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.

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!"
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.
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.

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 to tulips, and that this flower grew quicker, and
had a better colouring, with the temperate" target="_blank" title="a.有节制的；温和的">temperatewarmth 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.
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.

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!
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.

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?
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.
Boxtel at once pictured to himself this learned man, with a

capital of four hundred thousand and a yearlyincome 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.
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.

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.

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.
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.

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.
Chapter 6

The Hatred of a Tulip-fancier
From that moment Boxtel's interest in tulips was no longer a

stimulus to his exertions, but a deadening anxiety.
Henceforth all his thoughts ran only upon the injury which

his neighbour would cause him, and thus his favourite
occupation was changed into a constant source of misery to him.

Van Baerle, as may easily be imagined, had no sooner begun
to apply his natural ingenuity to his new fancy, than he

succeeded in growing the finest tulips. Indeed; he knew
better than any one else at Haarlem or Leyden -- the two

towns which boast the best soil and the most congenial
climate -- how to vary the colours, to modify the shape, and

to produce new species.
He belonged to that natural, humorous school who took for