Chapter 12. The Execution
Cornelius had not three hundred paces to walk outside the prison toreach the foot of the scaffold. At the bottom of the staircase, the dogquietly looked at him whilst he was passing; Cornelius even fanciedhe saw in the eyes of the monster a certain expression as it were ofcompassion.
The dog perhaps knew the condemned prisoners, and only bit those wholeft as free men.
The shorter the way from the door of the prison to the foot of thescaffold, the more fully, of course, it was crowded with curious people.
These were the same who, not satisfied with the blood which they hadshed three days before, were now craving for a new victim.
And scarcely had Cornelius made his appearance than a fierce groan ranthrough the whole street, spreading all over the yard, and re-echoingfrom the streets which led to the scaffold, and which were likewisecrowded with spectators.
The scaffold indeed looked like an islet at the confluence of severalrivers.
In the midst of these threats, groans, and yells, Cornelius, very likelyin 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 withpity on this earth, where John and Cornelius de Witt had been murderedfor having thought too much of politics, and where Cornelius van Baerlewas 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. deChalais, to M. de Thou, and other slovenly executed people, that theheadsman might inflict more than one stroke, that is to say, more thanone martyrdom, on the poor tulip-fancier.
Yet, notwithstanding all this, Van Baerle mounted the scaffold not theless resolutely, proud of having been the friend of that illustriousJohn, and godson of that noble Cornelius de Witt, whom the ruffians, whowere now crowding to witness his own doom, had torn to pieces and burntthree days before.
He knelt down, said his prayers, and observed, not without a feeling ofsincere joy, that, laying his head on the block, and keeping his eyesopen, he would be able to his last moment to see the grated window ofthe Buytenhof.
At length the fatal moment arrived, and Cornelius placed his chin on thecold damp block. But at this moment his eyes closed involuntarily, toreceive more resolutely the terrible avalanche which was about to fallon his head, and to engulf his life.
A gleam like that of lightning passed across the scaffold: it was theexecutioner raising his sword.
Van Baerle bade farewell to the great black tulip, certain of awaking inanother world full of light and glorious tints.
Three times he felt, with a shudder, the cold current of air from theknife near his neck, but what a surprise! he felt neither pain norshock.
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 stoodon his feet again, although trembling a little.
He looked around him. There was some one by his side, reading a largeparchment, sealed with a huge seal of red wax.
And the same sun, yellow and pale, as it behooves a Dutch sun to be, wasshining in the skies; and the same grated window looked down uponhim from the Buytenhof; and the same rabble, no longer yelling, butcompletely 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 thatVan Baerle's blood would turn the scale of judgment against him, hadcompassionately taken into consideration his good character, and theapparent proofs of his innocence.
His Highness, accordingly, had granted him his life.
Cornelius at first hoped that the pardon would be complete, and that hewould 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 thepostscript.
In this postscript, William of Orange, Stadtholder of Holland, condemnedCornelius 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 anddisappointment over, he said to himself,--
"Never mind, all this is not lost yet; there is some good in thisperpetual imprisonment; Rosa will be there, and also my three bulbs ofthe black tulip are there."
But Cornelius forgot that the Seven Provinces had seven prisons, one foreach, and that the board of the prisoner is anywhere else less expensivethan at the Hague, which is a capital.
His Highness, who, as it seems, did not possess the means to feed VanBaerle at the Hague, sent him to undergo his perpetual imprisonment atthe fortress of Loewestein, very near Dort, but, alas! also very farfrom it; for Loewestein, as the geographers tell us, is situated at thepoint of the islet which is formed by the confluence of the Waal and theMeuse, opposite Gorcum.
Van Baerle was sufficiently versed in the history of his country to knowthat the celebrated Grotius was confined in that castle after thedeath of Barneveldt; and that the States, in their generosity to theillustrious publicist, jurist, historian, poet, and divine, had grantedto 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; butnever 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 atLoewestein!"