by Michael Ward
‘Isn’t it magnificent?’ Elizabeth smiled. ‘I have tended it each day and watched it produce this solitary flower. But, Thomas, what a flower! I have never seen such colour.’
They were face to face, close enough for Tom to realise he was five or six inches taller than her. She suddenly looked serious and placed her right hand across her breast. Tom’s gaze followed her movement, his pulse pounding as he saw her hand gently rise and fall with her breathing.
‘Tom, I swear I have not played the tables once since we made our pact. If you wish to check with my parents, you can. I have been here most evenings, studying and watching my crimson beauty grow. So I have honoured my side of the agreement, and now you must tell me your secret. I have to know!’
The little girl within Elizabeth Seymour was brimming with curiosity. She poured Tom a mug of beer and sat down, waiting eagerly for his story to begin.
He took a deep breath. He was still reeling from the discovery that Peter was running with Puritan radicals and now Elizabeth was asking him to reveal his deep secret. He had her complete and rapt attention, a powerful realisation, so he motioned for her to move her seat nearer the table and drew up another chair for himself.
‘This is a special tulip, a Semper Augustus, and its story is entwined with mine. Three years ago, I was living in Amsterdam, working for Uncle Jonas, my mother’s brother, in the trading and finance houses. It was part of my apprenticeship, my preparation for the day I would take over the Tallant merchant business from my father. But, in truth, I found the work tedious. I preferred to be out and about, not studying figures and attending meetings.’
Elizabeth was settled back in her chair, listening intently.
‘I was a young man in a hurry, confident I could make money without spending the time to learn how. Then one day I met Hems and Gijs.’
Tom paused. He realised it would be more difficult to share his secret than he had imagined. He lowered his eyes to the floor until Elizabeth leaned over and gently touched his hand. Tom took a deep breath and continued.
‘We first met in a tavern popular with Amsterdam merchants. They were both a little older than me, part of a group of traders. By the end of the evening I had drunk a great deal and was talking too much about making money.’
‘Hems and Gijs asked if I had heard about windhandel, the wind trade. It could make my fortune, they said. They could show me windhandel later that week, if I wished. I was intrigued and, two days later, we met at a different tavern. As soon as I entered, I sensed excitement and could hear someone shouting. We entered a low ceilinged back room, full of tobacco smoke and loud talk. Men sat huddled in groups while others ran from table to table carrying documents. Serving girls weaved past with flagons and platters of food. In one corner, two harassed clerks scribbled furiously at a desk, only pausing to soften red wax in the flame of a large candle. From time to time someone would stand and shout out a price, to no one in particular, and the chatter would increase. Hems and Gijs found a table and ordered food. They allowed me to study the room, watching my face. It was unlike any tavern I had seen yet there was something familiar about it.’
Elizabeth stood up.
‘Thomas, it is no good. The tension is too much. I must have a pipe. Do you mind?’
Before Tom could answer, Elizabeth reached over the books, selected a pipe and plunged its bowl into a small satin pouch on the waist of her dress. Within seconds she had worked the tobacco into the bowl with one hand while lighting a taper with the other.
‘Pray, continue’, she said, as she returned to her seat, plumes of smoke rising as the bowl glowed red. Elizabeth sat back, a picture of contented yet concerned concentration.
‘It took me a while to realise what was familiar. The tavern reminded me of the Royal Exchange, here in London.’
‘The Exchange where you trade your merchant goods? But that is enormous,’ Elizabeth said.
‘Yes, yes, but what was taking place was essentially the same. People moving from group to group, dealing trades—’
Elizabeth sat up and pointed the stem of her pipe at Tom ‘— and the clerks in the corner were recording the trades?… writing the contracts?’
‘— and sealing them with wax.’ Tom nodded. ‘It was the atmosphere. The excitement and anticipation, it was unmistakable. But there weren’t any goods. The Exchange is full of samples of what is being traded but, in this tavern, there was nothing to see. I asked Hems why; I will never forget his reply. He turned to me, his pale eyes alight with excitement, and said, “Because we trade in promises’’.’
