Chapter 5. The Tulip-fancier and his Neighbour
Whilst the burghers of the Hague were tearing in pieces the bodies ofJohn and Cornelius de Witt, and whilst William of Orange, after havingmade sure that his two antagonists were really dead, was galloping overthe Leyden road, followed by Captain van Deken, whom he found a littletoo compassionate to honour him any longer with his confidence, Craeke,the faithful servant, mounted on a good horse, and little suspectingwhat terrible events had taken place since his departure, proceededalong the high road lined with trees, until he was clear of the town andthe neighbouring villages.
Being once safe, he left his horse at a livery stable in order notto arouse suspicion, and tranquilly continued his journey on thecanal-boats, which conveyed him by easy stages to Dort, pursuing theirway under skilful guidance by the shortest possible routes throughthe windings of the river, which held in its watery embrace so manyenchanting little islands, edged with willows and rushes, and aboundingin luxurious vegetation, whereon flocks of fat sheep browsed in peacefulsleepiness. Craeke from afar off recognised Dort, the smiling city,at the foot of a hill dotted with windmills. He saw the fine red brickhouses, mortared in white lines, standing on the edge of the water, andtheir balconies, open towards the river, decked out with silk tapestryembroidered with gold flowers, the wonderful manufacture of India andChina; and near these brilliant stuffs, large lines set to catch thevoracious eels, which are attracted towards the houses by the garbagethrown every day from the kitchens into the river.
Craeke, standing on the deck of the boat, saw, across the moving sailsof the windmills, on the slope of the hill, the red and pink house whichwas the goal of his errand. The outlines of its roof were merging in theyellow foliage of a curtain of poplar trees, the whole habitation havingfor background a dark grove of gigantic elms. The mansion was situatedin 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 notprevent the river wind from carrying there every morning and evening.
Having disembarked unobserved amid the usual bustle of the city,Craeke at once directed his steps towards the house which we have justdescribed, and which--white, trim, and tidy, even more cleanly scouredand more carefully waxed in the hidden corners than in the places whichwere exposed to view--enclosed a truly happy mortal.
This happy mortal, rara avis, was Dr. van Baerle, the godson ofCornelius de Witt. He had inhabited the same house ever since hischildhood, for it was the house in which his father and grandfather, oldestablished princely merchants of the princely city of Dort, were born.
Mynheer van Baerle the father had amassed in the Indian trade three orfour hundred thousand guilders, which Mynheer van Baerle the son, at thedeath of his dear and worthy parents, found still quite new, althoughone set of them bore the date of coinage of 1640, and the other thatof 1610, a fact which proved that they were guilders of Van Baerle thefather and of Van Baerle the grandfather; but we will inform the readerat once that these three or four hundred thousand guilders were only thepocket money, or sort of purse, for Cornelius van Baerle, the hero ofthis story, as his landed property in the province yielded him an incomeof about ten thousand guilders a year.
When the worthy citizen, the father of Cornelius, passed from time intoeternity, three months after having buried his wife, who seemed to havedeparted first to smooth for him the path of death as she had smoothedfor him the path of life, he said to his son, as he embraced him for thelast time,--
"Eat, drink, and spend your money, if you wish to know what life reallyis, for as to toiling from morn to evening on a wooden stool, or aleathern chair, in a counting-house or a laboratory, that certainly isnot living. Your time to die will also come; and if you are not then sofortunate as to have a son, you will let my name grow extinct, and myguilders, which no one has ever fingered but my father, myself, andthe coiner, will have the surprise of passing to an unknown master. Andleast of all, imitate the example of your godfather, Cornelius de Witt,who has plunged into politics, the most ungrateful of all careers, andwho will certainly come to an untimely end."
Having given utterance to this paternal advice, the worthy Mynheer vanBaerle died, to the intense grief of his son Cornelius, who cared verylittle for the guilders, and very much for his father.
Cornelius then remained alone in his large house. In vain his godfatheroffered to him a place in the public service,--in vain did he tryto give him a taste for glory,--although Cornelius, to gratify hisgodfather, did embark with De Ruyter upon "The Seven Provinces," theflagship of a fleet of one hundred and thirty-nine sail, with whichthe famous admiral set out to contend singlehanded against the combinedforces of France and England. When, guided by the pilot Leger, he hadcome within musket-shot of the "Prince," with the Duke of York (theEnglish king's brother) aboard, upon which De Ruyter, his mentor, madeso sharp and well directed an attack that the Duke, perceiving that hisvessel would soon have to strike, made the best of his way aboard the"Saint Michael"; when he had seen the "Saint Michael," riddled andshattered by the Dutch broadside, drift out of the line; when he hadwitnessed the sinking of the "Earl of Sandwich," and the death by fireor drowning of four hundred sailors; when he realized that the result ofall this destruction--after twenty ships had been blown to pieces, threethousand men killed and five thousand injured--was that nothing wasdecided, that both sides claimed the victory, that the fighting wouldsoon 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 muchtime is lost simply in shutting his eyes and ears by a man who likesto use his reflective powers even while his fellow creatures arecannonading one another;--Cornelius bade farewell to De Ruyter, to theRuart de Pulten, and to glory, kissed the knees of the Grand Pensionary,for whom he entertained the deepest veneration, and retired to his houseat Dort, rich in his well-earned repose, his twenty-eight years, an ironconstitution and keen perceptions, and his capital of more than fourhundred thousands of florins and income of ten thousand, convinced thata man is always endowed by Heaven with too much for his own happiness,and just enough to make him miserable.
