About orchids
by Frederick Boyle · English · Gutenberg #17155 · 342,463 chars · public domain (US)
The Project Gutenberg eBook of About orchids
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online
at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States,
you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located
before using this eBook.
Title: About orchids
a chat
Author: Frederick Boyle
Release date: November 26, 2005 [eBook #17155]
Most recently updated: December 13, 2020
Language: English
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/17155
Credits: Produced by Ben Beasley, Janet Blenkinship and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by the Digital & Multimedia Center, Michigan State
University Libraries.)
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ABOUT ORCHIDS ***
Produced by Ben Beasley, Janet Blenkinship and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by the Digital & Multimedia Center, Michigan State
University Libraries.)
[Illustration: VANDA SANDERIANA
Reduced to One Sixth.]
ABOUT ORCHIDS
_A CHAT_
BY
FREDERICK BOYLE
_WITH COLOURED ILLUSTRATIONS_
LONDON: CHAPMAN AND HALL, LTD.
1893
[_All rights reserved_]
LONDON:
PRINTED BY GILBERT AND RIVINGTON, LIMITED,
ST. JOHN'S HOUSE, CLERKENWELL, E.C.
I INSCRIBE
THIS BOOK TO MY GUIDE, COMFORTER
AND FRIEND,
JOSEPH GODSEFF.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
MY GARDENING 1
AN ORCHID SALE 24
ORCHIDS 42
COOL ORCHIDS 60
WARM ORCHIDS 103
HOT ORCHIDS 138
THE LOST ORCHID 173
AN ORCHID FARM 183
ORCHIDS AND HYBRIDIZING 210
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
PAGE
VANDA SANDERIANA _Frontispiece_
ODONTOGLOSSUM CRISPUM ALEXANDRÆ 67
ONCIDIUM MACRANTHUM 88
DENDROBIUM BRYMERIANUM 127
COELOGENE PANDURATA 160
CATTLEYA LABIATA 173
LOELIA ANCEPS SCHROEDERIANA 197
CYPRIPEDIUM (HYBRIDUM) POLLETTIANUM 210
PREFACE.
The purport of this book is shown in the letter following which I
addressed to the editor of the _Daily News_ some months ago:--
"I thank you for reminding your readers, by reference to my humble work,
that the delight of growing orchids can be enjoyed by persons of very
modest fortune. To spread that knowledge is my contribution to
philanthropy, and I make bold to say that it ranks as high as some which
are commended from pulpits and platforms. For your leader-writer is
inexact, though complimentary, in assuming that any 'special genius'
enables me to cultivate orchids without more expense than other
greenhouse plants entail, or even without a gardener. I am happy to know
that scores of worthy gentlemen--ladies too--not more gifted than their
neighbours in any sense, find no greater difficulty. If the pleasure of
one of these be due to any writings of mine, I have wrought some good in
my generation."
With the same hope I have collected those writings, dispersed and buried
more or less in periodicals. The articles in this volume are
collected--with permission which I gratefully acknowledge--from _The
Standard_, _Saturday Review_, _St. James's Gazette_, _National Review_,
and _Longman's Magazine_. With some pride I discover, on reading them
again, that hardly a statement needs correction, for they contain many
statements, and some were published years ago. But in this, as in other
lore, a student still gathers facts. The essays have been brought up to
date by additions--in especial that upon "Hybridizing," a theme which
has not interested the great public hitherto, simply because the great
public knows nothing about it. There is not, in fact, so far as I am
aware, any general record of the amazing and delightful achievements
which have been made therein of late years. It does not fall within my
province to frame such a record. But at least any person who reads this
unscientific account, not daunted by the title, will understand the
fascination of the study.
These essays profess to be no more than chat of a literary man about
orchids. They contain a multitude of facts, told in some detail where
such attention seems necessary, which can only be found elsewhere in
baldest outline if found at all. Everything that relates to orchids has
a charm for me, and I have learned to hold it as an article of faith
that pursuits which interest one member of the cultured public will
interest all, if displayed clearly and pleasantly, in a form to catch
attention at the outset. Savants and professionals have kept the
delights of orchidology to themselves as yet. They smother them in
scientific treatises, or commit them to dry earth burial in gardening
books. Very few outsiders suspect that any amusement could be found
therein. Orchids are environed by mystery, pierced now and again by a
brief announcement that something with an incredible name has been sold
for a fabulous number of guineas; which passing glimpse into an unknown
world makes it more legendary than before. It is high time such noxious
superstitions were dispersed. Surely, I think, this volume will do the
good work--if the public will read it.
The illustrations are reduced from those delightful drawings by Mr. Moon
admired throughout the world in the pages of "Reichenbachia." The
licence to use them is one of many favours for which I am indebted to
the proprietors of that stately work.
I do not give detailed instructions for culture. No one could be more
firmly convinced that a treatise on that subject is needed, for no one
assuredly has learned, by more varied and disastrous experience, to see
the omissions of the text-books. They are written for the initiated,
though designed for the amateur. Naturally it is so. A man who has been
brought up to business can hardly resume the utter ignorance of the
neophyte. Unconsciously he will take a certain degree of knowledge for
granted, and he will neglect to enforce those elementary principles
which are most important of all. Nor is the writer of a gardening book
accustomed, as a rule, to marshal his facts in due order, to keep
proportion, to assure himself that his directions will be exactly
understood by those who know nothing.
The brief hints in "Reichenbachia" are admirable, but one does not
cheerfully refer to an authority in folio. Messrs. Veitch's "Manual of
Orchidaceous Plants" is a model of lucidity and a mine of information.
Repeated editions of Messrs. B.S. Williams' "Orchid Growers' Manual"
have proved its merit, and, upon the whole, I have no hesitation in
declaring that this is the most useful work which has come under my
notice. But they are all adapted for those who have passed the
elementary stage.
Thus, if I have introduced few remarks on culture, it is not because I
think them needless. The reason may be frankly confessed. I am not sure
that my time would be duly paid. If this little book should reach a
second edition, I will resume once more the ignorance that was mine
eight years ago, and as a fellow-novice tell the unskilled amateur how
to grow orchids.
FREDERICK BOYLE.
North Lodge, Addiscombe, 1893.
ABOUT ORCHIDS.
MY GARDENING.
I.
The contents of my Bungalow gave material for some "Legends" which
perhaps are not yet universally forgotten. I have added few curiosities
to the list since that work was published. My days of travel seem to be
over; but in quitting that happiest way of life--not willingly--I have
had the luck to find another occupation not less interesting, and better
suited to grey hairs and stiffened limbs. This volume deals with the
appurtenances of my Bungalow, as one may say--the orchid-houses. But a
man who has almost forgotten what little knowledge he gathered in youth
about English plants does not readily turn to that higher branch of
horticulture. More ignorant even than others, he will cherish all the
superstitions and illusions which environ the orchid family.
Enlightenment is a slow process, and he will make many experiences
before perceiving his true bent. How I came to grow orchids will be told
in this first article.
The ground at my disposal is a quarter of an acre. From that tiny area
deduct the space occupied by my house, and it will be seen that myriads
of good people dwelling in the suburbs, whose garden, to put it
courteously, is not sung by poets, have as much land as I. The aspect is
due north--a grave disadvantage. Upon that side, from the house-wall to
the fence, I have forty-five feet, on the east fifty feet, on the south
sixty feet, on the west a mere _ruelle_. Almost every one who works out
these figures will laugh, and the remainder sneer. Here's a garden to
write about! That area might do for a tennis-court or for a general
meeting of Mr. Frederic Harrison's persuasion. You might kennel a pack
of hounds there, or beat a carpet, or assemble those members of the
cultured class who admire Mr. Gladstone. But grow flowers--roses--to cut
by the basketful, fruit to make jam for a jam-eating household the year
round, mushrooms, tomatoes, water-lilies, orchids; those Indian jugglers
who bring a mango-tree to perfection on your verandah in twenty minutes
might be able to do it, but not a consistent Christian. Nevertheless I
affirm that I have done all these things, and I shall even venture to
make other demands upon the public credulity.
When I first surveyed my garden sixteen years ago, a big Cupressus stood
before the front door, in a vast round bed one half of which would yield
no flowers at all, and the other half only spindlings. This was
encircled by a carriage-drive! A close row of limes, supported by more
Cupressus, overhung the palings all round; a dense little shrubbery hid
the back door; a weeping-ash, already tall and handsome, stood to
eastward. Curiously green and snug was the scene under these conditions,
rather like a forest glade; but if the space available be considered and
allowance be made for the shadow of all those trees, any tiro can
calculate the room left for grass and flowers--and the miserable
appearance of both. Beyond that dense little shrubbery the soil was
occupied with potatoes mostly, and a big enclosure for hens.
First I dug up the fine Cupressus. They told me such a big tree could
not possibly "move;" but it did, and it now fills an out-of-the-way
place as usefully as ornamentally. I suppressed the carriage-drive,
making a straight path broad enough for pedestrians only, and cut down a
number of the trees. The blessed sunlight recognized my garden once
more. Then I rooted out the shrubbery; did away with the fowl-house,
using its materials to build two little sheds against the back fence;
dug up the potato-garden--made _tabula rasa_, in fact; dismissed my
labourers, and considered. I meant to be my own gardener. But already,
sixteen years ago, I had a dislike of stooping. To kneel was almost as
wearisome. Therefore I adopted the system of raised beds--common enough.
Returning home, however, after a year's absence, I found my oak posts
decaying--unseasoned, doubtless, when put in. To prevent trouble of this
sort in future, I substituted drain-pipes set on end; the first of those
ideas which have won commendation from great authorities. Drain-pipes do
not encourage insects. Filled with earth, each bears a showy
plant--lobelia, pyrethrum, saxifrage, or what not, with the utmost
neatness, making a border; and they last eternally. But there was still
much stooping, of course, whilst I became more impatient of it. One day
a remedy flashed through my mind: that happy thought which became the
essence or principle of my gardening, and makes this account thereof
worth attention perhaps. Why not raise to a comfortable level all parts
of the area over which I had need to bend? Though no horticulturist,
perhaps, ever had such a thought before, expense was the sole objection
visible. Called away just then for another long absence, I gave orders
that no "dust" should leave the house; and found a monstrous heap on my
return. The road-contractors supplied "sweepings" at a shilling a load.
Beginning at the outskirts of my property, I raised a mound three feet
high and three feet broad, replanted the shrubs on the back edge, and
left a handsome border for flowers. So well this succeeded, so admirably
every plant throve in that compost, naturally drained and lifted to the
sunlight, that I enlarged my views.
The soil is gravel, peculiarly bad for roses; and at no distant day my
garden was a swamp, not unchronicled had we room to dwell on such
matters. The bit of lawn looked decent only at midsummer. I first
tackled the rose question. The bushes and standards, such as they were,
faced south, of course--that is, behind the house. A line of fruit-trees
there began to shade them grievously. Experts assured me that if I
raised a bank against these, of such a height as I proposed, they would
surely die; I paid no attention to the experts, nor did my fruit-trees.
