glistening like carbuncles, and shaking his chain, on which
the double light from the lamp of Rosa and the lantern of
Gryphus threw a brilliant glitter.
The sublime master would, however, have been altogether
unable to render the sorrow expressed in the face of Rosa,
when she saw this pale, handsome young man slowly climbing
the stairs, and thought of the full import of the words,
which her father had just spoken, “You will have the family
cell.”
This vision lasted but a moment, — much less time than we
have taken to describe it. Gryphus then proceeded on his
way, Cornelius was forced to follow him, and five minutes
afterwards he entered his prison, of which it is unnecessary
to say more, as the reader is already acquainted with it.
Gryphus pointed with his finger to the bed on which the
martyr had suffered so much, who on that day had rendered
his soul to God. Then, taking up his cresset, he quitted the
cell.
Thus left alone, Cornelius threw himself on his bed, but he
slept not, he kept his eye fixed on the narrow window,
barred with iron, which looked on the Buytenhof; and in this
way saw from behind the trees that first pale beam of light
which morning sheds on the earth as a white mantle.
Now and then during the night horses had galloped at a smart
pace over the Buytenhof, the heavy tramp of the patrols had
resounded from the pavement, and the slow matches of the
arquebuses, flaring in the east wind, had thrown up at
intervals a sudden glare as far as to the panes of his
window.
But when the rising sun began to gild the coping stones at
the gable ends of the houses, Cornelius, eager to know
whether there was any living creature about him, approached
the window, and cast a sad look round the circular yard
before him
At the end of the yard a dark mass, tinted with a dingy blue
by the morning dawn, rose before him, its dark outlines
standing out in contrast to the houses already illuminated
by the pale light of early morning.
Cornelius recognised the gibbet.
On it were suspended two shapeless trunks, which indeed were
no more than bleeding skeletons.
The good people of the Hague had chopped off the flesh of
its victims, but faithfully carried the remainder to the
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Dumas, Alexandre – The Black Tulip
gibbet, to have a pretext for a double inscription written
on a huge placard, on which Cornelius; with the keen sight
of a young man of twenty-eight, was able to read the
following lines, daubed by the coarse brush of a
sign-painter: —
“Here are hanging the great rogue of the name of John de
Witt, and the little rogue Cornelius de Witt, his brother,
two enemies of the people, but great friends of the king of
France.”
Cornelius uttered a cry of horror, and in the agony of his
frantic terror knocked with his hands and feet at the door
so violently and continuously, that Gryphus, with his huge
bunch of keys in his hand, ran furiously up.
The jailer opened the door, with terrible imprecations
against the prisoner who disturbed him at an hour which
Master Gryphus was not accustomed to be aroused.
“Well, now, by my soul, he is mad, this new De Witt,” he
cried, “but all those De Witts have the devil in them.”
“Master, master,” cried Cornelius, seizing the jailer by the
arm and dragging him towards the window, — “master, what
have I read down there?”
“Where down there?”
“On that placard.”
And, trembling, pale, and gasping for breath, he pointed to
the gibbet at the other side of the yard, with the cynical
inscription surmounting it.
Gryphus broke out into a laugh.
“Eh! eh!” he answered, “so, you have read it. Well, my good
sir, that’s what people will get for corresponding with the
enemies of his Highness the Prince of Orange.”
“The brothers De Witt are murdered!” Cornelius muttered,
with the cold sweat on his brow, and sank on his bed, his
arms hanging by his side, and his eyes closed.
“The brothers De Witt have been judged by the people,” said