficult than
Mynheer Isaac had at first expected.
We say the theft, for Isaac had simply made up his mind to
steal the tulip; and as it grew in the most profound
secrecy, and as,
moreover, his word, being that of a
renowned tulip-grower, would any day be taken against that
of an unknown girl without any knowledge of horticulture, or
against that of a prisoner convicted of high
treason, he
confidently hoped that, having once got possession of the
bulb, he would be certain to
obtain the prize; and then the
tulip, instead of being called Tulipa nigra Barlaensis,
would go down to
posterity under the name of Tulipa nigra
Boxtellensis or Boxtellea.
Mynheer Isaac had not yet quite
decided which of these two
names he would give to the tulip, but, as both meant the
same thing, this was, after all, not the important point.
The point was to steal the tulip. But in order that Boxtel
might steal the tulip, it was necessary that Rosa should
leave her room.
Great
therefore was his joy when he saw the usual evening
meetings of the lovers resumed.
He first of all took
advantage of Rosa's
absence to make
himself fully acquainted with all the peculiarities of the
door of her
chamber. The lock was a double one and in good
order, but Rosa always took the key with her.
Boxtel at first entertained an idea of stealing the key, but
it soon occurred to him, not only that it would be
exceedingly difficult to
abstract it from her pocket, but
also that, when she perceived her loss, she would not leave
her room until the lock was changed, and then Boxtel's first
theft would be useless.
He thought it,
therefore, better to employ a different
expedient. He collected as many keys as he could, and tried
all of them during one of those
delightful hours which Rosa
and Cornelius passed together at the
grating of the cell.
Two of the keys entered the lock, and one of them turned
round 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 he
thus renewed the experiment, the
obstacle which prevented
the key from being turned a second time left its impression
on 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 without
difficulty, and Boxtel found himself in her room alone with
the tulip.
The first
guilty act of Boxtel had been to climb over a wall
in order to dig up the tulip; the second, to introduce