Again Tom paused. Elizabeth’s pipe was finished but she didn’t seem to notice. Her gaze was fixed on Tom. ‘The promise of what?’
He bent forward and picked up the tulip from the table. The single crimson and white flower gently nodded on the end of its slender stem as he moved it carefully onto his lap. He slowly turned the pot, studying the bloom closely.
‘I will answer that but, first, let me tell you about the tulip. It was brought to the United Provinces from the land of the Ottomans over fifty years ago. In recent years the richest merchants in Amsterdam started competing to build the finest houses and grandest gardens, and the flower they sought above any other was the tulip, particularly when they had markings such as these.’
He gently stroked the outer petals of the Semper Augustus.
‘Are they not all like this?’ Elizabeth asked softly.
Her expression had changed as she watched Thomas examine the tulip with care.
‘No. Most have a single colour, usually red, yellow or white. But some varieties produce these wonderful splashes.’
He traced the white lines gently with the tip of his little finger.
‘They became the most prized and most expensive because they are the rarest. Producing these white markings weakens the plant and growing new plants from the original bulb can take as long as three years.’
Tom gently placed the plant back on the table and turned to Elizabeth.
‘The merchants began fighting over the two-colour varieties to adorn their new estates—the clearest symbol of wealth and success. However, only a limited number of bulbs were available and the traders who held propagation contracts for the next season’s stock realised they had a very valuable asset. Soon, a market was established, not in tulips, but in contracts to supply them in the following season.’
‘And that is what you walked into, in that Amsterdam tavern?’ Elizabeth asked.
‘Yes.’ Tom threw his head back and looked at the ceiling. He could do with a strong drink at this moment.
‘It seems hard to believe today, the fervour I witnessed that night. I did nothing during my first visit, but Gijs bought a contract for a small consignment of Violletten. They have white streaks like yours, but on a purple flower.’
Tom paused and looked Elizabeth in the eye. ‘He paid 800 florins for each bulb.’
Elizabeth looked blank. ‘Is that a lot?’
‘Enough to employ a master carpenter in Amsterdam for a year.’
‘800 for a single flower bulb? How many did he buy?’
‘His contract was for the supply of twenty bulbs. Enough to employ two master carpenters for a year.’
Elizabeth’s mouth opened but she said nothing.
‘But what was even more remarkable,’ Tom continued, ‘was that Gijs didn’t have the money to pay for it.’
Elizabeth discarded her finished pipe and reached quickly for another, filling it with the same fluid motion. For a minute there was silence, punctuated by the crackle of burning tobacco as she drew on the smoke.
‘This was against everything I had been taught by my father, to pay for goods you had not seen, to purchase at such an inflated price, and to sign and seal a deal knowing you lacked the funds to honour it. At the Exchange, a dealer’s word is his bond. If you ever defaulted on payment, your reputation would be destroyed. Yet there, in that tavern, it did not appear to matter. I decided I wanted nothing to do with
this windhandel. It was dangerous and dishonourable. But Gijs and Hems said I had only seen half of the story and begged me to return with them in two days’ time to witness the conclusion. I did not sleep much that night. How could a market operate with no goods and such inflated prices? And how would Gijs pay for his contract? I wanted to cut my ties with Hems and Gijs yet my curiosity would not allow it. I met them again in the tavern later that week. All was the same: the excitement, shouting and frantic scribbling at the clerks’ desks. Hems and Gijs followed proceedings very closely. Men were standing, offering selling prices chalked on pieces of slate. Gijs suddenly rose and strode rapidly to a table with a buying price written on his slate. Negotiations ensued with different prices written down and then rubbed off before Gijs rose again and walked to the clerk’s table with one of the sellers. Ten minutes later he returned to us, grinning broadly. I could not believe it. How could he buy more bulbs without any money? As Gijs approached, Hems gave him a questioning look. “870” Gijs replied, and Hems shook his hand vigorously and slapped him on the back.’