The mound raised is, in fact, a crescent on the inner edge, thirty feet
broad, seventy feet between the horns, square at the back behind the
fruit-trees; a walk runs there, between it and the fence, and in the
narrow space on either hand I grow such herbs as one cannot easily
buy--chervil, chives, tarragon. Also I have beds of celeriac, and cold
frames which yield a few cucumbers in the summer when emptied of plants.
Not one inch of ground is lost in my garden.
The roses occupy this crescent. After sinking to its utmost now, the
bank stands two feet six inches above the gravel path. At that elevation
they defied the shadow for years, and for the most part they will
continue to do so as long as I feel any interest in their well-being.
But there is a space, the least important fortunately, where the shade,
growing year by year, has got the mastery. That space I have surrendered
frankly, covering it over with the charming saxifrage, _S. hypnoides_,
through which in spring push bluebells, primroses, and miscellaneous
bulbs, while the exquisite green carpet frames pots of scarlet geranium
and such bright flowers, movable at will. That saxifrage, indeed, is one
of my happiest devices. Finding that grass would not thrive upon the
steep bank of my mounds, I dotted them over with tufts of it, which have
spread, until at this time they are clothed in vivid green the year
round, and white as an untouched snowdrift in spring. Thus also the
foot-wide paths of my rose-beds are edged; and a neater or a lovelier
border could not be imagined.
With such a tiny space of ground the choice of roses is very important.
Hybrids take up too much room for general service. One must have a few
for colour; but the mass should be Teas, Noisettes, and, above all,
Bengals. This day, the second week in October, I can pick fifty roses;
and I expect to do so every morning till the end of the month in a sunny
autumn. They will be mostly Bengals; but there are two exquisite
varieties sold by Messrs. Paul--I forget which of them--nearly as free
flowering. These are Camoens and Mad. J. Messimy. They have a tint
unlike any other rose; they grow strongly for their class, and the bloom
is singularly graceful.
The tiny but vexatious lawn was next attacked. I stripped off the turf,
planted drain-pipes along the gravel walk, filled in with road-sweepings
to the level of their tops, and relaid the turf. It is now a little
picture of a lawn. Each drain-pipe was planted with a cutting of ivy,
which now form a beautiful evergreen roll beside the path. Thus as you
walk in my garden, everywhere the ground is more or less above its
natural level; raised so high here and there that you cannot look over
the plants which crown the summit. Any gardener at least will understand
how luxuriantly everything grows and flowers under such conditions.
Enthusiastic visitors declare that I have "scenery," and picturesque
effects, and delightful surprises, in my quarter-acre of ground!
Certainly I have flowers almost enough, and fruit, and perfect seclusion
also. Though there are houses all round within a few yards, you catch
but a glimpse of them at certain points while the trees are still
clothed. Those mounds are all the secret.
II.
I was my own gardener, and sixteen years ago I knew nothing whatever of
the business. The process of education was almost as amusing as
expensive; but that fashion of humour is threadbare. In those early days
I would have none of your geraniums, hardy perennials, and such common
things. Diligently studying the "growers'" catalogues, I looked out,
not novelties alone, but curious novelties. Not one of them "did any
good" to the best of my recollection. Impatient and disgusted, I formed
several extraordinary projects to evade my ignorance of horticulture.
Among others which I recollect was an idea of growing bulbs the year
round! No trouble with bulbs! you just plant them and they do their
duty. A patient friend at Kew made me a list of genera and species
which, if all went well, should flower in succession. But there was a
woeful gap about midsummer--just the time when gardens ought to be
brightest. Still, I resolved to carry out the scheme, so far as it went,
and forwarded my list to Covent Garden for an estimate of the expense.
It amounted to some hundreds of pounds. So that notion fell through.
But the patient friend suggested something for which I still cherish his
memory. He pointed out that bulbs look very formal mostly, unless
planted in great quantities, as may be done with the cheap sorts--tulips
and such. An undergrowth of low brightly-coloured annuals would correct
this disadvantage. I caught the hint, and I profit by it to this more
enlightened day. Spring bulbs are still a _spécialité_ of my gardening.
I buy them fresh every autumn--but of Messrs. Protheroe and Morris, in
Cheapside; not at the dealers'. Thus they are comparatively inexpensive.
After planting my tulips, narcissus, and such tall things, however, I
clothe the beds with forget-me-not or _Silene pendula_, or both, which
keep them green through the winter and form a dense carpet in spring.
Through it the bulbs push, and both flower at the same time. Thus my
brilliant tulips, snowy narcissus poeticus, golden daffodils, rise above
and among a sheet of blue or pink--one or the other to match their
hue--and look infinitely more beautiful on that ground colour. I venture
to say, indeed, that no garden on earth can be more lovely than mine
while the forget-me-not and the bulbs are flowering together. This may
be a familiar practice, but I never met with it elsewhere.
Another wild scheme I recollect. Water-plants need no attention. The
most skilful horticulturist cannot improve, the most ignorant cannot
harm them. I seriously proposed to convert my lawn into a tank two feet
deep lined with Roman cement and warmed by a furnace, there to grow
tropical nymphæa, with a vague "et cetera." The idea was not so
absolutely mad as the unlearned may think, for two of my relatives were
first and second to flower _Victoria Regia_ in the open-air--but they
had more than a few feet of garden. The chances go, in fact, that it
would have been carried through had I been certain of remaining in
England for the time necessary. Meanwhile I constructed two big tanks of
wood lined with sheet-zinc, and a small one to stand on legs. The
experts were much amused. Neither fish nor plant, they said, could live
in a zinc vessel. They proved to be right in the former case, but
utterly wrong in the latter--which, you will observe, is their special
domain. I grew all manner of hardy nymphæa and aquatics for years, until
my big tanks sprung a leak. Having learned by that time the ABC, at
least, of _terra-firma_ gardening, I did not trouble to have them
mended. On the contrary, making more holes, I filled the centre with
Pampas grass and variegated Eulalias, set lady-grass and others round,
and bordered the whole with lobelia--renewing, in fact, somewhat of the
spring effect. Next year, however, I shall plant them with _Anomatheca
cruenta_--quaintest of flowering grasses, if a grass it must be called.
This charming species from South Africa is very little known; readers
who take the hint will be grateful to me. They will find it decidedly
expensive bought by the plant, as growers prefer to sell. But, with a
little pressing seed may be obtained, and it multiplies fast. I find
_Anomatheca cruenta_ hardy in my sheltered garden.
The small tank on legs still remains, and I cut a few _Nymphæa odorata_
every year. But it is mostly given up to _Aponogeton distachyon_--the
"Cape lily." They seed very freely in the open; and if this tank lay in
the ground, long since their exquisite white flowers, so strange in
shape and so powerful of scent, would have stood as thick as blades of
grass upon it--such a lovely sight as was beheld in the garden of the
late Mr. Harrison, at Shortlands. But being raised two feet or so, with
a current of air beneath, its contents are frozen to a solid block, soil
and all, again and again, each winter. That a Cape plant should survive
such treatment seems incredible--contrary to all the books. But my
established Aponogeton do somehow; only the seedlings perish. Here again
is a useful hint, I trust. But evidently it would be better, if
convenient, to take the bulbs indoors before frost sets in.
Having water thus at hand, it very soon occurred to me to make war upon
the slugs by propagating their natural enemies. Those banks and borders
of _Saxifraga hypnoides_, to which I referred formerly, exact some
precaution of the kind. Much as every one who sees admires them, the
slugs, no doubt, are more enthusiastic still. Therefore I do not
recommend that idea, unless it be supplemented by some effective method
of combating a grave disadvantage. My own may not commend itself to
every one. Each spring I entrust some casual little boy with a pail; he
brings it back full of frog-spawn and receives sixpence. I speculate
sometimes with complacency how many thousand of healthy and industrious
batrachians I have reared and turned out for the benefit of my
neighbours. Enough perhaps, but certainly no more, remain to serve
me--that I know because the slugs give very little trouble in spite of
the most favourable circumstances. You can always find frogs in my
garden by looking for them, but of the thousands hatched every year,
ninety-nine per cent. must vanish. Do blackbirds and thrushes eat young
frogs? They are strangely abundant with me. But those who cultivate
tadpoles must look over the breeding-pond from time to time. My whole
batch was devoured one year by "devils"--the larvæ of _Dytiscus
marginalis_, the Plunger beetle. I have benefited, or at least have
puzzled my neighbours also by introducing to them another sort of frog.
Three years ago I bought twenty-five Hyloe, the pretty green tree
species, to dwell in my Odontoglossum house and exterminate the
insects. Every ventilator there is covered with perforated zinc--to
prevent insects getting in; but, by some means approaching the
miraculous, all my Hyloe contrived to escape. Several were caught in
the garden and put back, but again they found their way to the open-air;
and presently my fruit-trees became vocal. So far, this is the
experience of every one, probably, who has tried to keep green frogs.
But in my case they survived two winters--one which everybody
recollects, the most severe of this generation. My frogs sang merrily
through the summer; but all in a neighbour's garden. I am not acquainted
with that family; but it is cheering to think how much innocent
diversion I have provided for its members.
Pleasant also it is, by the way, to vindicate the character of green
frogs. I never heard them spoken of by gardeners but with contempt. Not
only do they persist in escaping; more than that, they decline to catch
insects, sitting motionless all day long--pretty, if you like, but
useless. The fact is, that all these creatures are nocturnal of habit.
Very few men visit their orchid-houses at night, as I do constantly.
They would see the frogs active enough then, creeping with wondrous
dexterity among the leaves, and springing like a green flash upon their
prey. Naturally, therefore, they do not catch thrips or mealy-bug or
aphis; these are too small game for the midnight sports-man. Wood-lice,
centipedes, above all, cockroaches, those hideous and deadly foes of the
orchid, are their victims. All who can keep them safe should have green
frogs by the score in every house which they do not fumigate.
I have come to the orchids at last. It follows, indeed, almost of
necessity that a man who has travelled much, an enthusiast in
horticulture, should drift into that branch as years advance. Modesty
would be out of place here. I have had successes, and if it please
Heaven, I shall win more. But orchid culture is not to be dealt with at
the end of an article.
III.
In the days of my apprenticeship I put up a big greenhouse: unable to
manage plants in the open-air, I expected to succeed with them under
unnatural conditions! These memories are strung together with the hope
of encouraging a forlorn and desperate amateur here or there; and surely
that confession will cheer him. However deep his ignorance, it could
not possibly be more finished than mine some dozen years ago; and yet I
may say, _Je suis arrivé_! What that greenhouse cost, "chilled
remembrance shudders" to recall; briefly, six times the amount, at
least, which I should find ample now. And it was all wrong when done;
not a trace of the original arrangement remains at this time, but there
are inherent defects. Nothing throve, of course--except the insects.
