<p><SPAN name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"></SPAN></p>
<h2> Chapter 5. The Tulip-fancier and his Neighbour </h2>
<p>Whilst the burghers of the Hague were tearing in pieces the bodies of John
and Cornelius de Witt, and whilst William of Orange, after having made
sure that his two antagonists were really dead, was galloping over the
Leyden road, followed by Captain van Deken, whom he found a little too
compassionate to honour him any longer with his confidence, Craeke, the
faithful servant, mounted on a good horse, and little suspecting what
terrible events had taken place since his departure, proceeded along the
high road lined with trees, until he was clear of the town and the
neighbouring villages.</p>
<p>Being once safe, he left his horse at a livery stable in order not to
arouse suspicion, and tranquilly continued his journey on the canal-boats,
which conveyed him by easy stages to Dort, pursuing their way under
skilful guidance by the shortest possible routes through the windings of
the river, which held in its watery embrace so many enchanting little
islands, edged with willows and rushes, and abounding in luxurious
vegetation, whereon flocks of fat sheep browsed in peaceful sleepiness.
Craeke from afar off recognised Dort, the smiling city, at the foot of a
hill dotted with windmills. He saw the fine red brick houses, mortared in
white lines, standing on the edge of the water, and their balconies, open
towards the river, decked out with silk tapestry embroidered with gold
flowers, the wonderful manufacture of India and China; and near these
brilliant stuffs, large lines set to catch the voracious eels, which are
attracted towards the houses by the garbage thrown every day from the
kitchens into the river.</p>
<p>Craeke, standing on the deck of the boat, saw, across the moving sails of
the windmills, on the slope of the hill, the red and pink house which was
the goal of his errand. The outlines of its roof were merging in the
yellow foliage of a curtain of poplar trees, the whole habitation having
for background a dark grove of gigantic elms. The mansion was situated in
such a way that the sun, falling on it as into a funnel, dried up, warmed,
and fertilised the mist which the verdant screen could not prevent the
river wind from carrying there every morning and evening.</p>
<p>Having disembarked unobserved amid the usual bustle of the city, Craeke at
once directed his steps towards the house which we have just described,
and which—white, trim, and tidy, even more cleanly scoured and more
carefully waxed in the hidden corners than in the places which were
exposed to view—enclosed a truly happy mortal.</p>
<p>This happy mortal, rara avis, was Dr. van Baerle, the godson of Cornelius
de Witt. He had inhabited the same house ever since his childhood, for it
was the house in which his father and grandfather, old established
princely merchants of the princely city of Dort, were born.</p>
<p>Mynheer van Baerle the father had amassed in the Indian trade three or
four hundred thousand guilders, which Mynheer van Baerle the son, at the
death of his dear and worthy parents, found still quite new, although one
set of them bore the date of coinage of 1640, and the other that of 1610,
a fact which proved that they were guilders of Van Baerle the father and
of Van Baerle the grandfather; but we will inform the reader at once that
these three or four hundred thousand guilders were only the pocket money,
or sort of purse, for Cornelius van Baerle, the hero of this story, as his
landed property in the province yielded him an income of about ten
thousand guilders a year.</p>
<p>When the worthy citizen, the father of Cornelius, passed from time into
eternity, three months after having buried his wife, who seemed to have
departed first to smooth for him the path of death as she had smoothed for
him the path of life, he said to his son, as he embraced him for the last
time,—</p>
<p>"Eat, drink, and spend your money, if you wish to know what life really
is, for as to toiling from morn to evening on a wooden stool, or a
leathern chair, in a counting-house or a laboratory, that certainly is not
living. Your time to die will also come; and if you are not then so
fortunate as to have a son, you will let my name grow extinct, and my
guilders, which no one has ever fingered but my father, myself, and the
coiner, will have the surprise of passing to an unknown master. And least
