Hans Brinker [29]
that he had destroyed a bulb worth 4,000 florins ($1,600). He was lodged in prison until securities could be procured for the payment of the sum.} I think," said Ben, "but I am not sure, as I was not there at the time."
"Ha! ha! that's true, unless you are over two hundred years old. Well, I tell you, sir, there never was anything like it before nor since. Why, persons were so crazy after tulip bulbs in those days that they paid their weight in gold for them."
"What, the weight of a man!" cried Ben, showing such astonishment in his eyes that Ludwig fairly capered.
"No, no, the weight of a BULB. The first tulip was sent here from Constantinople about the year 1560. It was so much admired that the rich people of Amsterdam sent to Turkey for more. From that time they grew to be the rage, and it lasted for years. Single roots brought from one to four thousand florins; and one bulb, the Semper Augustus, brought fifty-five hundred."
"That's more than four hundred guineas of our money," interposed Ben.
"Yes, and I know I'm right, for I read it in a translation from Beckman, only day before yesterday. Well, sir, it was great. Everyone speculated in tulips, even bargemen and rag women and chimney sweeps. The richest merchants were not ashamed to share the excitement. People bought bulbs and sold them again at a tremendous profit without ever seeing them. It grew into a kind of gambling. Some became rich by it in a few days, and some lost everything they had. Land, houses, cattle, and even clothing went for tulips when people had no ready money. Ladies sold their jewels and finery to enable them to join in the fun. Nothing else was thought of. At last the States-General interfered. People began to see what dunces they were making of themselves, and down went the price of tulips. Old tulip debts couldn't be collected. Creditors went to law, and the law turned its back upon them; debts made in gambling were not binding, it said. Then there was a time! Thousands of rich speculators were reduced to beggary in an hour. As old Beckman says, 'The bubble was burst at last.'"
"Yes, and a big bubble it was," said Ben, who had listened with great interest. "By the way, did you know that the name tulip came from a Turkish word, signifying turban?"
"I had forgotten that," answered Lambert, "but it's a capital idea. Just fancy a party of Turks in full headgear squatted upon a lawn--perfect tulip bed! Ha! ha! Capital idea!"
"There," groaned Ludwig to himself, "he's been telling Lambert something wonderful about tulips--I knew it!"
"The fact is," continued Lambert, "you can conjure up quite a human picture of a tulip bed in bloom, especially when it is nodding and bobbing in the wind. Did you ever notice it?"
"Not I. It strikes me, Van Mounen, that you Hollanders are prodigiously fond of the flower to this day."
"Certainly. You can't have a garden without them; prettiest flower that grows, I think. My uncle has a magnificent bed of the finest varieties at his summer house on the other side of Amsterdam."
"I thought your uncle lived in the city?"
"So he does; but his summer house, or pavilion, is a few miles off. He has another one built out over the river. We passed near it when we entered the city. Everybody in Amsterdam has a pavilion somewhere, if he can."
"Do they ever live there?" asked Ben.
"Bless you, no! They are small affairs, suitable only to spend a few hours in on summer afternoons. There are some beautiful ones on the southern end of the Haarlem Lake--now that they've commenced to drain it into polders, it will spoil THAT fun. By the way, we've passed some red-roofed ones since we left home. You noticed them, I suppose, with their little bridges and ponds and gardens, and their mottoes over the doorway."
Ben nodded.
"They make but little show, now," continued Lambert, "but in warm weather they are delightful. After the willows sprout, uncle goes to his summer house every afternoon. He dozes and smokes; aunt knits, with her feet perched upon a foot
"Ha! ha! that's true, unless you are over two hundred years old. Well, I tell you, sir, there never was anything like it before nor since. Why, persons were so crazy after tulip bulbs in those days that they paid their weight in gold for them."
"What, the weight of a man!" cried Ben, showing such astonishment in his eyes that Ludwig fairly capered.
"No, no, the weight of a BULB. The first tulip was sent here from Constantinople about the year 1560. It was so much admired that the rich people of Amsterdam sent to Turkey for more. From that time they grew to be the rage, and it lasted for years. Single roots brought from one to four thousand florins; and one bulb, the Semper Augustus, brought fifty-five hundred."
"That's more than four hundred guineas of our money," interposed Ben.
"Yes, and I know I'm right, for I read it in a translation from Beckman, only day before yesterday. Well, sir, it was great. Everyone speculated in tulips, even bargemen and rag women and chimney sweeps. The richest merchants were not ashamed to share the excitement. People bought bulbs and sold them again at a tremendous profit without ever seeing them. It grew into a kind of gambling. Some became rich by it in a few days, and some lost everything they had. Land, houses, cattle, and even clothing went for tulips when people had no ready money. Ladies sold their jewels and finery to enable them to join in the fun. Nothing else was thought of. At last the States-General interfered. People began to see what dunces they were making of themselves, and down went the price of tulips. Old tulip debts couldn't be collected. Creditors went to law, and the law turned its back upon them; debts made in gambling were not binding, it said. Then there was a time! Thousands of rich speculators were reduced to beggary in an hour. As old Beckman says, 'The bubble was burst at last.'"
"Yes, and a big bubble it was," said Ben, who had listened with great interest. "By the way, did you know that the name tulip came from a Turkish word, signifying turban?"
"I had forgotten that," answered Lambert, "but it's a capital idea. Just fancy a party of Turks in full headgear squatted upon a lawn--perfect tulip bed! Ha! ha! Capital idea!"
"There," groaned Ludwig to himself, "he's been telling Lambert something wonderful about tulips--I knew it!"
"The fact is," continued Lambert, "you can conjure up quite a human picture of a tulip bed in bloom, especially when it is nodding and bobbing in the wind. Did you ever notice it?"
"Not I. It strikes me, Van Mounen, that you Hollanders are prodigiously fond of the flower to this day."
"Certainly. You can't have a garden without them; prettiest flower that grows, I think. My uncle has a magnificent bed of the finest varieties at his summer house on the other side of Amsterdam."
"I thought your uncle lived in the city?"
"So he does; but his summer house, or pavilion, is a few miles off. He has another one built out over the river. We passed near it when we entered the city. Everybody in Amsterdam has a pavilion somewhere, if he can."
"Do they ever live there?" asked Ben.
"Bless you, no! They are small affairs, suitable only to spend a few hours in on summer afternoons. There are some beautiful ones on the southern end of the Haarlem Lake--now that they've commenced to drain it into polders, it will spoil THAT fun. By the way, we've passed some red-roofed ones since we left home. You noticed them, I suppose, with their little bridges and ponds and gardens, and their mottoes over the doorway."
Ben nodded.
"They make but little show, now," continued Lambert, "but in warm weather they are delightful. After the willows sprout, uncle goes to his summer house every afternoon. He dozes and smokes; aunt knits, with her feet perched upon a foot