Mildew seized my roses as fast as I put them in; camellias dropped their
buds with rigid punctuality; azaleas were devoured by thrips; "bugs,"
mealy and scaly, gathered to the feast; geraniums and pelargoniums grew
like giants, but declined to flower. I consulted the local authority who
was responsible for the well-being of a dozen gardens in the
neighbourhood--an expert with a character to lose, from whom I bought
largely. Said he, after a thorough inspection: "This concrete floor
holds the water; you must have it swept carefully night and morning."
That worthy man had a large business. His advice was sought by scores of
neighbours like myself. And I tell the story as a warning; for he
represents no small section of his class. My plants wanted not less but
a great deal more water on that villainous concrete floor.
Despairing of horticulture indoors as out, I sometimes thought of
orchids. I had seen much of them in their native homes, both East and
West--enough to understand that their growth is governed by strict law.
Other plants--roses and so forth--are always playing tricks. They must
have this and that treatment at certain times, the nature of which could
not be precisely described, even if gardening books were written by men
used to carry all the points of a subject in their minds, and to express
exactly what they mean. Experience alone, of rather a dirty and
uninteresting class, will give the skill necessary for success. And then
they commit villanies of ingratitude beyond explanation. I knew that
orchids must be quite different. Each class demands certain conditions
as a preliminary: if none of them can be provided, it is a waste of
money to buy plants. But when the needful conditions are present, and
the poor things, thus relieved of a ceaseless preoccupation, can attend
to business, it follows like a mathematical demonstration that if you
treat them in such and such a way, such and such results will assuredly
ensue. I was not aware then that many defy the most patient analysis of
cause and effect. That knowledge is familiar now; but it does not touch
the argument. Those cases also are governed by rigid laws, which we do
not yet understand.
Therefore I perceived or suspected, at an early date, that orchid
culture is, as one may say, the natural province of an intelligent and
enthusiastic amateur who has not the technical skill required for
growing common plants. For it is brain-work--the other mechanical. But I
shared the popular notion--which seems so very absurd now--that they are
costly both to purchase and to keep: shared it so ingenuously that I
never thought to ask myself how or why they could be more expensive,
after the first outlay, than azaleas or gardenias. And meanwhile I was
laboriously and impatiently gathering some comprehension of the ordinary
plants. It was accident which broke the spell of ignorance. Visiting
Stevens' Auction Rooms one day to buy bulbs, I saw a _Cattleya Mossiæ_,
in bloom, which had not found a purchaser at the last orchid sale. A
lucky impulse tempted me to ask the price. "Four shillings," said the
invaluable Charles. I could not believe it--there must be a mistake: as
if Charles ever made a mistake in his life! When he repeated the price,
however, I seized that precious Cattleya, slapped down the money, and
fled with it along King Street, fearing pursuit. Since no one followed,
and Messrs. Stevens did not write within the next few days reclaiming
my treasure, I pondered the incident calmly. Perhaps they had been
selling bankrupt stock, and perhaps they often do so. Presently I
returned.
"Charles!" I said, "you sold me a _Cattleya Mossiæ_ the other day."
Charles, in shirt-sleeves of course, was analyzing and summing up half a
hundred loose sheets of figures, as calm and sure as a calculating
machine. "I know I did, sir," he replied, cheerfully.
"It was rather dear, wasn't it?" I said.
"That's your business, sir," he laughed.
"Could I often get an established plant of _Cattleya Mossiæ_ in flower
for 4s.?" I asked.
"Give me the order, and I'll supply as many as you are likely to want
within a month."
That was a revelation; and I tell the little story because I know it
will be a revelation to many others. People hear of great sums paid for
orchids, and they fancy that such represent only the extreme limits of
an average. In fact, they have no relation whatsoever to the ordinary
price. One of our largest general growers, who has but lately begun
cultivating those plants, tells me that half-a-crown is the utmost he
has paid for Cattleyas and Dendrobes, one shilling for Odontoglots and
Oncidiums. At these rates he has now a fine collection, many turning up
among the lot for which he asks, and gets, as many pounds as the pence
he gave. For such are imported, of course, and sold at auction as they
arrive. This is not an article on orchids, but on "My Gardening," or I
could tell some extraordinary tales. Briefly, I myself once bought a
case two feet long, a foot wide, half-full of Odontoglossums for 8s. 6d.
They were small bits, but perfect in condition. Of the fifty-three
pots they made, not one, I think, has been lost. I sold the less
valuable some years ago, when established and tested, at a fabulous
profit. Another time I bought three "strings" of _O. Alexandræ_, the
Pacho variety, which is finest, for 15s. They filled thirty-six pots,
some three to a pot, for I could not make room for them all singly.
Again--but this is enough. I only wish to demonstrate, for the service
of very small amateurs like myself, that costliness at least is no
obstacle if they have a fancy for this culture: unless, of course, they
demand wonders and "specimens."
That _Cattleya Mossiæ_, was my first orchid, bought in 1884. It dwindled
away, and many another followed it to limbo; but I knew enough, as has
been said, to feel neither surprised nor angry. First of all, it is
necessary to understand the general conditions, and to secure them.
Books give little help in this stage of education; they all lack detail
in the preliminaries. I had not the good fortune to come across a friend
or a gardener who grasped what was wrong until I found out for myself.
For instance, no one told me that the concrete flooring of my house was
a fatal error. When, a little disheartened, I made a new one, by glazing
that _ruelle_ mentioned in the preliminary survey of my garden, they
allowed me to repeat it. Ingenious were my contrivances to keep the air
moist, but none answered. It is not easy to find a material trim and
clean which can be laid over concrete, but unless one can discover such,
it is useless to grow orchids. I have no doubt that ninety-nine cases of
failure in a hundred among amateurs are due to an unsuitable flooring.
Glazed tiles, so common, are infinitely worst of all. May my experience
profit others in like case!
Looking over the trade list of a man who manufactures orchid-pots one
day, I observed, "Sea-sand for Garden Walks," and the preoccupation of
years was dissipated. Sea-sand will hold water, yet will keep a firm,
clean surface; it needs no rolling, does not show footprints nor muddy a
visitor's boots. By next evening the floors were covered therewith six
inches deep, and forthwith my orchids began to flourish--not only to
live. Long since, of course, I had provided a supply of water from the
main to each house for "damping down." All round them now a leaden pipe
was fixed, with pin-holes twelve inches apart, and a length of
indiarubber hose at the end to fix upon the "stand-pipe." Attaching
this, I turn the cock, and from each tiny hole spurts forth a jet, which
in ten minutes will lay the whole floor under water, and convert the
house into a shallow pond; but five minutes afterwards not a sign of the
deluge is visible. Then I felt the joys of orchid culture. Much remained
to learn--much still remains. We have some five thousand species in
cultivation, of which an alarming number demand some difference of
treatment if one would grow them to perfection. The amateur does not
easily collect nor remember all this, and he is apt to be daunted if he
inquire too deeply before "letting himself go." Such in especial I would
encourage. Perfection is always a noble aim; but orchids do not exact
it--far from that! The dear creatures will struggle to fulfil your
hopes, to correct your errors, with pathetic patience. Give them but a
chance, and they will await the progress of your education. That chance
lies, as has been said, in the general conditions--the degree of
moisture you can keep in the air, the ventilation, and the light. These
secured, you may turn up the books, consult the authorities, and
gradually accumulate the knowledge which will enable you to satisfy the
preferences of each class. So, in good time, you may enjoy such a thrill
of pleasure as I felt the other day when a great pundit was good enough
to pay me a call. He entered my tiny Odontoglossum house, looked round,
looked round again, and turned to me. "Sir," he said, "we don't call
this an amateur's collection!"
I have jotted down such hints of my experience as may be valuable to
others, who, as Juvenal put it, own but a single lizard's run of earth.
That space is enough to yield endless pleasure, amusement, and indeed
profit, if a man cultivate it himself. Enthusiast as I am, I would not
accept another foot of garden.[1]
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 1: It is not inappropriate to record that when these articles
were published in the _St. James' Gazette_, the editor received several
communications warning him that his contributor was abusing his good
faith--to put it in the mild French phrase. Happily, my friend was able
to reply that he could personally vouch for the statements.]
AN ORCHID SALE.
Shortly after noon on a sale day, the habitual customers of Messrs.
Protheroe and Morris begin to assemble in Cheapside. On tables of
roughest plank round the auction-rooms there, are neatly ranged the
various lots; bulbs and sticks of every shape, big and little, withered
or green, dull or shining, with a brown leaf here and there, or a mass
of roots dry as last year's bracken. No promise do they suggest of the
brilliant colours and strange forms buried in embryo within their
uncouth bulk. On a cross table stand some dozens of "established" plants
in pots and baskets, which the owners would like to part with. Their
growths of this year are verdant, but the old bulbs look almost as
sapless as those new arrivals. Very few are in flower just now--July
and August are a time of pause betwixt the glories of the Spring
and the milder effulgence of Autumn. Some great Dendrobes--_D.
Dalhousianum_--are bursting into untimely bloom, betraying to the
initiated that their "establishment" is little more than a phrase. Those
garlands of bud were conceived, so to speak, in Indian forests, have
lain dormant through the long voyage, and began to show a few days since
when restored to a congenial atmosphere. All our interest concentrates
in the unlovely things along the wall.
The habitual attendants at an auction-room are always somewhat of a
family party, but, as a rule, an ugly one. It is quite different with
the regular group of orchid-buyers. No black sheep there. A dispute is
the rarest of events, and when it happens everybody takes for granted
that the cause is a misunderstanding. The professional growers are men
of wealth, the amateurs men of standing at least. All know each other,
and a cheerful familiarity rules. We have a duke in person frequently,
who compares notes and asks a hint from the authorities around; some
clergymen; gentry of every rank; the recognized agents of great
cultivators, and, of course, the representatives of the large trading
firms. So narrow even yet is the circle of orchidaceans that almost all
the faces at a sale are recognized, and if one wish to learn the names,
somebody present can nearly always supply them. There is reason to hope
that this will not be the case much longer. As the mysteries and
superstitions environing the orchid are dispersed, our small and select
throng of buyers will be swamped, no doubt; and if a certain pleasing
feature of the business be lost, all who love the flower and their
fellow-men alike will cheerfully submit.
The talk is of orchids mostly, as these gentlemen stroll along the
tables, lifting a root and scrutinizing it with practised glance that
measures its vital strength in a second. But nurserymen take advantage
of the gathering to show any curious or striking flower they chance to
have at the moment. Mr. Bull's representative goes round, showing to one
and another the contents of a little box--a lovely bloom of
_Aristolochia elegans_, figured in dark red on white ground like a
sublime cretonne--and a new variety of Impatiens; he distributes the
latter presently, and gentlemen adorn their coats with the pale crimson
flower.
