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