turban,--was introduced into western Europe about the middle of the
sixteenth century. Conrad Gesner, who claims the merit of having brought
it into repute,--little dreaming of the extraordinary commotion it was
to make in the world,--says that he first saw it in the year 1559, in a
garden at Augsburg, belonging to the learned Counsellor Herwart, a man
very famous in his day for his collection of rare exotics. The bulbs
were sent to this gentleman by a friend at Constantinople, where the
flower had long been a favourite. In the course of ten or eleven
years after this period, tulips were much sought after by the wealthy,
especially in Holland and Germany. Rich people at Amsterdam sent for the
bulbs direct to Constantinople, and paid the most extravagant prices
for them. The first roots planted in England were brought from Vienna
in 1600. Until the year 1634 the tulip annually increased in reputation,
until it was deemed a proof of bad taste in any man of fortune to be
without a collection of them. Many learned men, including Pompeius de
Angelis and the celebrated Lipsius of Leyden, the author of the
treatise "De Constantia," were passionately fond of tulips. The rage for
possessing them soon caught the middle classes of society, and merchants
and shopkeepers, even of moderate means, began to vie with each other
in the rarity of these flowers and the preposterous prices they paid for
them. A trader at Harlaem was known to pay one-half of his fortune for a
single root--not with the design of selling it again at a profit, but to
keep in his own conservatory for the admiration of his acquaintance.
One would suppose that there must have been some great virtue in this
flower to have made it so valuable in the eyes of so prudent a people
as the Dutch; but it has neither the beauty nor the perfume of the
rose--hardly the beauty of the "sweet, sweet-pea;" neither is it as
enduring as either. Cowley, it is true, is loud in its praise. He says--
"The tulip next appeared, all over gay,
But wanton, full of pride, and full of play;
The world can't show a dye but here has place;
Nay, by new mixtures, she can change her face;
Purple and gold are both beneath her care--
The richest needlework she loves to wear;
Her only study is to please the eye,
And to outshine the rest in finery."
This, though not very poetical, is the description of a poet. Beckmann,
in his History of Inventions, paints it with more fidelity, and in prose
more pleasing than Cowley's poetry. He says, "There are few plants which
acquire, through accident, weakness, or disease, so many variegations as
the tulip. When uncultivated, and in its natural state, it is almost of
one colour, has large leaves, and an extraordinarily long stem. When it
has been weakened by cultivation, it becomes more agreeable in the eyes
of the florist. The petals are then paler, smaller, and more diversified
in hue; and the leaves acquire a softer green colour. Thus this
masterpiece of culture, the more beautiful it turns, grows so much the
weaker, so that, with the greatest skill and most careful attention, it
can scarcely be transplanted, or even kept alive."
Many persons grow insensibly attached to that which gives them a great
deal of trouble, as a mother often loves her sick and ever-ailing child
better than her more healthy offspring. Upon the same principle we must
account for the unmerited encomia lavished upon these fragile blossoms.
In 1634, the rage among the Dutch to possess them was so great that the
ordinary industry of the country was neglected, and the population,
even to its lowest dregs, embarked in the tulip trade. As the mania
increased, prices augmented, until, in the year 1635, many persons were
known to invest a fortune of 100,000 florins in the purchase of forty
roots. It then became necessary to sell them by their weight in perits,
a small weight less than a grain. A tulip of the species called Admiral
Liefken, weighing 400 perits, was worth 4400 florins; an Admiral Von
der Eyk, weighing 446 perits, was worth 1260 florins; a shilder of 106
perits was worth 1615 florins; a viceroy of 400 perits, 3000 florins,
and, most precious of all, a Semper Augustus, weighing 200 perits, was
thought to be very cheap at 5500 florins. The latter was much sought
after, and even an inferior bulb might command a price of 2000 florins.