Excitement does not often run so high as in the times, which most of
those present can recall, when orchids common now were treasured by
millionaires. Steam, and the commercial enterprise it fosters, have so
multiplied our stocks, that shillings--or pence, often enough--represent
the guineas of twenty years back. There are many here, scarcely yet
grey, who could describe the scene when _Masdevallia Tovarensis_ first
covered the stages of an auction-room. Its dainty white flowers had been
known for several years. A resident in the German colony at Tovar, New
Granada, sent one plant to a friend at Manchester, by whom it was
divided. Each fragment brought a great sum, and the purchasers repeated
this operation as fast as their morsels grew. Thus a conventional price
was established--one guinea per leaf. Importers were few in those days,
and the number of Tovars in South America bewildered them. At length
Messrs. Sander got on the track, and commissioned Mr. Arnold to solve
the problem. Arnold was a man of great energy and warm temper. Legend
reports that he threw up the undertaking once because a gun offered him
was second-hand; his prudence was vindicated afterwards by the
misfortune of a _confrère_, poor Berggren, whose second-hand gun,
presented by a Belgian employer, burst at a critical moment and crippled
him for life. At the very moment of starting, Arnold had trouble with
the railway officials. He was taking a quantity of Sphagnum moss in
which to wrap the precious things, and they refused to let him carry it
by passenger train. The station-master at Waterloo had never felt the
atmosphere so warm, they say. In brief, this was a man who stood no
nonsense.
A young fellow-passenger showed much sympathy while the row went on, and
Arnold learned with pleasure that he also was bound for Caraccas. This
young man, whose name it is not worth while to cite, presented himself
as agent for a manufacturer of Birmingham goods. There was no need for
secrecy with a person of that sort. He questioned Arnold about orchids
with a blank but engaging ignorance of the subject, and before the
voyage was over he had learned all his friend's hopes and projects. But
the deception could not be maintained at Caraccas. There Arnold
discovered that the hardware agent was a collector and grower of orchids
sufficiently well known. He said nothing, suffered his rival to start,
overtook him at a village where the man was taking supper, marched in,
barred the door, sat down opposite, put a revolver on the table, and
invited him to draw. It should be a fair fight, said Arnold, but one of
the pair must die. So convinced was the traitor of his earnestness--with
good reason, too, as Arnold's acquaintances declare--that he slipped
under the table, and discussed terms of abject surrender from that
retreat. So, in due time, Messrs. Sander received more than forty
thousand plants of _Masdevallia Tovarensis_--sent them direct to the
auction-room--and drove down the price in one month from a guinea a leaf
to the fraction of a shilling.
Other great sales might be recalled, as that of _Phaloenopsis Sanderiana_
and _Vanda Sanderiana_, when a sum as yet unparalleled was taken in the
room; _Cypripedium Spicerianum_, _Cyp. Curtisii_, _Loelia anceps alba_.
Rarely now are we thrilled by sensations like these. But 1891 brought
two of the old-fashioned sort, the reappearance of _Cattleya labiata
autumnalis_ and the public sale of _Dendrobium phaloenopsis
Schroderianum_. The former event deserves a special article, "The Lost
Orchid;" but the latter also was most interesting. Messrs. Sander are
the heroes of both. _Dendrobium ph. Schroederianum_ was not quite a
novelty. The authorities of Kew obtained two plants from an island in
Australasia a good many years ago. They presented a piece to Mr. Lee of
Leatherhead, and another to Baron Schroeder; when Mr. Lee's grand
collection was dispersed, the Baron bought his plant also, for £35, and
thus possessed the only specimens in private hands. His name was given
to the species.
Under these conditions, the man lucky and enterprising enough to secure
a few cases of the Dendrobium might look for a grand return. It seemed
likely that New Guinea would prove to be its chief habitat, and thither
Mr. Micholitz was despatched. He found it without difficulty, and
collected a great number of plants. But then troubles began. The vessel
which took them aboard caught fire in port, and poor Micholitz escaped
with bare life. He telegraphed the disastrous news, "Ship burnt! What
do?" "Go back," replied his employer. "Too late. Rainy season," was the
answer. "Go back!" Mr. Sander repeated. Back he went.
This was in Dutch territory. "Well," writes Mr. Micholitz, "there is no
doubt these are the meanest people on earth. On my telling them that it
was very mean to demand anything from a shipwrecked man, they gave me
thirty per cent. deduction on my passage"--201 dollars instead of 280
dollars. However, he reached New Guinea once more and tried fresh
ground, having exhausted the former field. Again he found the
Dendrobiums, of better quality and in greater number than before. But
they were growing among bones and skeletons, in the graveyard of the
natives. Those people lay their dead in a slight coffin, which they
place upon the rocks just above high tide, a situation which the
Dendrobes love. Mr. Micholitz required all his tact and all his most
attractive presents before he could persuade the Papuans to let him even
approach. But brass wire proved irresistible. They not only suffered him
to disturb the bones of their ancestors, but even helped him to stow the
plunder. One condition they made: that a favourite idol should be packed
therewith; this admitted, they performed a war dance round the cases,
and assisted in transporting them. All went well this time, and in due
course the tables were loaded with thousands of a plant which, before
the consignment was announced, had been the special glory of a
collection which is among the richest of the universe.
There were two memorable items in this sale: the idol aforesaid and a
skull to which one of the Dendrobes had attached itself. Both were
exhibited as trophies and curiosities, not to be disposed of; but by
mistake, the idol was put up. It fetched only a trifle--quite as much as
it was worth, however. But Hon. Walter de Rothschild fancied it for his
museum, and on learning what had happened Mr. Sander begged the
purchaser to name his own price. That individual refused.
It was a great day indeed. Very many of the leading orchid-growers of
the world were present, and almost all had their gardeners or agents
there. Such success called rivals into the field, but New Guinea is a
perilous land to explore. Only last week we heard that Mr. White, of
Winchmore Hill, has perished in the search for _Dendrobium ph.
Schroederianum_.
I mentioned the great sale of _Cyp. Curtisi_ just now. An odd little
story attaches to it. Mr. Curtis, now Director of the Botanic Gardens,
Penang, sent this plant home from Sumatra when travelling for Messrs.
Veitch, in 1882. The consignment was small, no more followed, and _Cyp.
Curtisi_ became a prize. Its habitat was unknown. Mr. Sander instructed
his collector to look for it. Five years the search lasted--with many
intermissions, of course, and many a success in discovering other fine
things. But Mr. Ericksson despaired at last. In one of his expeditions
to Sumatra he climbed a mountain--it has been observed before that one
must not ask details of locality when collecting orchid legends. So well
known is this mountain, however, that the Government, Dutch I presume,
has built a shelter for travellers upon it. There Mr. Ericksson put up
for the night. Several Europeans had inscribed their names upon the
wall, with reflections and sentiments, as is the wont of people who
climb mountains. Among these, by the morning light, Mr. Ericksson
perceived the sketch of a Cypripedium, as he lay upon his rugs. It
represented a green flower, white tipped, veined and spotted with
purple, purple of lip. "_Curtisi_, by Jove!" he cried, in his native
Swedish, and jumped up. No doubt of it! Beneath the drawing ran: "C.C.'s
contribution to the adornment of this house." Whipping out his pencil,
Mr. Ericksson wrote: "Contribution accepted. Cypripedium
collected!--C.E." But day by day he sought the plant in vain. His cases
filled with other treasures. But for the hope that sketch conveyed, long
since he would have left the spot. After all, Mr. Curtis might have
chosen the flower by mere chance to decorate the wall. The natives did
not know it. So orders were given to pack, and next day Mr. Ericksson
would have withdrawn. On the very evening, however, one of his men
brought in the flower. A curious story, if one think, but I am in a
position to guarantee its truth.
Of another class, but not less renowned in its way, was the sale of
March 11th last year. It had been heavily advertised. A leading
continental importer announced the discovery of a new Odontoglossum. No
less than six varieties of type were employed to call public attention
to its merits, and this was really no extravagant allowance under the
circumstances alleged. It was a "grand new species," destined to be a
"gem in the finest collections," a "favourite," the "most attractive of
plants." Its flowers were wholly "tinged with a most delicate mauve, the
base of the segment and the lip of a most charming violet"--in short, it
was "the blue Odontoglossum" and well deserved the title _coeleste_.
And the whole stock of two hundred plants would be offered to British
enthusiasm. No wonder the crowd was thick at Messrs. Protheroe's room on
that March morning. Few leading amateurs or growers who could not attend
in person were unrepresented. At the psychological moment, when
eagerness had reached the highest pitch, an orchid was brought in and
set before them. Those experienced persons glanced at it and said, "Very
nice, but haven't you an _Odontoglossum coeleste_ to show?" The
unhappy agent protested that this was the divine thing. No one would
believe at first; the joke was too good--to put it in that mild form.
When at length it became evident that this grand new species, heavenly
gem, &c., was the charming but familiar _Odontoglossum ramossissimum_,
such a tumult of laughter and indignation arose, that Messrs. Protheroe
quashed the sale. A few other instances of the kind might be given but
none so grand.
The special interest of the sale to us lies in some novelties collected
by Mr. Edward Wallace in parts unknown, and he is probably among us. Mr.
Wallace has no adventures in particular to relate this time, but he
tells, with due caution, where and how his treasures were gathered in
South America. There is a land which those who have geographical
knowledge sufficient may identify, surrounded by the territories of
Peru, Ecuador, Colombia, Venezuela, and Brazil. It is traversed by some
few Indian tribes, and no collector hitherto had penetrated it. Mr.
Wallace followed the central line of mountains from Colombia for a
hundred and fifty miles, passing a succession of rich valleys described
as the loveliest ever seen by this veteran young traveller, such as
would support myriads of cattle. League beyond league stretches the
"Pajadena grass," pasturage unequalled; but "the wild herds that never
knew a fold" are its only denizens. Here, on the mountain slopes, Mr.
Wallace found _Bletia Sherrattiana_, the white form, very rare; another
terrestrial orchid, unnamed and, as is thought, unknown, which sends up
a branching spike two feet to three feet high, bearing ten to twelve
flowers, of rich purple hue, in shape like a Sobralia, three and four
inches across; and yet another of the same family, growing on the rocks,
and "looking like masses of snow on the hill-side." Such descriptions
are thrilling, but these gentlemen receive them placidly; they would
like to know, perhaps, what is the reserve price on such fine things,
and what the chance of growing them to a satisfactory result. Dealers
have a profound distrust of novelties, especially those of terrestrial
genus; and their feeling is shared, for a like reason, by most who have
large collections. Mr. Burbidge estimates roughly that we have fifteen
hundred to two thousand species and varieties of orchid in cultivation;
a startling figure, which almost justifies the belief of those who hold
that no others worth growing will be found in countries already
explored. But beyond question there are six times this number in
existence, which collectors have not taken the trouble to gather. The
chances, therefore, are against any new thing. Many species well known
show slight differences of growth in different localities. Upon the
whole, regular orchidaceans prefer that some one else should try
experiments, and would rather pay a good price, when assured that it is
worth their while, than a few shillings when the only certainty is
trouble and the strong probability is failure. Mr. Wallace has nothing
more to tell of the undiscovered country. The Indians received him with
composure, after he had struck up friendship with an old woman, and for
the four days of his stay made themselves both useful and agreeable in
their fashion.
