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The Black Tulip-Part19_Alexandre Dumas(1802-1870)_Translated Works(翻译文学)-第2页

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She returned in the evening. She had preserved the note.

Thus it went on for fifteen days, at first to the



disappointment, 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 Frisian

woman; and implored any charitable soul who might find it to



convey 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 following

way.



Leaving Dort, Mynheer Isaac Boxtel had abandoned, not only

his house, his servants, his observatory, and his telescope,



but also his pigeons.

The servant, having been left without wages, first lived on



his little savings, and then on his master's pigeons.

Seeing this, the pigeons emigrated from the roof of Isaac



Boxtel to that of Cornelius van Baerle.

The nurse was a kind-hearted woman, who could not live



without something to love. She conceived an affection for

the pigeons which had thrown themselves on her hospitality;



and when Boxtel's servant reclaimed them with culinary

intentions, having eaten the first fifteen already, and now



wishing to eat the other fifteen, she offered to buy them

from him for a consideration of six stivers per head.



This being just double their value, the man was very glad to

close the bargain, and the nurse found herself in undisputed



possession of the pigeons of her master's envious neighbour.

In the course of their wanderings, these pigeons with others



visited the Hague, Loewestein, and Rotterdam, seeking

variety, doubtless, in the flavour of their wheat or



hempseed.

Chance, or rather God, for we can see the hand of God in



everything, had willed that Cornelius van Baerle should

happen to hit upon one of these very pigeons.



Therefore, if the enviouswretch had not left Dort to follow

his rival to the Hague in the first place, and then to



Gorcum or to Loewestein, -- for the two places are separated

only by the confluence of the Waal and the Meuse, -- Van



Baerle's letter would have fallen into his hands and not the

nurse's: in which event the poor prisoner, like the raven of



the Roman cobbler, would have thrown away his time, his

trouble, and, instead of having to relate the series of



exciting events which are about to flow from beneath our pen

like the varied hues of a many coloured tapestry, we should



have naught to describe but a weary waste of days, dull and

melancholy 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 beginning



of February, just when the stars were beginning to twinkle,

Cornelius heard on the staircase of the little turret a



voice 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 with



surprise, or so beyond himself with joy, as he would have

been but for the pigeon, which, in answer to his letter, had



brought back hope to him under her empty wing; and, knowing

Rosa, he expected, if the note had ever reached her, to hear



of her whom he loved, and also of his three darling bulbs.

He rose, listened once more, and bent forward towards the



door.

Yes, they were indeed the accents which had fallen so



sweetly on his heart at the Hague.

The question now was, whether Rosa, who had made the journey



from the Hague to Loewestein, and who -- Cornelius did not

understand how -- had succeeded even in penetrating into the



prison, would also be fortunate enough in penetrating to the

prisoner himself.



Whilst Cornelius, debating this point within himself, was

building all sorts of castles in the air, and was struggling



between hope and fear, the shutter of the grating in the

door opened, and Rosa, beaming with joy, and beautiful in



her pretty national costume -- but still more beautiful from

the grief which for the last five months had blanched her



cheeks -- pressed her little face against the wire grating

of the window, saying to him, --






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