of all, imitate the example of your godfather, Cornelius de Witt, who has
plunged into politics, the most ungrateful of all careers, and who will
certainly come to an untimely end."</p>
<p>Having given utterance to this paternal advice, the worthy Mynheer van
Baerle died, to the intense grief of his son Cornelius, who cared very
little for the guilders, and very much for his father.</p>
<p>Cornelius then remained alone in his large house. In vain his godfather
offered to him a place in the public service,—in vain did he try to
give him a taste for glory,—although Cornelius, to gratify his
godfather, did embark with De Ruyter upon "The Seven Provinces," the
flagship of a fleet of one hundred and thirty-nine sail, with which the
famous admiral set out to contend singlehanded against the combined forces
of France and England. When, guided by the pilot Leger, he had come within
musket-shot of the "Prince," with the Duke of York (the English king's
brother) aboard, upon which De Ruyter, his mentor, made so sharp and well
directed an attack that the Duke, perceiving that his vessel would soon
have to strike, made the best of his way aboard the "Saint Michael"; when
he had seen the "Saint Michael," riddled and shattered by the Dutch
broadside, drift out of the line; when he had witnessed the sinking of the
"Earl of Sandwich," and the death by fire or drowning of four hundred
sailors; when he realized that the result of all this destruction—after
twenty ships had been blown to pieces, three thousand men killed and five
thousand injured—was that nothing was decided, that both sides
claimed the victory, that the fighting would soon begin again, and that
just one more name, that of Southwold Bay, had been added to the list of
battles; when he had estimated how much time is lost simply in shutting
his eyes and ears by a man who likes to use his reflective powers even
while his fellow creatures are cannonading one another;—Cornelius
bade farewell to De Ruyter, to the Ruart de Pulten, and to glory, kissed
the knees of the Grand Pensionary, for whom he entertained the deepest
veneration, and retired to his house at Dort, rich in his well-earned
repose, his twenty-eight years, an iron constitution and keen perceptions,
and his capital of more than four hundred thousands of florins and income
of ten thousand, convinced that a man is always endowed by Heaven with too
much for his own happiness, and just enough to make him miserable.</p>
<p>Consequently, and to indulge his own idea of happiness, Cornelius began to
be interested in the study of plants and insects, collected and classified
the Flora of all the Dutch islands, arranged the whole entomology of the
province, on which he wrote a treatise, with plates drawn by his own
hands; and at last, being at a loss what to do with his time, and
especially with his money, which went on accumulating at a most alarming
rate, he took it into his head to select for himself, from all the follies
of his country and of his age, one of the most elegant and expensive,—he
became a tulip-fancier.</p>
<p>It was the time when the Dutch and the Portuguese, rivalling each other in
this branch of horticulture, had begun to worship that flower, and to make
more of a cult of it than ever naturalists dared to make of the human race
for fear of arousing the jealousy of God.</p>
<p>Soon people from Dort to Mons began to talk of Mynheer van Baerle's
tulips; and his beds, pits, drying-rooms, and drawers of bulbs were
visited, as the galleries and libraries of Alexandria were by illustrious
Roman travellers.</p>
<p>Van Baerle began by expending his yearly revenue in laying the groundwork
of his collection, after which he broke in upon his new guilders to bring
it to perfection. His exertions, indeed, were crowned with a most
magnificent result: he produced three new tulips, which he called the
"Jane," after his mother; the "Van Baerle," after his father; and the
"Cornelius," after his godfather; the other names have escaped us, but the
fanciers will be sure to find them in the catalogues of the times.</p>
<p>In the beginning of the year 1672, Cornelius de Witt came to Dort for
three months, to live at his old family mansion; for not only was he born
in that city, but his family had been resident there for centuries.</p>
<p>Cornelius, at that period, as William of Orange said, began to enjoy the
most perfect unpopularity. To his fellow citizens, the good burghers of