It is related that, at one time, early in 1636, there were only two
roots of this description to be had in all Holland, and those not of the
best. One was in the possession of a dealer in Amsterdam, and the other
in Harlaem. So anxious were the speculators to obtain them that one
person offered the fee-simple of twelve acres of building ground for
the Harlaem tulip. That of Amsterdam was bought for 4600 florins, a new
carriage, two grey horses, and a complete suit of harness. Munting, an
industrious author of that day, who wrote a folio volume of one thousand
pages upon the tulipomania, has preserved the following list of the
various articles, and their value, which were delivered for one single
root of the rare species called the viceroy:--
florins.
Two lasts of wheat.............. 448
Four lasts of rye............... 558
Four fat oxen................... 480
Eight fat swine................. 240
Twelve fat sheep................ 120
Two hogsheads of wine........... 70
Four tuns of beer............... 32
Two tons of butter.............. 192
One thousand lbs. of cheese..... 120
A complete bed.................. 100
A suit of clothes............... 80
A silver drinking cup........... 60
-----
2500
-----
People who had been absent from Holland, and whose chance it was to
return when this folly was at its maximum, were sometimes led into
awkward dilemmas by their ignorance. There is an amusing instance of
the kind related in Blainville's Travels. A wealthy merchant, who prided
himself not a little on his rare tulips, received upon one occasion a
very valuable consignment of merchandise from the Levant. Intelligence
of its arrival was brought him by a sailor, who presented himself
for that purpose at the counting-house, among bales of goods of every
description. The merchant, to reward him for his news, munificently made
him a present of a fine red herring for his breakfast. The sailor had,
it appears, a great partiality for onions, and seeing a bulb very like
an onion lying upon the counter of this liberal trader, and thinking it,
no doubt, very much out of its place among silks and velvets, he slily
seized an opportunity and slipped it into his pocket, as a relish for
his herring. He got clear off with his prize, and proceeded to the
quay to eat his breakfast. Hardly was his back turned when the merchant
missed his valuable Semper Augustus, worth three thousand florins, or
about 280 pounds sterling. The whole establishment was instantly in an
uproar; search was everywhere made for the precious root, but it was not
to be found. Great was the merchant's distress of mind. The search was
renewed, but again without success. At last some one thought of the
sailor.
The unhappy merchant sprang into the street at the bare suggestion. His
alarmed household followed him. The sailor, simple soul! had not
thought of concealment. He was found quietly sitting on a coil of ropes,
masticating the last morsel of his "onion." Little did he dream that he
had been eating a breakfast whose cost might have regaled a whole ship's
crew for a twelvemonth; or, as the plundered merchant himself expressed
it, "might have sumptuously feasted the Prince of Orange and the whole
court of the Stadtholder." Anthony caused pearls to be dissolved in
wine to drink the health of Cleopatra; Sir Richard Whittington was
as foolishly magnificent in an entertainment to King Henry V; and Sir
Thomas Gresham drank a diamond, dissolved in wine, to the health of
Queen Elizabeth, when she opened the Royal Exchange: but the breakfast
of this roguish Dutchman was as splendid as either. He had an advantage,
too, over his wasteful predecessors: their gems did not improve the
taste or the wholesomeness of their wine, while his tulip was quite
delicious with his red herring. The most unfortunate part of the
business for him was, that he remained in prison for some months, on a
charge of felony, preferred against him by the merchant.
Another story is told of an English traveller, which is scarcely less
ludicrous. This gentleman, an amateur botanist, happened to see a
tulip-root lying in the conservatory of a wealthy Dutchman. Being
ignorant of its quality, he took out his penknife, and peeled off its
coats, with the view of making experiments upon it. When it was by
this means reduced to half its original size, he cut it into two equal
sections, making all the time many learned remarks on the singular
appearances of the unknown bulb. Suddenly the owner pounced upon him,
and, with fury in his eyes, asked him if he knew what he had been doing?
"Peeling a most extraordinary onion," replied the philosopher. "Hundert
tausend duyvel," said the Dutchman; "it's an Admiral Van der E. yck."
"Thank you," replied the traveller, taking out his note-book to make
a memorandum of the same; "are these admirals common in your country?"