The auctioneer has been chatting among his customers. He feels an
interest in his wares, as who would not that dealt in objects of the
extremest beauty and fascination? To him are consigned occasionally
plants of unusual class, which the owner regards as unique, and expects
to sell at the fanciest of prices. Unique indeed they must be which can
pass unchallenged the ordeal of those keen and learned eyes. _Plumeria
alba_, for instance, may be laid before them, and by no inexperienced
horticulturist, with such a "reserve" as befits one of the most
exquisite flowers known, and the only specimen in England. But a quiet
smile goes round, and a gentleman present offers, in an audible whisper,
to send in a dozen of that next week at a fraction of the price. So
pleasant chat goes on, until, at the stroke of half-past twelve, the
auctioneer mounts his rostrum. First to come before him are a hundred
lots of _Odontoglossum crispum Alexandræ_, described as of "the very
best type, and in splendid condition." For the latter point everyone
present is able to judge, and for the former all are willing to accept
the statements of vendors. The glossy bulbs are clean as new pins, with
the small "eye" just bursting among their roots; but nobody seems to
want _Odontoglossum Alexandræ_ in particular. One neat little bunch is
sold for 11s., which will surely bear a wreath of white flowers,
splashed with red brown, in the spring--perhaps two. And then bidding
ceases. The auctioneer exclaims, "Does anybody want any _crispums_?" and
instantly passes by the ninety-nine lots remaining.
It would mislead the unlearned public, and would not greatly interest
them, to go through the catalogue of an orchid sale and quote the
selling price of every lot. From week to week the value of these things
fluctuates--that is, of course, of bulbs imported and unestablished.
Various circumstances effect it, but especially the time of year. They
sell best in spring, when they have months of light and sun before them,
in which to recover from the effects of a long voyage and uncomfortable
quarters. The buyer must make them grow strong before the dark days of
an English winter are upon him; and every month that passes weakens his
chance. In August it is already late; in September, the periodical
auctions ceased until lately. Some few consignments will be received,
detained by accident, or forwarded by persons who do not understand the
business.
That instance of _Odontoglossum Alexandræ_ shows well enough the price
of orchids this month, and the omission of all that followed illustrates
it. The same lots would have been eagerly contested at twice the sum in
April. But those who want that queenliest of flowers may get it for
shillings at any time. The reputation of the importer, and his assurance
that the plants belong to the very best type, give these more value than
usual. He will try his luck once more perhaps this season; and then he
will pot the bulbs unsold to offer them as "established" next year.
_Oncidium luridum_ follows the Odontoglots, a broad-leaved, handsome
orchid, which the untrained eye might think to have no pseudo-bulb at
all. This species always commands a sale, if cheap, and ten shillings is
a reasonable figure for a piece of common size. If all go well, it may
throw out a branching spike six or seven feet long next summer,
with--such a sight has been offered--several hundred blooms, yellow,
brown and orange, _Oncidium juncifolium_, which comes next, is unknown
to us, and probably to others; no offer is made for its reed-like
growths described as "very free blooming all the year round, with small
yellow flowers." _Epidendrum bicornutum_, on the other hand, is very
well known and deeply admired, when seen; but this is an event too rare.
The description of its exquisite white blossoms, crimson spotted on the
lip, is still rather a legend than a matter of eye-witness. Somebody is
reported to have grown it for some years "like a cabbage;" but his
success was a mystery to himself. At Kew they find no trouble in certain
parts of a certain house. Most of these, however, are fine growths, and
the average price should be 12s. 6d. to 15s. Compare such figures with
those that ruled when the popular impression of the cost of orchids was
forming. I have none at hand which refer to the examples mentioned, but
in the cases following, one may safely reckon shillings at the present
day for pounds in 1846. That year, I perceive, such common species as
_Barkeria spectabilis_ fetched 5l. to 17l. each; _Epidendrum
Stamfordianum_, five guineas; _Dendrobium formosum_, fifteen guineas;
_Aerides maculosum_, _crispum_ and _odoratum_ 20l., 21l., and
16l., respectively. No one who understands orchids will believe that
the specimens which brought such monstrous prices were superior in any
respect to those we now receive, and he will be absolutely sure that
they were landed in much worse condition. But the average cost of the
most expensive at the present day might be 30s., and only a large
piece would fetch that sum. It is astonishing to me that so few people
grow orchids. Every modern book on gardening tells how five hundred
varieties at least, the freest to flower and assuredly as beautiful as
any, may be cultivated without heat for seven or eight months of the
year. It is those "legends," I have spoken of which deter the public
from entertaining the notion. An afternoon at an orchid sale would
dispel them.
ORCHIDS.
There is no room to deal with this great subject historically,
scientifically, or even practically, in the space of a chapter. I am an
enthusiast, and I hold some strong views, but this is not the place to
urge them. It is my purpose to ramble on, following thoughts as they
arise, yet with a definite aim. The skilled reader will find nothing to
criticize, I hope, and the indifferent, something to amuse.
Those amiable theorists who believe that the resources of Nature, if
they be rightly searched, are able to supply every wholesome want the
fancy of man conceives, have a striking instance in the case of orchids.
At the beginning of this century, the science of floriculture, so far as
it went, was at least as advanced as now. Under many disadvantages which
we escape--the hot-air flue especially, and imperfect means of
ventilation--our fore-fathers grew the plants known to them quite as
well as we do. Many tricks have been discovered since, but for lasting
success assuredly our systems are no improvement. Men interested in such
matters began to long for fresh fields, and they knew where to look.
Linnæus had told them something of exotic orchids in 1763, though his
knowledge was gained through dried specimens and drawings. One bulb,
indeed--we spare the name--showed life on arrival, had been planted, and
had flowered thirty years before, as Mr. Castle shows. Thus
horticulturists became aware, just when the information was most
welcome, that a large family of plants unknown awaited their attention;
plants quite new, of strangest form, of mysterious habits, and beauty
incomparable. Their notions were vague as yet, but the fascination of
the subject grew from year to year. Whilst several hundred species were
described in books, the number in cultivation, including all those
gathered by Sir Joseph Banks, and our native kinds, was only fifty. Kew
boasted no more than one hundred and eighteen in 1813; amateurs still
watched in timid and breathless hope.
Gradually they came to see that the new field was open, and they entered
with a rush. In 1830 a number of collections still famous in the legends
of the mystery are found complete. At the Orchid Conference, Mr. O'Brien
expressed a "fear that we could not now match some of the specimens
mentioned at the exhibitions of the Horticultural Society in Chiswick
Gardens between 1835 and 1850;" and extracts which he gave from reports
confirm this suspicion. The number of species cultivated at that time
was comparatively small. People grew magnificent "specimens" in place of
many handsome pots. We read of things amazing to the experience of forty
years later. Among the contributions of Mrs. Lawrence, mother to our
"chief," Sir Trevor, was an Aerides with thirty to forty flower spikes;
a Cattleya with twenty spikes; an _Epidendrum bicornutum_, difficult to
keep alive, much more to bloom, until the last few years, with "many
spikes;" an Oncidium, "bearing a head of golden flowers four feet
across." Giants dwelt in our greenhouses then.
So the want of enthusiasts was satisfied. In 1852 Mr. B.S. Williams
could venture to publish "Orchids for the Million," a hand-book of
world-wide fame under the title it presently assumed, "The Orchid
Grower's Manual." An occupation or amusement the interest of which grows
year by year had been discovered. All who took trouble to examine found
proof visible that these masterworks of Nature could be transplanted and
could be made to flourish in our dull climate with a regularity and a
certainty unknown to them at home. The difficulties of their culture
were found to be a myth--we speak generally, and this point must be
mentioned again. The "Million" did not yet heed Mr. Williams'
invitation, but the Ten Thousand did, heartily.
I take it that orchids meet a craving of the cultured soul which began
to be felt at the moment when kindly powers provided means to satisfy
it. People of taste, unless I err, are tiring of those conventional
forms in which beauty has been presented in all past generations. It may
be an unhealthy sentiment, it may be absurd, but my experience is that
it exists and must be taken into account. A picture, a statue, a piece
of china, any work of art, is eternally the same, however charming. The
most one can do is to set it in different positions, different lights.
Théophile Gautier declared in a moment of frank impatience that if the
Transfiguration hung in his study, he would assuredly find blemishes
therein after awhile--quite fanciful and baseless, as he knew, but such,
nevertheless, as would drive him to distraction presently. I entertain a
notion, which may appear very odd to some, that Gautier's influence on
the æsthetic class of men has been more vigorous than that of any other
teacher; thousands who never read a line of his writing are
unconsciously inspired by him. The feeling that gave birth to his
protest nearly two generations since is in the air now. Those who own a
collection of art, those who have paid a great sum for pictures, will
not allow it, naturally. As a rule, indeed, a man looks at his fine
things no more than at his chairs and tables. But he who is best able to
appreciate good work, and loves it best when he sees it, is the one who
grows restless when it stands constantly before him.
"Oh, that those lips had language!" cried Cowper. "Oh, that those lovely
figures would combine anew--change their light--do anything, anything!"
cries the æsthete after awhile. "Oh, that the wind would rise upon that
glorious sea; the summer green would fade to autumn yellow; that night
would turn to day, clouds to sunshine, or sunshine to clouds." But the
_littera scripta manet_--the stroke of the brush is everlasting. Apollo
always bends the bow in marble. One may read a poem till it is known by
heart, and in another second the familiar words strike fresh upon the
ear. Painters lay a canvas aside, and presently come to it, as they say,
with a new eye; but a purchaser once seized with this desperate malady
has no such refuge. After putting his treasure away for years, at the
first glance all his satiety returns. I myself have diagnosed a case
where a fine drawing by Gerôme grew to be a veritable incubus. It is
understood that the market for pictures is falling yearly. I believe
that the growth of this dislike to the eternal stillness of a painted
scene is a chief cause of the disaster. It operates among the best class
of patrons.
