volley of maledictions and furious threats as to make it
indeed a matter of wonder that this venomous breath of envy
and hatred did not carry a blight on the innocent flowers
which had excited it.
When the evil spirit has once taken hold of the heart of
man, it urges him on, without letting him stop. Thus Boxtel
soon was no longer content with seeing Van Baerle. He wanted
to see his flowers, too; he had the feelings of an artist,
the master-piece of a rival engrossed his interest.
He therefore bought a telescope, which enabled him to watch
as accurately as did the owner himself every progressive
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Dumas, Alexandre – The Black Tulip
development of the flower, from the moment when, in the
first year, its pale seed-leaf begins to peep from the
ground, to that glorious one, when, after five years, its
petals at last reveal the hidden treasures of its chalice.
How often had the miserable, jealous man to observe in Van
Baerle’s beds tulips which dazzled him by their beauty, and
almost choked him by their perfection!
And then, after the first blush of the admiration which he
could not help feeling, he began to be tortured by the pangs
of envy, by that slow fever which creeps over the heart and
changes it into a nest of vipers, each devouring the other
and ever born anew. How often did Boxtel, in the midst of
tortures which no pen is able fully to describe, — how
often did he feel an inclination to jump down into the
garden during the night, to destroy the plants, to tear the
bulbs with his teeth, and to sacrifice to his wrath the
owner himself, if he should venture to stand up for the
defence of his tulips!
But to kill a tulip was a horrible crime in the eyes of a
genuine tulip-fancier; as to killing a man, it would not
have mattered so very much.
Yet Van Baerle made such progress in the noble science of
growing tulips, which he seemed to master with the true
instinct of genius, that Boxtel at last was maddened to such
a degree as to think of throwing stones and sticks into the
flower-stands of his neighbour. But, remembering that he
would be sure to be found out, and that he would not only be
punished by law, but also dishonoured for ever in the face
of all the tulip-growers of Europe, he had recourse to
stratagem, and, to gratify his hatred, tried to devise a
plan by means of which he might gain his ends without being
compromised himself.
He considered a long time, and at last his meditations were
crowned with success.
One evening he tied two cats together by their hind legs
with a string about six feet in length, and threw them from
the wall into the midst of that noble, that princely, that
royal bed, which contained not only the “Cornelius de Witt,”
but also the “Beauty of Brabant,” milk-white, edged with
purple and pink, the “Marble of Rotterdam,” colour of flax,
blossoms feathered red and flesh colour, the “Wonder of
Haarlem,” the “Colombin obscur,” and the “Columbin clair
terni.”
The frightened cats, having alighted on the ground, first
tried to fly each in a different direction, until the string
by which they were tied together was tightly stretched
across the bed; then, however, feeling that they were not
able to get off, they began to pull to and fro, and to wheel
about with hideous caterwaulings, mowing down with their
string the flowers among which they were struggling, until,
after a furious strife of about a quarter of an hour, the
string broke and the combatants vanished.
Boxtel, hidden behind his sycamore, could not see anything,
as it was pitch-dark; but the piercing cries of the cats
told the whole tale, and his heart overflowing with gall now
throbbed with triumphant joy.
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Dumas, Alexandre – The Black Tulip
Boxtel was so eager to ascertain the extent of the injury,
that he remained at his post until morning to feast his eyes
on the sad state in which the two cats had left the