"Death and the devil," said the Dutchman, seizing the astonished man of
science by the collar; "come before the syndic, and you shall see." In
spite of his remonstrances, the traveller was led through the streets,
followed by a mob of persons. When brought into the presence of the
magistrate, he learned, to his consternation, that the root upon which
he had been experimentalizing was worth four thousand florins; and,
notwithstanding all he could urge in extenuation, he was lodged in
prison until he found securities for the payment of this sum.
The demand for tulips of a rare species increased so much in the year
1636, that regular marts for their sale were established on the Stock
Exchange of Amsterdam, in Rotterdam, Harlaem, Leyden, Alkmar, Hoorn,
and other towns. Symptoms of gambling now became, for the first time,
apparent. The stockjobbers, ever on the alert for a new speculation,
dealt largely in tulips, making use of all the means they so well knew
how to employ, to cause fluctuations in prices. At first, as in all
these gambling mania, confidence was at its height, and everybody
gained. The tulip-jobbers speculated in the rise and fall of the tulip
stocks, and made large profits by buying when prices fell, and selling
out when they rose. Many individuals grew suddenly rich. A golden bait
hung temptingly out before the people, and, one after the other, they
rushed to the tulip marts, like flies around a honeypot. Every one
imagined that the passion for tulips would last for ever, and that the
wealthy from every part of the world would send to Holland, and pay
whatever prices were asked for them. The riches of Europe would be
concentrated on the shores of the Zuyder Zee, and poverty banished from
the favoured clime of Holland. Nobles, citizens, farmers, mechanics,
seamen, footmen, maidservants, even chimney-sweeps and old clotheswomen,
dabbled in tulips. People of all grades converted their property into
cash, and invested it in flowers. Houses and lands were offered for sale
at ruinously low prices, or assigned in payment of bargains made at the
tulip-mart. Foreigners became smitten with the same frenzy, and money
poured into Holland from all directions. The prices of the necessaries
of life rose again by degrees; houses and lands, horses and carriages,
and luxuries of every sort, rose in value with them, and for some months
Holland seemed the very antechamber of Plutus. The operations of the
trade became so extensive and so intricate, that it was found necessary
to draw up a code of laws for the guidance of the dealers. Notaries and
clerks were also appointed, who devoted themselves exclusively to the
interests of the trade. The designation of public notary was hardly
known in some towns, that of tulip notary usurping its place. In the
smaller towns, where there was no exchange, the principal tavern was
usually selected as the "showplace," where high and low traded in
tulips, and confirmed their bargains over sumptuous entertainments.
These dinners were sometimes attended by two or three hundred persons,
and large vases of tulips, in full bloom, were placed at regular
intervals upon the tables and sideboards, for their gratification during
the repast.
At last, however, the more prudent began to see that this folly could
not last for ever. Rich people no longer bought the flowers to keep them
in their gardens, but to sell them again at cent. per cent. profit.
It was seen that somebody must lose fearfully in the end. As this
conviction spread, prices fell, and never rose again. Confidence was
destroyed, and a universal panic seized upon the dealers. A had agreed
to purchase ten Sempers Augustines from B, at four thousand florins
each, at six weeks after the signing of the contract. B was ready with
the flowers at the appointed time; but the price had fallen to three
or four hundred florins, and A refused either to pay the difference or
receive the tulips. Defaulters were announced day after day in all the
towns of Holland. Hundreds who, a few months previously, had begun to
doubt that there was such a thing as poverty in the land, suddenly found
themselves the possessors of a few bulbs, which nobody would buy, even
though they offered them at one quarter of the sums they had paid for
them. The cry of distress resounded everywhere, and each man accused
his neighbour. The few who had contrived to enrich themselves hid their
wealth from the knowledge of their fellow-citizens, and invested it in
the English or other funds. Many who, for a brief season, had emerged
from the humbler walks of life, were cast back into their original
obscurity. Substantial merchants were reduced almost to beggary, and
many a representative of a noble line saw the fortunes of his house
ruined beyond redemption.