Consequently, and to indulge his own idea of happiness, Cornelius beganto be interested in the study of plants and insects, collected andclassified the Flora of all the Dutch islands, arranged the wholeentomology of the province, on which he wrote a treatise, with platesdrawn by his own hands; and at last, being at a loss what to do withhis time, and especially with his money, which went on accumulating at amost alarming rate, he took it into his head to select for himself, fromall the follies of his country and of his age, one of the most elegantand expensive,--he became a tulip-fancier.
It was the time when the Dutch and the Portuguese, rivalling each otherin this branch of horticulture, had begun to worship that flower, andto make more of a cult of it than ever naturalists dared to make of thehuman race for fear of arousing the jealousy of God.
Soon people from Dort to Mons began to talk of Mynheer van Baerle'stulips; and his beds, pits, drying-rooms, and drawers of bulbswere visited, as the galleries and libraries of Alexandria were byillustrious Roman travellers.
Van Baerle began by expending his yearly revenue in laying thegroundwork of his collection, after which he broke in upon his newguilders to bring it to perfection. His exertions, indeed, were crownedwith a most magnificent result: he produced three new tulips, which hecalled the "Jane," after his mother; the "Van Baerle," after his father;and the "Cornelius," after his godfather; the other names have escapedus, but the fanciers will be sure to find them in the catalogues of thetimes.
In the beginning of the year 1672, Cornelius de Witt came to Dort forthree months, to live at his old family mansion; for not only was heborn in that city, but his family had been resident there for centuries.
Cornelius, at that period, as William of Orange said, began to enjoy themost perfect unpopularity. To his fellow citizens, the good burghers ofDort, however, he did not appear in the light of a criminal who dese
rvedto be hung. It is true, they did not particularly like his somewhataustere republicanism, but they were proud of his valour; and when hemade his entrance into their town, the cup of honour was offered to him,readily enough, in the name of the city.
After having thanked his fellow citizens, Cornelius proceeded to his oldpaternal house, and gave directions for some repairs, which he wished tohave executed before the arrival of his wife and children; and thencehe wended his way to the house of his godson, who perhaps was the onlyperson in Dort as yet unacquainted with the presence of Cornelius in thetown.
In the same degree as Cornelius de Witt had excited the hatred of thepeople by sowing those evil seeds which are called political passions,Van Baerle had gained the affections of his fellow citizens bycompletely shunning the pursuit of politics, absorbed as he was in thepeaceful pursuit of cultivating tulips.
Van Baerle was truly beloved by his servants and labourers; nor hadhe any conception that there was in this world a man who wished ill toanother.
And yet it must be said, to the disgrace of mankind, that Corneliusvan Baerle, without being aware of the fact, had a much more ferocious,fierce, and implacable enemy than the Grand Pensionary and his brotherhad among the Orange party, who were most hostile to the devotedbrothers, who had never been sundered by the least misunderstandingduring their lives, and by their mutual devotion in the face of deathmade sure the existence of their brotherly affection beyond the grave.
At the time when Cornelius van Baerle began to devote himself totulip-growing, expending on this hobby his yearly revenue and theguilders of his father, there was at Dort, living next door to him, acitizen of the name of Isaac Boxtel who from the age when he was able tothink for himself had indulged the same fancy, and who was in ecstasiesat the mere mention of the word "tulban," which (as we are assuredby the "Floriste Francaise," the most highly considered authority inmatters relating to this flower) is the first word in the Cingalesetongue which was ever used to designate that masterpiece of floriculturewhich is now called the tulip.
Boxtel had not the good fortune of being rich, like Van Baerle. Hehad therefore, with great care and patience, and by dint of strenuousexertions, laid out near his house at Dort a garden fit for the cultureof his cherished flower; he had mixed the soil according to the mostapproved prescriptions, and given to his hotbeds just as much heat andfresh air as the strictest rules of horticulture exact.