‘They were gambling,’ Elizabeth said flatly. ‘Gambling on the priceless beauty of a plant.’
‘Yes. Gijs had not bought bulbs. He had sold them. He bought the original contract knowing demand was increasing but supply could not. He waited several days before returning to the trading floor in the tavern. He assumed the price would rise and it did. Once he heard an offer that gave him a clear profit, he sold the contract to another trader, making seventy florins profit on each bulb.’
‘Seven hundred in total,’ Elizabeth added, her voice empty.
‘Soon the picture became clear,’ Tom continued, nodding. ‘Contracts were bought and sold so frequently it was not practical to demand payment at the time of each deal, particularly when sought-after bulbs, like this Semper Augustus, changed hands on a daily basis, sometimes being bought back by a trader as he saw the price rising again. So settlement was made at the end of each week.’
‘As long as you bought and sold within a week, you would simply clear the profit, without needing the funds to buy the contract in the first place,’ Elizabeth said, her brow starting to furrow.
‘Exactly. When Hems and Gijs told me how much they had banked in profit from an initial investment of nothing, I understood where the opportunity lay.’
‘Oh, Thomas. You didn’t? You started trading?’
‘Not to begin with. I was still cautious. The trading was unauthorised, not part of the Amsterdam Exchange. Uncle Jonas would not approve. But the weeks went by and the price continued to rise. I watched Hems and Gjis make thousands of florins as they dipped in and out of the market. They kept telling me I was missing out. Finally I cracked when I discovered that windhandel trading floors had opened in other cities in the Provinces. It seemed I was the only merchant not trading. I will never forget the day I made my first trade. It was the middle of January and I awoke determined to bid for a bulb contract that night. I was to accompany Uncle Jonas on a visit to his bankers that day and it was snowing heavily, blocking some roads. Would the bulb trading be called off? The meeting at the bank lasted forever but eventually I was able to leave. I ran to the tavern, slipping and falling in the drifting snow. I found Hems and Gijs at their regular table. They were delighted with my intention to trade and promised to help with my first transaction.’
‘That night I bought a contract for ten Rosen—white markings on a pale red background—and fifty Colouren. These were the single colour bulbs, much less expensive but also rising in price. My heart was beating like a hammer as I walked back to the table with my first contract in my hand. Hems and Gijs slapped me on the back, ordered wine and welcomed me to the windhandel club. And so it began. I traded the Rosen contract near the end of the week and made fifty florins profit on each bulb. Hems said I should have held out for a higher price but I was terrified of reaching settlement day still owning the contract. However, by the end of the month I had made four further trades and was beginning to accumulate a significant profit. Prices were increasing across the United Provinces as news spread. Then, early in February, prices soared again. Foreign money had entered the market, from France where tulips were also becoming increasingly fashionable. Soon tulips were all I could think of, when I was working for Uncle Jonas, eating at his table, or attempting to get some sleep in my room. The strain was getting to me, particularly when Jonas would rail against the disgraceful windhandel over dinner and I had to nod in agreement knowing that, directly above us, the trunk in my bedroom contained enough bulb contracts to buy his house.’
Tom paused. His mouth was dry at the memory of the fear he felt in Amsterdam. He picked up his mug and took a long draught of beer.
‘As the prices continued to surge, Hems visited me one morning in a state of great excitement. Several Amsterdam tulip merchants intended to take their profits and leave the market. They would make their final trades that night, and they would only be selling. Hems told them it was madness to leave but the merchants had made up their mind. They had accumulated enough money to charter another voyage to the spice islands and now they needed the funds. For that night, at least, prices would be held in check as these contracts came on the market and the number of buyers decreased. This temporary lull was a golden opportunity to acquire bulbs of the finest quality before French interest pushed up values again. One trader would be selling the rights to a consignment of Semper Augustus, the most prized bulb of all. If I was willing to offer a small percentage over the market value that night, I would acquire a number of the finest bulbs in the Provinces at an excellent price, as the French would be queuing at my table to trade by the end of the week. So that night I made the trade. I bought twenty Semper Augustus at… at 4,200 florins each.’
