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 envious wretch 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.
Page 82
Dumas, Alexandre – The Black Tulip
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, —
“Oh, sir, sir! here I am!”
Cornelius stretched out his arms, and, looking to heaven,
uttered a cry of joy, —
“Oh, Rosa, Rosa!”
“Hush! let us speak low: my father follows on my heels,”
said the girl.
“Your father?”
“Yes, he is in the courtyard at the bottom of the staircase,
receiving the instructions of the Governor; he will
presently come up.”
“The instructions of the Governor?”
“Listen to me, I’ll try to tell you all in a few words. The
Stadtholder has a country-house, one league distant from
Leyden, properly speaking a kind of large dairy, and my
aunt, who was his nurse, has the management of it. As soon
as I received your letter, which, alas! I could not read
myself, but which your housekeeper read to me, I hastened to
my aunt; there I remained until the Prince should come to
the dairy; and when he came, I asked him as a favour to
allow my father to exchange his post at the prison of the
Hague with the jailer of the fortress of Loewestein. The
Prince could not have suspected my object; had he known it,
he would have refused my request, but as it is he granted
it.”
“And so you are here?”
“As you see.”
“And thus I shall see you every day?”