For such men orchids are a blessed relief. Fancy has not conceived such
loveliness, complete all round, as theirs--form, colour, grace,
distribution, detail, and broad effect. Somewhere, years ago--in Italy
perhaps, but I think at the Taylor Institution, Oxford--I saw the
drawings made by Rafaelle for Leo X. of furniture and decoration in his
new palace; be it observed in parenthesis, that one who has not beheld
the master's work in this utilitarian style of art has but a limited
understanding of his supremacy. Among them were idealizations of
flowers, beautiful and marvellous as fairyland, but compared with the
glory divine that dwells in a garland of _Odontoglossum Alexandræ_,
artificial, earthy. Illustrations of my meaning are needless to experts,
and to others words convey no idea. But on the table before me now
stands a wreath of _Oncidium crispum_ which I cannot pass by. What
colourist would dare to mingle these lustrous browns with pale gold,
what master of form could shape the bold yet dainty waves and crisps and
curls in its broad petals, what human imagination could bend the
graceful curve, arrange the clustering masses of its bloom? All beauty
that the mind can hold is there--the quintessence of all charm and
fancy. Were I acquainted with an atheist who, by possibility, had brain
and feeling, I would set that spray before him and await reply. If
Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like a lily of the field, the
angels of heaven have no vesture more ethereal than the flower of the
orchid. Let us take breath.
Many persons indifferent to gardening--who are repelled, indeed, by its
prosaic accompaniments, the dirt, the manure, the formality, the spade,
the rake, and all that--love flowers nevertheless. For such these plants
are more than a relief. Observe my Oncidium. It stands in a pot, but
this is only for convenience--a receptacle filled with moss. The long
stem feathered with great blossoms springs from a bare slab of wood. No
mould nor peat surrounds it; there is absolutely nothing save the roots
that twine round their support, and the wire that sustains it in the
air. It asks no attention beyond its daily bath. From the day I tied it
on that block last year--reft from home and all its pleasures, bought
with paltry silver at Stevens' Auction Rooms--I have not touched it save
to dip and to replace it on its hook. When the flowers fade, thither it
will return, and grow and grow, please Heaven, until next summer it
rejoices me again; and so, year by year, till the wood rots. Then
carefully I shall transfer it to a larger perch and resume. Probably I
shall sever the bulbs without disturbing them, and in seasons following
two spikes will push--then three, then a number, multiplying and
multiplying when my remotest posterity is extinct. That is, so Nature
orders it; whether my descendants will be careful to allow her fair play
depends on circumstances over which I have not the least control.
For among their innumerable claims to a place apart among all things
created, orchids may boast immortality. Said Sir Trevor Lawrence, in the
speech which opened our famous Congress, 1885: "I do not see, in the
case of most of them, the least reason why they should ever die. The
parts of the orchideæ are annually reproduced in a great many instances,
and there is really no reason they should not live for ever unless, as
is generally the case with them in captivity, they be killed by errors
in cultivation." Sir Trevor was addressing an assemblage of
authorities--a parterre of kings in the empire of botany--or he might
have enlarged upon this text.
The epiphytal orchid, to speak generally, and to take the simple form,
is one body with several limbs, crowned by one head. Its circulation
pulsates through the whole, less and less vigorously, of course, in the
parts that have flowered, as the growing head leaves them behind. At
some age, no doubt, circulation fails altogether in those old limbs, but
experience does not tell me distinctly as yet in how long time the
worn-out bulbs of an Oncidium or a Cattleya, for example, would perish
by natural death. One may cut them off when apparently lifeless, even
beginning to rot, and under proper conditions--it may be a twelvemonth
after--a tiny green shoot will push from some "eye," withered and
invisible, that has slept for years, and begin existence on its own
account. Thus, I am not old enough as an orchidacean to judge through
how many seasons these plants will maintain a limb apparently
superfluous. Their charming disposition is characterized above all
things by caution and foresight. They keep as many strings to their bow,
as many shots in their locker, as may be, and they keep them as long as
possible. The tender young head may be nipped off by a thousand chances,
but such mishaps only rouse the indomitable thing to replace it with
two, or even more. Beings designed for immortality are hard to kill.
Among the gentle forms of intellectual excitement I know not one to
compare with the joy of restoring a neglected orchid to health. One may
buy such for coppers--rare species, too--of a size and a "potentiality"
of display which the dealers would estimate at as many pounds were they
in good condition on their shelves. I am avoiding names and details, but
it will be allowed me to say, in brief, that I myself have bought more
than twenty pots for five shillings at the auction-rooms, not twice nor
thrice either. One half of them were sick beyond recovery, some few had
been injured by accident, but by far the greater part were victims of
ignorance and ill-treatment which might still be redressed. Orchids tell
their own tale, whether of happiness or misery, in characters beyond
dispute. Mr. O'Brien alleged, indeed, before the grave and experienced
signors gathered in conference, that "like the domestic animals, they
soon find out when they are in hands that love them. With such a
guardian they seem to be happy, and to thrive, and to establish an
understanding, indicating to him their wants in many important matters
as plainly as though they could speak." And the laugh that followed this
statement was not derisive. He who glances at the endless tricks,
methods, and contrivances devised by one or other species to serve its
turn may well come to fancy that orchids are reasoning things.
At least, many keep the record of their history in form unmistakable.
Here is a Cattleya which I purchased last autumn, suspecting it to be
rare and valuable, though nameless; I paid rather less than one
shilling. The poor thing tells me that some cruel person bought it five
years ago--an imported piece, with two pseudo-bulbs. They still remain,
towering like columns of old-world glory above an area of shapeless
ruin. To speak in mere prose--though really the conceit is not
extravagant--these fine bulbs, grown in their native land, of course,
measure eight inches high by three-quarters of an inch diameter. In the
first season, that _malheureux_ reduced their progeny to a stature of
three and a half inches by the foot-rule; next season, to two inches;
the third, to an inch and a half. By this time the patient creature had
convinced itself that there was something radically wrong in the
circumstances attending its normal head, and tried a fresh departure
from the stock--a "back growth," as we call it, after the fashion I have
described. In the third year then, there were two heads. In the fourth
year, the chief of them had dwindled to less than one inch and the
thickness of a straw, while the second struggled into growth with pain
and difficulty, reached the size of a grain of wheat, and gave it up.
Needless to say that the wicked and unfortunate proprietor had not seen
trace of a bloom. Then at length, after five years' torment, he set it
free, and I took charge of the wretched sufferer. Forthwith he began to
show his gratitude, and at this moment--the summer but half through--his
leading head has regained all the strength lost in three years, while
the back growth, which seemed dead, outtops the best bulb my predecessor
could produce.
And I have perhaps a hundred in like case, cripples regaining activity,
victims rescued on their death-bed. If there be a placid joy in life
superior to mine, as I stroll through my houses of a morning, much
experience of the world in many lands and many circumstances has not
revealed it to me. And any of my readers can attain it, for--in no
conventional sense--I am my own gardener; that is to say, no male being
ever touches an orchid of mine.
One could hardly cite a stronger argument to demolish the superstitions
that still hang around this culture. If a busy man, journalist,
essayist, novelist, and miscellaneous _littérateur_, who lives by his
pen, can keep many hundreds of orchids in such health that he is proud
to show them to experts--with no help whatsoever beyond, in emergency,
that which ladies of his household, or a woman-servant give--if he can
do this, assuredly the pursuit demands little trouble and little
expense. I am not to lay down principles of cultivation here, but this
must be said: orchids are indifferent to detail. There lies a secret.
Secure the general conditions necessary for their well-doing, and they
will gratefully relieve you of further anxiety; neglect those general
conditions, and no care will reconcile them. The gentleman who reduced
my Cattleya to such straits gave himself vast pains, it is likely,
consulted no end of books, did all they recommend; and now declares that
orchids are unaccountable. It is just the reverse. No living things
follow with such obstinate obedience a few most simple laws; no machine
produces its result more certainly, if one comply with the rules of its
being.
This is shown emphatically by those cases which we do not clearly
understand; I take for example the strangest, as is fitting. Some
irreverent zealots have hailed the Phaloenopsis as Queen of Flowers,
dethroning our venerable rose. I have not to consider the question of
allegiance, but decidedly this is, upon the whole, the most interesting
of all orchids in the cultivator's point of view. For there are some
genera and many species that refuse his attentions more or less
stubbornly--in fact, we do not yet know how to woo them. But the
Phaloenopsis is not among them. It gives no trouble in the great majority
of cases. For myself, I find it grow with the calm complacency of the
cabbage. Yet we are all aware that our success is accidental, in a
measure. The general conditions which it demands are fulfilled,
commonly, in any stove where East Indian plants flourish; but from time
to time we receive a vigorous hint that particular conditions, not
always forthcoming, are exacted by Phaloenopsis. Many legends on this
theme are current; I may cite two, notorious and easily verified. The
authorities at Kew determined to build a special house for the genus,
provided with every comfort which experience or scientific knowledge
could suggest. But when it was opened, six or eight years ago, not a
Phaloenopsis of all the many varieties would grow in it; after vain
efforts, Mr. Thiselton Dyer was obliged to seek another use for the
building, which is now employed to show plants in flower. Sir Trevor
Lawrence tells how he laid out six hundred pounds for the same object
with the same result. And yet one may safely reckon that this orchid
does admirably in nine well-managed stoves out of ten, and fairly in
nineteen out of twenty. Nevertheless, it is a maxim with growers that
Phaloenopsis should never be transferred from a situation where they are
doing well. Their hooks are sacred as that on which Horace suspended his
lyre. Nor could a reasonable man think this fancy extravagant, seeing
the evidence beyond dispute which warns us that their health is governed
by circumstances more delicate than we can analyze at present.
It would be wrong to leave the impression that orchid culture is
actually as facile as market gardening, but we may say that the
eccentricities of Phaloenopsis and the rest have no more practical
importance for the class I would persuade than have the terrors of the
deep for a Thames water-man. How many thousand householders about this
city have a "bit of glass" devoted to geraniums and fuchsias and the
like! They started with more ambitious views, but successive
disappointments have taught modesty, if not despair. The poor man now
contents himself with anything that will keep tolerably green and show
some spindling flower. The fact is, that hardy plants under glass
demand skilful treatment--all their surroundings are unnatural, and with
insect pest on one hand, mildew on the other, an amateur stands betwixt
the devil and the deep sea. Under those circumstances common plants
become really capricious--that is, being ruled by no principles easy to
grasp and immutable in operation, their discomfort shows itself in
perplexing forms. But such species of orchids as a poor man would think
of growing are incapable of pranks. For one shilling he can buy a manual
which will teach him what these species are, and most of the things
necessary for him to understand besides. An expenditure of five pounds
will set him up for life and beyond--since orchids are immortal. Nothing
else is needed save intelligence.
Not even heat, since his collection will be "cool" naturally; if frost
be excluded, that is enough. I should not have ventured to say this some
few years ago--before, in fact, I had visited St. Albans. But in the
cool house of that palace of enchantment with which Mr. Sander has
adorned the antique borough, before the heating arrangements were quite
complete though the shelves were occupied, often the glass would fall
very low into the thirties. I could never learn distinctly that mischief
followed, though Mr. Godseff did not like it at all. One who beheld the
sight when those fields of Odontoglossum burst into bloom might well
entertain a doubt whether improvement was possible. There is nothing to
approach it in this lower world. I cannot forbear to indicate one
picture in the grand gallery. Fancy a corridor four hundred feet long,
six wide, roofed with square baskets hanging from the glass as close as
they will fit. Suspend to each of these--how many hundreds or thousands
has never been computed--one or more garlands of snowy flowers, a
thicket overhead such as one might behold in a tropic forest, with
myriads of white butterflies clustering amongst the vines. But
imagination cannot bear mortal man thus far. "Upon the banks of
Paradise" those "twa clerks" may have seen the like; yet, had they done
so their hats would have been adorned not with "the birk," but with
plumes of _Odontoglossum citrosmum_.