Isaac knew the temperature of his frames to the twentieth part of adegree. He knew the strength of the current of air, and tempered it soas to adapt it to the wave of the stems of his flowers. His productionsalso 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 atulip which bore his name, and which, after having travelled all throughFrance, had found its way into Spain, and penetrated as far as Portugal;and the King, Don Alfonso VI.--who, being expelled from Lisbon, hadretired to the island of Terceira, where he amused himself, not,like the great Conde, with watering his carnations, but with growingtulips--had, on seeing the Boxtel tulip, exclaimed, "Not so bad, by anymeans!"
All at once, Cornelius van Baerle, who, after all his learned pursuits,had been seized with the tulipomania, made some changes in his houseat Dort, which, as we have stated, was next door to that of Boxtel. Heraised a certain building in his court-yard by a story, which shuttingout the sun, took half a degree of warmth from Boxtel's garden, and, onthe other hand, added half a degree of cold in winter; not to mentionthat it cut the wind, and disturbed all the horticultural calculationsand arrangements of his neighbour.
After all, this mishap appeared to Boxtel of no great consequence. VanBaerle was but a painter, a sort of fool who tried to reproduce anddisfigure on canvas the wonders of nature. The painter, he thought, hadraised his studio by a story to get better light, and thus far he hadonly been in the right. Mynheer van Baerle was a painter, as MynheerBoxtel was a tulip-grower; he wanted somewhat more sun for hispaintings, and he took half a degree from his neighbour's tulips.
The law was for Van Baerle, and Boxtel had to abide by it.
Besides, Isaac had made the discovery that too much sun was injurious totulips, and that this flower grew quicker, and had a better colouring,with the temperate warmth of morning, than with the powerful heat of themidday sun. He therefore felt almost grateful to Cornelius van Baerlefor having given him a screen gratis.
Maybe this was not quite in accordance with the true state of things ingeneral, and of Isaac Boxtel's feelings in particular. It is certainlyastonishing what rich comfort great minds, in the midst of momentouscatastrophes, will derive from the consolations of philosophy.
But alas! What was the agony of the unfortunate Boxtel on seeing thewindows of the new story set out with bulbs and seedlings of tulips forthe border, and tulips in pots; in short, with everything pertaining tothe pursuits of a tulip-monomaniac!
There were bundles of labels, cupboards, and drawers with compartments,and wire guards for the cupboards, to allow free access to the airwhilst keeping out slugs, mice, dormice, and rats, all of them verycurious fanciers of tulips at two thousand francs a bulb.
Boxtel was quite amazed when he saw all this apparatus, but he was notas yet aware of the full extent of his misfortune. Van Baerle was knownto be fond of everything that pleases the eye. He studied Nature in allher aspects for the benefit of his paintings, which were as minutelyfinished as those of Gerard Dow, his master, and of Mieris, hisfriend. Was it not possible, that, having to paint the interior of atulip-grower's, he had collected in his new studio all the accessoriesof decoration?
Yet, although thus consoling himself with illusory suppositions, Boxtelwas not able to resist the burning curiosity which was devouring him.In the evening, therefore, he placed a ladder against the partitionwall between their gardens, and, looking into that of his neighbour VanBaerle, he convinced himself that the soil of a large square bed, whichhad formerly been occupied by different plants, was removed, and theground disposed in beds of loam mixed with river mud (a combinationwhich is particularly favourable to the tulip), and the whole surroundedby 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 toinsure not only success but also progress. There could not be a doubtthat Van Baerle had become a tulip-grower.
Boxtel at once pictured to himself this learned man, with a capitalof four hundred thousand and a yearly income of ten thousand guilders,devoting all his intellectual and financial resources to the cultivationof the tulip. He foresaw his neighbour's success, and he felt such apang at the mere idea of this success that his hands dropped powerless,his knees trembled, and he fell in despair from the ladder.
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 VanBaerle was to have the most admirably fitted aspect, and, besides, alarge, airy, and well ventilated chamber where to preserve his bulbsand seedlings; while he, Boxtel, had been obliged to give up for thispurpose his bedroom, and, lest his sleeping in the same apartment mightinjure his bulbs and seedlings, had taken up his abode in a miserablegarret.
Boxtel, then, was to have next door to him a rival and successfulcompetitor; and his rival, instead of being some unknown, obscuregardener, was the godson of Mynheer Cornelius de Witt, that is to say, acelebrity.
Boxtel, as the reader may see, was not possessed of the spirit ofPorus, who, on being conquered by Alexander, consoled himself with thecelebrity of his conqueror.
And now if Van Baerle produced a new tulip, and named it the John deWitt, after having named one the Cornelius? It was indeed enough tochoke one with rage.
Thus Boxtel, with jealous foreboding, became the prophet of his ownmisfortune. And, after having made this melancholy discovery, he passedthe most wretched night imaginable.