|
Main
- books.jibble.org
My Books
- IRC Hacks
Misc. Articles
- Meaning of Jibble
- M4 Su Doku
- Computer Scrapbooking
- Setting up Java
- Bootable Java
- Cookies in Java
- Dynamic Graphs
- Social Shakespeare
External Links
- Paul Mutton
- Jibble Photo Gallery
- Jibble Forums
- Google Landmarks
- Jibble Shop
- Free Books
- Intershot Ltd
|
books.jibble.org
Previous Page
| Next Page
Page 32
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.
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
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!
Previous Page
| Next Page
|
|