I have but another word to say. If any of the class to whom I appeal
incline to let "I dare not wait upon I would," hear the experience of a
bold enthusiast, as recounted by Mr. Castle in his small brochure,
"Orchids." This gentleman had a fern-case outside his sitting-room
window, six feet long by three wide. He ran pipes through it, warmed
presumably by gas. More ambitious than I venture to recommend, "in this
miniature structure," says Mr. Castle, "with liberal supplies of water,
the owner succeeded in growing, in a smoky district of London"--I will
not quote the amazing list of fine things, but it numbers twenty-five
species, all the most delicate and beautiful of the stove kinds. If so
much could be done under such circumstances, what may rightly be called
difficult in the cultivation of orchids?
COOL ORCHIDS.
This is a subject which would interest every cultured reader, I believe,
every householder at least, if he could be brought to understand that it
lies well within the range of his practical concerns. But the public has
still to be persuaded. It seems strange to the expert that delusions
should prevail when orchids are so common and so much talked of; but I
know by experience that the majority of people, even among those who
love their garden, regard them as fantastic and mysterious creations,
designed, to all seeming, for the greater glory of pedants and
millionaires. I try to do my little part, as occasion serves, in
correcting this popular error, and spreading a knowledge of the facts.
It is no less than a duty. If every human being should do what he can to
promote the general happiness, it would be downright wicked to leave
one's fellow-men under the influence of hallucinations that debar them
from the most charming of quiet pleasures. I suspect also that the
misapprehension of the public is largely due to the conduct of experts
in the past. It was a rule with growers formerly, avowed among
themselves, to keep their little secrets. When Mr. B.S. Williams
published the first edition of his excellent book forty years ago, he
fluttered his colleagues sadly. The plain truth is that no class of
plant can be cultivated so easily, as none are so certain to repay the
trouble, as the Cool Orchids.
Nearly all the genera of this enormous family have species which grow in
a temperate climate, if not in the temperate zone. At this moment, in
fact, I recall but two exceptions, Vanda and Phaloenopsis. Many more
there are, of course--half a dozen have occurred to me while I wrote the
last six words--but in the small space at command I must cling to
generalities. We have at least a hundred genera which will flourish
anywhere if the frost be excluded; and as for species, a list of two
thousand would not exhaust them probably. But a reasonable man may
content himself with the great classes of Odontoglossum, Oncidium,
Cypripedium, and Lycaste; among the varieties of these, which no one has
ventured to calculate perhaps, he may spend a happy existence. They have
every charm--foliage always green, a graceful habit, flowers that rank
among the master works of Nature. The poor man who succeeds with them
in his modest "bit of glass" has no cause to envy Dives his flaunting
Cattleyas and "fox-brush" Aerides. I should like to publish it in
capitals--that nine in ten of those suburban householders who read this
book may grow the loveliest of orchids if they can find courage to try.
Odontoglossums stand first, of course--I know not where to begin the
list of their supreme merits. It will seem perhaps a striking advantage
to many that they burst into flower at any time, as they chance to
ripen. I think that the very perfection of culture is discounted
somewhat in this instance. The gardener who keeps his plants at the _ne
plus ultra_ stage brings them all into bloom within the space of a few
weeks. Thus in the great collections there is such a show during April,
May, and June as the Gardens of Paradise could not excel, and hardly a
spike in the cool houses for the rest of the year. At a large
establishment this signifies nothing; when the Odontoglossums go off
other things "come on" with equal regularity. But the amateur, with his
limited assortment, misses every bloom. He has no need for anxiety with
this genus. It is their instinct to flower in spring, of course, but
they are not pedantic about it in the least. Some tiny detail overlooked
here and there, absolutely unimportant to health, will retard
florescence. It might very well happen that the owner of a dozen pots
had one blooming every month successively. And that would mean two
spikes open, for, with care, most Odontoglossums last above four weeks.
Another virtue, shared by others of the cool class in some degree, is
their habit of growing in winter. They take no "rest;" all the year
round their young bulbs are swelling, graceful foliage lengthening,
roots pushing, until the spike demands a concentration of all their
energy. But winter is the most important time. I think any man will see
the peculiar blessing of this arrangement. It gives interest to the long
dull days, when other plant life is at a standstill. It furnishes
material for cheering meditations on a Sunday morning--is that a trifle?
And at this season the pursuit is joy unmixed. We feel no anxious
questionings, as we go about our daily business, whether the _placens
uxor_ forgot to remind Mary, when she went out, to pull the blinds down;
whether Mary followed the instructions if given; whether those
confounded patent ventilators have snapped to again. Green fly does not
harass us. One syringing a day, and one watering per week suffice. Truly
these are not grave things, but the issue at stake is precious: we
enjoy the boon of relief proportionately.
Very few of those who grow Odontoglossums know much about the "Trade,"
or care, seemingly. It is a curious subject, however. The genus is
American exclusively. It ranges over the continent from the northern
frontier of Mexico to the southern frontier of Peru, excepting, to speak
roughly, the empire of Brazil. This limitation is odd. It cannot be due
to temperature simply, for, upon the one hand, we receive Sophronitis, a
very cool genus, from Brazil, and several of the coolest Cattleyas; upon
the other, _Odontoglossum Roezlii_, a very hot species, and _O.
vexillarium_, most decidedly warm, flourish up to the boundary. Why
these should not step across, even if their mountain sisters refuse
companionship with the Sophronitis, is a puzzle. Elsewhere, however,
they abound. Collectors distinctly foresee the time when all the
districts they have "worked" up to this will be exhausted. But South
America contains a prodigious number of square miles, and a day's march
from the track carries one into _terra incognita_. Still, the end will
come. The English demand has stripped whole provinces, and now all the
civilized world is entering into competition. We are sadly assured that
Odontoglossums carried off will not be replaced for centuries. Most
other genera of orchid propagate so freely that wholesale depredations
are made good in very few years. For reasons beyond our comprehension as
yet, the Odontoglossum stands in different case. No one in England has
raised a plant from seed--that we may venture to say definitely. Mr.
Cookson and Mr. Veitch, perhaps others also, have obtained living germs,
but they died incontinently. Frenchmen, aided by the climate, have been
rather more successful. MM. Bleu and Moreau have both flowered seedling
Odontoglots. M. Jacob, who takes charge of M. Edmund de Rothschild's
orchids at Armainvilliers, has a considerable number of young plants.
The reluctance of Odontoglots to propagate is regarded as strange; it
supplies a constant theme for discussion among orchidologists. But I
think that if we look more closely it appears consistent with other
facts known. For among importations of every genus but this--and
Cypripedium--a plant bearing its seed-capsules is frequently discovered;
but I cannot hear of such an incident in the case of Odontoglossums.
They have been arriving in scores of thousands, year by year, for half a
century almost, and scarcely anyone recollects observing a seed-capsule.
This shows how rarely they fertilize in their native home. When that
event happens, the Odontoglossum is yet more prolific than most, and the
germs, of course, are not so delicate under their natural conditions.
But the moral to be drawn is that a country once stripped will not be
reclothed.
I interpolate here a profound observation of Mr. Roezl. That wonderful
man remarked that Odontoglossums grow upon branches thirty feet above
the ground. It is rare to find them at thirty-five feet, rarer at
twenty-five; at greater and less heights they do not exist. Here,
doubtless, we have the secret of their reluctance to fertilize; but I
will offer no comments, because the more one reflects the more puzzling
it becomes. Evidently the seed must be carried above and must fall below
that limit, under circumstances which, to our apprehension, seem just as
favourable as those at the altitude of thirty feet. But they do not
germinate. Upon the other hand, Odontoglossums show no such daintiness
of growth in our houses. They flourish at any height, if the general
conditions be suitable. Mr. Roezl discovered a secret nevertheless, and
in good time we shall learn further.
To the Royal Horticultural Society of England belongs the honour of
first importing orchids methodically and scientifically. Messrs. Weir
and Fortune, I believe, were their earliest employés. Another was
Theodor Hartweg, who discovered _Odontoglossum crispum Alexandræ_ in
1842; but he sent home only dried specimens. From these Lindley
described and classed the plant, aided by the sketch of a Spanish or
Peruvian artist, Tagala. A very curious mistake Lindley fell into on
either point. The scientific error does not concern us, but he
represented the colouring of the flower as yellow with a purple centre.
So Tagala painted it, and his drawing survives. It is an odd little
story. He certainly had Hartweg's bloom before him, and that certainly
was white. But then again yellow Alexandræs have been found since that
day. To the Horticultural Society we are indebted, not alone for the
discovery of this wonder, but also for its introduction. John Weir was
travelling for them when he sent living specimens in 1862. It is not
surprising that botanists thought it new after what has been said. As
such Mr. Bateman named it after the young Princess of Wales--a choice
most appropriate in every way.
[Illustration: ODONTOGLOSSUM CRISPUM ALEXANDRAE
Flower reduced to One Fourth
Flower Stem to One Sixth]
Then a few wealthy amateurs took up the business of importation, such as
the Duke of Devonshire. But "the Trade" came to see presently that there
was money in this new fashion, and imported so vigorously that the
Society found its exertions needless. Messrs. Rollisson of Tooting,
Messrs. Veitch of Chelsea, and Messrs. Low of Clapton distinguished
themselves from the outset. Of these three firms one is extinct; the
second has taken up, and made its own, the fascinating study of
hybridization among orchids; the third still perseveres. Twenty years
ago, nearly all the great nurserymen in London used to send out their
travellers; but they have mostly dropped the practice. Correspondents
forward a shipment from time to time. The expenses of the collector are
heavy, even if he draw no more than his due--and the temptation to make
up a fancy bill cannot be resisted by some weak mortals. Then, grave
losses are always probable--in the case of South American importations,
certain. It has happened not once but a hundred times that the toil of
months, the dangers, the sufferings, and the hard money expended go to
absolute waste. Twenty or thirty thousand plants or more an honest man
collects, brings down from the mountains or the forests, packs
carefully, and ships. The freight alone may reach from three to eight
hundred pounds--I have personally known instances when it exceeded five
hundred. The cases arrive in England--and not a living thing therein! A
steamship company may reduce its charge under such circumstances, but
again and again it will happen that the speculator stands out of a
thousand pounds clean when his boxes are opened. He may hope to recover
it on the next cargo, but that is still a question of luck. No wonder
that men whose business is not confined to orchids withdrew from the
risks of importation, returning to roses and lilies and daffodowndillies
with a new enthusiasm.
