flower-beds of his neighbour. The mists of the morning
chilled his frame, but he did not feel the cold, the hope of
revenge keeping his blood at fever heat. The chagrin of his
rival was to pay for all the inconvenience which he incurred
himself.
At the earliest dawn the door of the white house opened, and
Van Baerle made his appearance, approaching the flower-beds
with the smile of a man who has passed the night comfortably
in his bed, and has had happy dreams.
All at once he perceived furrows and little mounds of earth
on the beds which only the evening before had been as smooth
as a mirror, all at once he perceived the symmetrical rows
of his tulips to be completely disordered, like the pikes of
a battalion in the midst of which a shell has fallen.
He ran up to them with blanched cheek.
Boxtel trembled with joy. Fifteen or twenty tulips, torn and
crushed, were lying about, some of them bent, others
completely broken and already withering, the sap oozing from
their bleeding bulbs: how gladly would Van Baerle have
redeemed that precious sap with his own blood!
But what were his surprise and his delight! what was the
disappointment of his rival! Not one of the four tulips
which the latter had meant to destroy was injured at all.
They raised proudly their noble heads above the corpses of
their slain companions. This was enough to console Van
Baerle, and enough to fan the rage of the horticultural
murderer, who tore his hair at the sight of the effects of
the crime which he had committed in vain.
Van Baerle could not imagine the cause of the mishap, which,
fortunately, was of far less consequence than it might have
been. On making inquiries, he learned that the whole night
had been disturbed by terrible caterwaulings. He besides
found traces of the cats, their footmarks and hairs left
behind on the battle-field; to guard, therefore, in future
against a similar outrage, he gave orders that henceforth
one of the under gardeners should sleep in the garden in a
sentry-box near the flower-beds.
Boxtel heard him give the order, and saw the sentry-box put
up that very day; but he deemed himself lucky in not having
been suspected, and, being more than ever incensed against
the successful horticulturist, he resolved to bide his time.
Just then the Tulip Society of Haarlem offered a prize for
the discovery (we dare not say the manufacture) of a large
black tulip without a spot of colour, a thing which had not
yet been accomplished, and was considered impossible, as at
that time there did not exist a flower of that species
approaching even to a dark nut brown. It was, therefore,
generally said that the founders of the prize might just as
well have offered two millions as a hundred thousand
guilders, since no one would be able to gain it.
The tulip-growing world, however, was thrown by it into a
state of most active commotion. Some fanciers caught at the
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Dumas, Alexandre – The Black Tulip
idea without believing it practicable, but such is the power
of imagination among florists, that although considering the
undertaking as certain to fail, all their thoughts were
engrossed by that great black tulip, which was looked upon
to be as chimerical as the black swan of Horace or the white
raven of French tradition.
Van Baerle was one of the tulip-growers who were struck with
the idea; Boxtel thought of it in the light of a
speculation. Van Baerle, as soon as the idea had once taken
root in his clear and ingenious mind, began slowly the
necessary planting and cross-breeding to reduce the tulips
which he had grown already from red to brown, and from brown
to dark brown.
By the next year he had obtained flowers of a perfect
nut-brown, and Boxtel espied them in the border, whereas he
had himself as yet only succeeded in producing the light
brown.
It might perhaps be interesting to explain to the gentle
reader the beautiful chain of theories which go to prove
that the tulip borrows its colors from the elements; perhaps