‘Oh my goodness, Thomas. How much is that in English coinage?’
‘Over £300 sterling. Yes, I know, for a single tulip bulb.’
‘More than £6,000 in total,’ Elizabeth whispered.
‘I went home but did not sleep for a moment. The next morning I was desperate to visit the tavern. I lied to Uncle Jonas, saying I needed to meet a potential spice trading connection. I can still feel the shame as he clapped me on the shoulder and said I had my father’s instinct for business. It was too soon to sell my bulbs but I was desperate to see how the market was trading. I went to the tavern in the middle of the day. Business was underway and prices were starting to push up. With huge relief, I returned to Uncle Jonas’s warehouse. I would leave it one more day at the most, then sell. The following morning we were checking stock in the warehouse so I could not visit the tavern. I was following one of the warehousemen down the stairs late in the afternoon when I looked past his shoulder and stopped. Uncle Jonas was talking to Hems at the warehouse entrance. I had been careful to keep these two parts of my Amsterdam life apart, so what was Hems doing there? Feeling numb, I moved forward in a daze and, as I reached the bottom step, both men turned to me. Hems was in shock. Uncle Jonas had a face of stone. I knew, in that moment, that my life had changed, forever.
‘Hems said the market had fallen heavily and I must sell right away. We both ran to the tavern but it was half-empty. Those in the room only wanted to sell. No-one was buying. People were cutting their prices but still there were no buyers. You could smell the panic. A dazed trader said the problem had started in Haarlem. Their trading floor had been as busy as Amsterdam but only a handful of traders turned up the previous day, all of them prospective sellers. By mid-afternoon they began to fear the worst. Later we discovered an outbreak of plague in Haarlem had kept many out-of-town buyers away, but no one knew this at the time.’
Elizabeth shook her head slowly but said nothing, her face pale and tense.
‘The Haarlem traders became desperate. Settlement was due within days, so several did the worst thing possible. They rode at first light the next morning to Amsterdam. They hoped they would find buyers in our tavern but instead succeeded in spreading the panic. When they heard the news from Haar
lem, potential buyers left the trading floor in droves, relieved both to have taken profits at the right time and eager not to mingle with visitors from a plague town. Only sellers were left, scrabbling around for deals. I spent three days trying to sell my Semper Augustus contract before settlement was due. The few traders who refused to believe in a total market collapse saw an opportunity to buy cheaply, but they could name their price. I was fortunate in one respect—my contract was for the best quality bulbs, so I was able to attract one such buyer and sell, but at a hefty loss.’
‘How much did you sell for?’ Elizabeth whispered.
‘I received 300 florins a bulb, and was lucky to get that. A week later the price was below 100 and then all trading was suspended.’
‘But that’s still a loss of almost 4,000 florins per bulb, 80,000 florins in total. Tom, given your figures earlier, that makes your remaining debt… over £5,800!’
The last words died in Elizabeth’s mouth as she realised the enormity of what she was saying.
‘What on earth did you do?’
‘When settlement day came, I had to pay, or rather my family did. There was no time to summon my father, so Uncle Jonas made the decision. He knew my father would not countenance a Tallant defaulting on a debt. His sister Beatrix was a Tallant, so neither would he. He went to his bankers and was able to raise a loan to cover the full amount. He had to provide one of his incoming ships and its spice cargo as security. I was consumed with shame. I had been a guest in his house and had completely abused his trust. A week later my father arrived. He immediately held a series of meetings with Jonas and his bankers and within days had transferred the debt to his account. To this day I do not know what he used to secure the loan. I left the next day for England. My father did not speak to me throughout the journey home. Four days and not a word. Two days after we returned he told me I was to work for him until every shilling of debt from my “tulip folly” had been repaid. The preparation for my eventual inheritance of the Tallant business was on hold until the debt had been settled. There was no discussion. It was not an offer I could refuse. That is why I currently run the warehouse, nothing more, nothing less. All profits from the trades I make pay off the debt.’