The Black Tulip

“Oh the admirable bulbs!”

Thus Cornelius indulged in the delights of contemplation, and was carried away by the sweetest dreams.

Suddenly the bell of his cabinet was rung much more violently than usual.

Cornelius, startled, laid his hands on his bulbs, and turned round.

“Who is here?” he asked.

“Sir,” answered the servant, “it is a messenger from the Hague.”

“A messenger from the Hague! What does he want?”

“Sir, it is Craeke.”

“Craeke! the confidential servant of Mynheer John de Witt? Good, let him wait.”

“I cannot wait,” said a voice in the lobby.

And at the same time forcing his way in, Craeke rushed into the dry-room.

This abrupt entrance was such an infringement on the established rules of the household of Cornelius van Baerle, that the latter, at the sight of Craeke, almost convulsively moved his hand which covered the bulbs, so that two of them fell on the floor, one of them rolling under a small table, and the other into the fireplace.

“Zounds!” said Cornelius, eagerly picking up his precious bulbs, “what’s the matter?”

“The matter, sir!” said Craeke, laying a paper on the large table, on which the third bulb was lying, – “the matter is, that you are requested to read this paper without losing one moment.”

And Craeke, who thought he had remarked in the streets of Dort symptoms of a tumult similar to that which he had witnessed before his departure from the Hague, ran off without even looking behind him.

“All right! all right! my dear Craeke,” said Cornelius, stretching his arm under the table for the bulb; “your paper shall be read, indeed it shall.”

Then, examining the bulb which he held in the hollow of his hand, he said: “Well, here is one of them uninjured. That confounded Craeke! thus to rush into my dry-room; let us now look after the other.”

And without laying down the bulb which he already held, Baerle went to the fireplace, knelt down and stirred with the tip of his finger the ashes, which fortunately were quite cold.

He at once felt the other bulb.

“Well, here it is,” he said; and, looking at it with almost fatherly affection, he exclaimed, “Uninjured as the first!”

At this very instant, and whilst Cornelius, still on his knees, was examining his pets, the door of the dry-room was so violently shaken, and opened in such a brusque manner, that Cornelius felt rising in his cheeks and his ears the glow of that evil counsellor which is called wrath.

“Now, what is it again,” he demanded; “are people going mad here?”

“Oh, sir! sir!” cried the servant, rushing into the dry-room with a much paler face and with a much more frightened mien than Craeke had shown.

“Well!” asked Cornelius, foreboding some mischief from the double breach of the strict rule of his house.

“Oh, sir, fly! fly quick!” cried the servant.

“Fly! and what for?”

“Sir, the house is full of the guards of the States.”

“What do they want?”

“They want you.”

“What for?”

“To arrest you.”

“Arrest me? arrest me, do you say?”

“Yes, sir, and they are headed by a magistrate.”

“What’s the meaning of all this?” said Van Baerle, grasping in his hands the two bulbs, and directing his terrified glance towards the staircase.

“They are coming up! they are coming up!” cried the servant.

“Oh, my dear child, my worthy master!” cried the old housekeeper, who now likewise made her appearance in the dry-room, “take your gold, your jewelry, and fly, fly!”

“But how shall I make my escape, nurse?” said Van Baerle.

“Jump out of the window.”

“Twenty-five feet from the ground!”

“But you will fall on six feet of soft soil!”

“Yes, but I should fall on my tulips.”

“Never mind, jump out.”

Cornelius took the third bulb, approached the window and opened it, but seeing what havoc he would necessarily cause in his borders, and, more than this, what a height he would have to jump, he called out, “Never!” and fell back a step.

At this moment they saw across the banister of the staircase the points of the halberds of the soldiers rising.

The housekeeper raised her hands to heaven.

As to Cornelius van Baerle, it must be stated to his honour, not as a man, but as a tulip-fancier, his only thought was for his inestimable bulbs.

Looking about for a paper in which to wrap them up, he noticed the fly-leaf from the Bible, which Craeke had laid upon the table, took it without in his confusion remembering whence it came, folded in it the three bulbs, secreted them in his bosom, and waited.

At this very moment the soldiers, preceded by a magistrate, entered the room.

“Are you Dr. Cornelius van Baerle?” demanded the magistrate (who, although knowing the young man very well, put his question according to the forms of justice, which gave his proceedings a much more dignified air).

“I am that person, Master van Spennen,” answered Cornelius, politely, to his judge, “and you know it very well.”