When the first alarm subsided, the tulip-holders in the several towns
held public meetings to devise what measures were best to be taken to
restore public credit. It was generally agreed, that deputies should be
sent from all parts to Amsterdam, to consult with the government upon
some remedy for the evil. The Government at first refused to interfere,
but advised the tulip-holders to agree to some plan among themselves.
Several meetings were held for this purpose; but no measure could be
devised likely to give satisfaction to the deluded people, or repair
even a slight portion of the mischief that had been done. The language
of complaint and reproach was in everybody's mouth, and all the
meetings were of the most stormy character. At last, however, after much
bickering and ill-will, it was agreed, at Amsterdam, by the assembled
deputies, that all contracts made in the height of the mania, or prior
to the month of November 1636, should be declared null and void, and
that, in those made after that date, purchasers should be freed from
their engagements, on paying ten per cent. to the vendor. This decision
gave no satisfaction. The vendors who had their tulips on hand were, of
course, discontented, and those who had pledged themselves to purchase,
thought themselves hardly treated. Tulips which had, at one time, been
worth six thousand florins, were now to be procured for five hundred; so
that the composition of ten per cent. was one hundred florins more than
the actual value. Actions for breach of contract were threatened in all
the courts of the country; but the latter refused to take cognizance of
gambling transactions.
The matter was finally referred to the Provincial Council at the Hague,
and it was confidently expected that the wisdom of this body would
invent some measure by which credit should be restored. Expectation
was on the stretch for its decision, but it never came. The members
continued to deliberate week after week, and at last, after thinking
about it for three months, declared that they could offer no final
decision until they had more information. They advised, however, that,
in the mean time, every vendor should, in the presence of witnesses,
offer the tulips in natura to the purchaser for the sums agreed upon. If
the latter refused to take them, they might be put up for sale by public
auction, and the original contractor held responsible for the difference
between the actual and the stipulated price. This was exactly the plan
recommended by the deputies, and which was already shown to be of no
avail. There was no court in Holland which would enforce payment. The
question was raised in Amsterdam, but the judges unanimously refused to
interfere, on the ground that debts contracted in gambling were no debts
in law.
Thus the matter rested. To find a remedy was beyond the power of the
government. Those who were unlucky enough to have had stores of tulips
on hand at the time of the sudden reaction were left to bear their
ruin as philosophically as they could; those who had made profits were
allowed to keep them; but the commerce of the country suffered a severe
shock, from which it was many years ere it recovered.
The example of the Dutch was imitated to some extent in England. In the
year 1636 tulips were publicly sold in the Exchange of London, and the
jobbers exerted themselves to the utmost to raise them to the fictitious
value they had acquired in Amsterdam. In Paris also the jobbers strove
to create a tulipomania. In both cities they only partially succeeded.
However, the force of example brought the flowers into great favour,
and amongst a certain class of people tulips have ever since been prized
more highly than any other flowers of the field. The Dutch are still
notorious for their partiality to them, and continue to pay higher
prices for them than any other people. As the rich Englishman boasts of
his fine race-horses or his old pictures, so does the wealthy Dutchman
vaunt him of his tulips.
In England, in our day, strange as it may appear, a tulip will produce
more money than an oak. If one could be found, rara in tetris, and black
as the black swan alluded to by Juvenal, its price would equal that of
a dozen acres of standing corn. In Scotland, towards the close of the
seventeenth century, the highest price for tulips, according to the
authority of a writer in the supplement to the third edition of the
"Encyclopedia Britannica," was ten guineas. Their value appears to have
diminished from that time till the year 1769, when the two most valuable
species in England were the Don Quevedo and the Valentinier, the former
of which was worth two guineas and the latter two guineas and a half.