Dort, however, he did not appear in the light of a criminal who deserved
to be hung. It is true, they did not particularly like his somewhat
austere republicanism, but they were proud of his valour; and when he made
his entrance into their town, the cup of honour was offered to him,
readily enough, in the name of the city.</p>
<p>After having thanked his fellow citizens, Cornelius proceeded to his old
paternal house, and gave directions for some repairs, which he wished to
have executed before the arrival of his wife and children; and thence he
wended his way to the house of his godson, who perhaps was the only person
in Dort as yet unacquainted with the presence of Cornelius in the town.</p>
<p>In the same degree as Cornelius de Witt had excited the hatred of the
people by sowing those evil seeds which are called political passions, Van
Baerle had gained the affections of his fellow citizens by completely
shunning the pursuit of politics, absorbed as he was in the peaceful
pursuit of cultivating tulips.</p>
<p>Van Baerle was truly beloved by his servants and labourers; nor had he any
conception that there was in this world a man who wished ill to another.</p>
<p>And yet it must be said, to the disgrace of mankind, that Cornelius van
Baerle, without being aware of the fact, had a much more ferocious,
fierce, and implacable enemy than the Grand Pensionary and his brother had
among the Orange party, who were most hostile to the devoted brothers, who
had never been sundered by the least misunderstanding during their lives,
and by their mutual devotion in the face of death made sure the existence
of their brotherly affection beyond the grave.</p>
<p>At the time when Cornelius van Baerle began to devote himself to
tulip-growing, expending on this hobby his yearly revenue and the guilders
of his father, there was at Dort, living next door to him, a citizen of
the name of Isaac Boxtel who from the age when he was able to think for
himself had indulged the same fancy, and who was in ecstasies at the mere
mention of the word "tulban," which (as we are assured by the "Floriste
Francaise," the most highly considered authority in matters relating to
this flower) is the first word in the Cingalese tongue which was ever used
to designate that masterpiece of floriculture which is now called the
tulip.</p>
<p>Boxtel had not the good fortune of being rich, like Van Baerle. He had
therefore, with great care and patience, and by dint of strenuous
exertions, laid out near his house at Dort a garden fit for the culture of
his cherished flower; he had mixed the soil according to the most approved
prescriptions, and given to his hotbeds just as much heat and fresh air as
the strictest rules of horticulture exact.</p>
<p>Isaac knew the temperature of his frames to the twentieth part of a
degree. He knew the strength of the current of air, and tempered it so as
to adapt it to the wave of the stems of his flowers. His productions also
began to meet with the favour of the public. They were beautiful, nay,
distinguished. Several fanciers had come to see Boxtel's tulips. At last
he had even started amongst all the Linnaeuses and Tourneforts a tulip
which bore his name, and which, after having travelled all through France,
had found its way into Spain, and penetrated as far as Portugal; and the
King, Don Alfonso VI.—who, being expelled from Lisbon, had retired
to the island of Terceira, where he amused himself, not, like the great
Conde, with watering his carnations, but with growing tulips—had, on
seeing the Boxtel tulip, exclaimed, "Not so bad, by any means!"</p>
<p>All at once, Cornelius van Baerle, who, after all his learned pursuits,
had been seized with the tulipomania, made some changes in his house at
Dort, which, as we have stated, was next door to that of Boxtel. He raised
a certain building in his court-yard by a story, which shutting out the
sun, took half a degree of warmth from Boxtel's garden, and, on the other
hand, added half a degree of cold in winter; not to mention that it cut
the wind, and disturbed all the horticultural calculations and
arrangements of his neighbour.</p>
<p>After all, this mishap appeared to Boxtel of no great consequence. Van
Baerle was but a painter, a sort of fool who tried to reproduce and
disfigure on canvas the wonders of nature. The painter, he thought, had
raised his studio by a story to get better light, and thus far he had only
been in the right. Mynheer van Baerle was a painter, as Mynheer Boxtel was
