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."