These prices appear to have been the minimum. In the year 1800, a common
price was fifteen guineas for a single bulb. In 1835, so foolish were
the fanciers, that a bulb of the species called the Miss Fanny Kemble
was sold by public auction in London for seventy-five pounds. Still more
astonishing was the price of a tulip in the possession of a gardener
in the King's Road, Chelsea. In his catalogues, it was labelled at
two hundred guineas! Thus a flower, which for beauty and perfume was
surpassed by the abundant roses of the garden,--a nosegay of which might
be purchased for a penny,--was priced at a sum which would have provided
an industrious labourer and his family with food, and clothes, and
lodging for six years! Should chickweed and groundsel ever come into
fashion, the wealthy would, no doubt, vie with each other in adorning
their gardens with them, and paying the most extravagant prices for
them. In so doing, they would hardly be more foolish than the admirers
of tulips. The common prices for these flowers at the present time vary
from five to fifteen guineas, according to the rarity of the species.
RELICS.
A fouth o' auld knick-knackets,
Rusty airn caps and jinglin' jackets,
Wad haud the Lothians three, in tackets,
A towmond guid;
An' parritch pats, and auld saut backets,
Afore the flood.
Burns.
The love for relics is one which will never be eradicated as long as
feeling and affection are denizens of the heart. It is a love which is
most easily excited in the best and kindliest natures, and which few are
callous enough to scoff at. Who would not treasure the lock of hair that
once adorned the brow of the faithful wife, now cold in death, or that
hung down the neck of a beloved infant, now sleeping under the sward?
Not one. They are home-relics, whose sacred worth is intelligible
to all; spoils rescued from the devouring grave, which, to the
affectionate, are beyond all price. How dear to a forlorn survivor the
book over whose pages he has pored with one departed! How much greater
its value, if that hand, now cold, had written a thought, an opinion, or
a name, upon the leaf! Besides these sweet, domestic relics, there are
others, which no one can condemn; relics sanctified by that admiration
of greatness and goodness which is akin to love; such as the copy of
Montaigne's Florio, with the name of Shakspeare upon the leaf, written
by the poet of all time himself; the chair preserved at Antwerp, in
which Rubens sat when he painted the immortal "Descent from the Cross;"
or the telescope, preserved in the Museum of Florence, which aided
Galileo in his sublime discoveries. Who would not look with veneration
upon the undoubted arrow of William Tell--the swords of Wallace or of
Hampden--or the Bible whose leaves were turned by some stern old father
of the faith?
Thus the principle of reliquism is hallowed and enshrined by love.
But from this germ of purity how numerous the progeny of errors and
superstitions! Men, in their admiration of the great, and of all that
appertained to them, have forgotten that goodness is a component part of
true greatness, and have made fools of themselves for the jaw-bone of a
saint, the toe-nail of an apostle, the handkerchief a king blew his nose
in, or the rope that hanged a criminal. Desiring to rescue some slight
token from the graves of their predecessors, they have confounded the
famous and the infamous, the renowned and the notorious. Great saints,
great sinners; great philosophers, great quacks; great conquerors, great
murderers; great ministers, great thieves; each and all have had their
admirers, ready to ransack earth, from the equator to either pole, to
find a relic of them.
The reliquism of modern times dates its origin from the centuries
immediately preceding the Crusades. The first pilgrims to the Holy Land
brought back to Europe thousands of apocryphal relics, in the purchase
of which they had expended all their store. The greatest favourite was
the wood of the true cross, which, like the oil of the widow, never
diminished. It is generally asserted, in the traditions of the Romish
Church, that the Empress Helen, the mother of Constantine the Great,
first discovered the veritable "true cross" in her pilgrimage to
Jerusalem. The Emperor Theodosius made a present of the greater part of
it to St. Ambrose, Bishop of Milan, by whom it was studded with precious
stones, and deposited in the principal church of that city. It was
carried away by the Huns, by whom it was burnt, after they had extracted
the valuable jewels it contained. Fragments, purporting to have been
cut from it were, in the eleventh and twelfth centuries, to be found in
almost every church in Europe, and would, if collected together in one
place, have been almost sufficient to have built a cathedral. Happy
was the sinner who could get a sight of one of them; happier he who
possessed one! To obtain them the greatest dangers were cheerfully
braved. They were thought to preserve from all evils, and to cure the
most inveterate diseases. Annual pilgrimages were made to the shrines
that contained them, and considerable revenues collected from the
devotees.