a tulip-grower; he wanted somewhat more sun for his paintings, and he took
half a degree from his neighbour's tulips.</p>
<p>The law was for Van Baerle, and Boxtel had to abide by it.</p>
<p>Besides, Isaac had made the discovery that too much sun was injurious to
tulips, and that this flower grew quicker, and had a better colouring,
with the temperate warmth of morning, than with the powerful heat of the
midday sun. He therefore felt almost grateful to Cornelius van Baerle for
having given him a screen gratis.</p>
<p>Maybe this was not quite in accordance with the true state of things in
general, and of Isaac Boxtel's feelings in particular. It is certainly
astonishing what rich comfort great minds, in the midst of momentous
catastrophes, will derive from the consolations of philosophy.</p>
<p>But alas! What was the agony of the unfortunate Boxtel on seeing the
windows of the new story set out with bulbs and seedlings of tulips for
the border, and tulips in pots; in short, with everything pertaining to
the pursuits of a tulip-monomaniac!</p>
<p>There were bundles of labels, cupboards, and drawers with compartments,
and wire guards for the cupboards, to allow free access to the air whilst
keeping out slugs, mice, dormice, and rats, all of them very curious
fanciers of tulips at two thousand francs a bulb.</p>
<p>Boxtel was quite amazed when he saw all this apparatus, but he was not as
yet aware of the full extent of his misfortune. Van Baerle was known to be
fond of everything that pleases the eye. He studied Nature in all her
aspects for the benefit of his paintings, which were as minutely finished
as those of Gerard Dow, his master, and of Mieris, his friend. Was it not
possible, that, having to paint the interior of a tulip-grower's, he had
collected in his new studio all the accessories of decoration?</p>
<p>Yet, although thus consoling himself with illusory suppositions, Boxtel
was not able to resist the burning curiosity which was devouring him. In
the evening, therefore, he placed a ladder against the partition wall
between their gardens, and, looking into that of his neighbour Van Baerle,
he convinced himself that the soil of a large square bed, which had
formerly been occupied by different plants, was removed, and the ground
disposed in beds of loam mixed with river mud (a combination which is
particularly favourable to the tulip), and the whole surrounded by a
border of turf to keep the soil in its place. Besides this, sufficient
shade to temper the noonday heat; aspect south-southwest; water in
abundant supply, and at hand; in short, every requirement to insure not
only success but also progress. There could not be a doubt that Van Baerle
had become a tulip-grower.</p>
<p>Boxtel at once pictured to himself this learned man, with a capital of
four hundred thousand and a yearly income of ten thousand guilders,
devoting all his intellectual and financial resources to the cultivation
of the tulip. He foresaw his neighbour's success, and he felt such a pang
at the mere idea of this success that his hands dropped powerless, his
knees trembled, and he fell in despair from the ladder.</p>
<p>And thus it was not for the sake of painted tulips, but for real ones,
that Van Baerle took from him half a degree of warmth. And thus Van Baerle
was to have the most admirably fitted aspect, and, besides, a large, airy,
and well ventilated chamber where to preserve his bulbs and seedlings;
while he, Boxtel, had been obliged to give up for this purpose his
bedroom, and, lest his sleeping in the same apartment might injure his
bulbs and seedlings, had taken up his abode in a miserable garret.</p>
<p>Boxtel, then, was to have next door to him a rival and successful
competitor; and his rival, instead of being some unknown, obscure
gardener, was the godson of Mynheer Cornelius de Witt, that is to say, a
celebrity.</p>
<p>Boxtel, as the reader may see, was not possessed of the spirit of Porus,
who, on being conquered by Alexander, consoled himself with the celebrity
of his conqueror.</p>
<p>And now if Van Baerle produced a new tulip, and named it the John de Witt,
after having named one the Cornelius? It was indeed enough to choke one
with rage.</p>
<p>Thus Boxtel, with jealous foreboding, became the prophet of his own
misfortune. And, after having made this melancholy discovery, he passed
the most wretched night imaginable.</p>
<div style="break-after:column;"></div><br />