There is another point also, which has varying force with different
characters. The loss of life among those men who "go out collecting" has
been greater proportionately, than in any class of which I have heard.
In former times, at least, they were chosen haphazard, among intelligent
and trustworthy employés of the firm. Trustworthiness was a grand point,
for reasons hinted. The honest youth, not very strong perhaps in an
English climate, went bravely forth into the unhealthiest parts of
unhealthy lands, where food is very scarce, and very, very rough; where
he was wet through day after day, for weeks at a time; where "the
fever," of varied sort, comes as regularly as Sunday; where from month
to month he found no one with whom to exchange a word. I could make out
a startling list of the martyrs of orchidology. Among Mr. Sander's
collectors alone, Falkenberg perished at Panama, Klaboch in Mexico,
Endres at Rio Hacha, Wallis in Ecuador, Schroeder in Sierra Leone,
Arnold on the Orinoco, Digance in Brazil, Brown in Madagascar. Sir
Trevor Lawrence mentions a case where the zealous explorer "waded for a
fortnight up to his middle in mud," searching for a plant he had heard
of. I have not identified this instance of devotion, but we know of
rarities which would demand perseverance and sufferings almost equal to
secure them. If employers could find the heart to tempt a
fellow-creature into such risks, the chances are that it would prove bad
business. For to discover a new or valuable orchid is only the first
step in a commercial enterprise. It remains to secure the "article," to
bring it safely into a realm that may be called civilized, to pack it
and superintend its transport through the sweltering lowland to a
shipping place. If the collector sicken after finding his prize, these
cares are neglected more or less; if he die, all comes to a full stop.
Thus it happens that the importing business has been given up by one
firm after another.
Odontoglossums, as I said, belong to America--to the mountainous parts
of the continent in general. Though it would be wildly rash to pronounce
which is the loveliest of orchids, no man with eyes would dispute that
_O. crispum Alexandræ_ is the queen of this genus. She has her home in
the States of Colombia, and those who seek her make Bogota their
headquarters. If the collector wants the broad-petalled variety, he goes
about ten days to the southward before commencing operations; if the
narrow-petalled, about two days to the north--on mule-back of course.
His first care on arrival in the neighbourhood--which is unexplored
ground, if such he can discover--is to hire a wood; that is, a track of
mountain clothed more or less with timber. I have tried to procure one
of these "leases," which must be odd documents; but orchid-farming is a
close and secret business. The arrangement concluded in legal form, he
hires natives, twenty or fifty or a hundred, as circumstances advise,
and sends them to cut down trees, building meantime a wooden stage of
sufficient length to bear the plunder expected. This is used for
cleaning and drying the plants brought in. Afterwards, if he be prudent,
he follows his lumber-men, to see that their indolence does not shirk
the big trunks--which give extra trouble naturally, though they yield
the best and largest return. It is a terribly wasteful process. If we
estimate that a good tree has been felled for every three scraps of
Odontoglossum which are now established in Europe, that will be no
exaggeration. And for many years past they have been arriving by
hundreds of thousands annually! But there is no alternative. An European
cannot explore that green wilderness overhead; if he could, his
accumulations would be so slow and costly as to raise the proceeds to an
impossible figure. The natives will not climb, and they would tear the
plants to bits. Timber has no value in those parts as yet, but the day
approaches when Government must interfere. The average yield of
_Odontoglossum crispum_ per tree is certainly not more than five large
and small together. Once upon a time Mr. Kerbach recovered fifty-three
at one felling, and the incident has grown into a legend; two or three
is the usual number. Upon the other hand, fifty or sixty of _O.
gloriosum_, comparatively worthless, are often secured. The cutters
receive a fixed price of sixpence for each orchid, without reference to
species or quality.
When his concession is exhausted, the traveller overhauls the produce
carefully, throwing away those damaged pieces which would ferment in the
long, hot journey home, and spoil the others. When all are clean and
dry, he fixes them with copper wire on sticks, which are nailed across
boxes for transport. Long experience has laid down rules for each
detail of this process. The sticks, for example, are one inch in
diameter, fitting into boxes two feet three inches wide, two feet deep,
neither more nor less. Then the long file of mules sets out for Bogota,
perhaps ten days' march, each animal carrying two boxes--a burden
ridiculously light, but on such tracks it is dimension which has to be
considered. On arrival at Bogota, the cases are unpacked and examined
for the last time, restowed, and consigned to the muleteers again. In
six days they reach Honda, on the Magdalena River, where, until lately,
they were embarked on rafts for a voyage of fourteen days to Savanilla.
At the present time, an American company has established a service of
flat-bottomed steamers which cover the distance in seven days, thus
reducing the risks of the journey by one-half. But they are still
terrible. Not a breath of wind stirs the air at that season, for the
collector cannot choose his time. The boxes are piled on deck; even the
pitiless sunshine is not so deadly as the stewing heat below. He has a
store of blankets to cover them, on which he lays a thatch of
palm-leaves, and all day long he souses the pile with water; but too
well the poor fellow knows that mischief is busy down below. Another
anxiety possesses him too. It may very well be that on arrival at
Savanilla he has to wait days in that sweltering atmosphere for the
Royal Mail steamer. And when it comes in, his troubles do not cease, for
the stowage of the precious cargo is vastly important. On deck it will
almost certainly be injured by salt water. In the hold it will ferment.
Amidships it is apt to be baked by the engine fire. Whilst writing I
learn that Mr. Sander has lost two hundred and sixty-seven cases by this
latter mishap, as is supposed. So utterly hopeless is their condition,
that he will not go to the expense of overhauling them; they lie at
Southampton, and to anybody who will take them away all parties
concerned will be grateful. The expense of making this shipment a reader
may judge from the hints given. The Royal Mail Company's charge for
freight from Manzanilla is 750l. I could give an incident of the same
class yet more startling with reference to Phaloenopsis. It is proper to
add that the most enterprising of Assurance Companies do not yet see
their way to accept any kind of risks in the orchid trade; importers
must bear all the burden. To me it seems surprising that the plants can
be sold so cheap, all things considered. Many persons think and hope
that prices will fall, and that may probably happen with regard to some
genera. But the shrewdest of those very shrewd men who conduct the
business all look for a rise.
_Od. Harryanum_ always reminds me--in such an odd association of ideas
as everyone has experienced--of a thunderstorm. The contrast of its
intense brown blotches with the azure throat and the broad, snowy lip,
affect me somehow with admiring oppression. Very absurd; but _on est
fait comme ça_, as Nana excused herself. To call this most striking
flower "Harryanum" is grotesque. The public is not interested in those
circumstances which give the name significance for a few, and if there
be any flower which demands an expressive title, it is this, in my
judgment. Possibly it was some Indian report which had slipped his
recollection that led Roezl to predict the discovery of a new
Odontoglot, unlike any other, in the very district where _Od. Harryanum_
was found after his death, though the story is quoted as an example of
that instinct which guides the heaven-born collector. The first plants
came unannounced in a small box sent by Señor Pantocha, of Colombia, to
Messrs. Horsman in 1885, and they were flowered next year by Messrs.
Veitch. The dullest who sees it can now imagine the excitement when this
marvel was displayed, coming from an unknown habitat. Roezl's
prediction occurred to many of his acquaintance, I have heard; but Mr.
Sander had a living faith in his old friend's sagacity. Forthwith he
despatched a collector to the spot which Roezl had named--but not
visited--and found the treasure. The legends of orchidology will be
gathered one day, perhaps; and if the editor be competent, his volume
should be almost as interesting to the public as to the cognoscenti.
I have been speaking hitherto of Colombian Odontoglossums, which are
reckoned among the hardiest of their class. Along with them, in the same
temperature, grow the cool Masdevallias, which probably are the most
difficult of all to transport. There was once a grand consignment of
_Masdevallia Schlimii_, which Mr. Roezl despatched on his own account.
It contained twenty-seven thousand plants of this species, representing
at that time a fortune. Mr. Roezl was the luckiest and most experienced
of collectors, and he took special pains with this unique shipment.
Among twenty-seven thousand two bits survived when the cases were
opened; the agent hurried them off to Stevens's auction-rooms, and sold
them forthwith at forty guineas each. But I must stick to
Odontoglossums. Speculative as is the business of importing the northern
species, to gather those of Peru and Ecuador is almost desperate. The
roads of Colombia are good, the population civilized, conveniences
abound, if we compare that region with the orchid-bearing territories of
the south. There is a fortune to be secured by anyone who will bring to
market a lot of _O. noeveum_ in fair condition. Its habitat is
perfectly well known. I am not aware that it has a delicate
constitution; but no collector is so rash or so enthusiastic as to try
that adventure again, now that its perils are understood; and no
employer is so reckless as to urge him. The true variety of _O. Hallii_
stands in much the same case. To obtain it the explorer must march in
the bed of a torrent and on the face of a precipice alternately for an
uncertain period of time, with a river to cross about every day. And he
has to bring back his loaded mules, or Indians, over the same pathless
waste. The Roraima Mountain begins to be regarded as quite easy travel
for the orchid-hunter nowadays. If I mention that the canoe-work on this
route demands thirty-two portages, thirty-two loadings and unloadings of
the cargo, the reader can judge what a "difficult road" must be.
Ascending the Roraima, Mr. Dressel, collecting for Mr. Sander, lost his
herbarium in the Essequibo River. Savants alone are able to estimate the
awful nature of the crisis when a comrade looses his grip of that
treasure. For them it is needless to add that everything else went to
the bottom.[2]
One is tempted to linger among the Odontoglots, though time is pressing.
In no class of orchids are natural hybrids so mysterious and frequent.
Sometimes one can detect the parentage; in such cases, doubtless, the
crossing occurred but a few generations back: as a rule, however, such
plants are the result of breeding in and in from age to age, causing all
manner of delightful complications. How many can trace the lineage of
Mr. Bull's _Od. delectabile_--ivory white, tinged with rose, strikingly
blotched with red and showing a golden labellum? or Mr. Sander's _Od.
Alberti-Edwardi_, which has a broad soft margin of gold about its
stately petals? Another is rosy white, closely splashed with pale
purple, and dotted round the edge with spots of the same tint so thickly
placed that they resemble a fringe. Such marvels turn up in an
importation without the slightest warning--no peculiarity betrays them
until the flowers open; when the lucky purchaser discovers that a plant
for which he gave perhaps a shilling is worth an indefinite number of
guineas.
Lycaste also is a genus peculiar to America, such a favourite among
those who know its merits that the species _L. Skinneri_ is called the
"Drawing-Room Flower." Professor Reichenbach observes in his superb
volume that many people utterly ignorant of orchids grow this plant in
their miscellaneous collection. I speak of it without prejudice, for to
my mind the bloom is stiff, heavy, and poor in colour. But there are
tremendous exceptions. In the first place, _Lycaste Skinneri alba_, the
pure white variety, beggars all description. Its great flower seems to
be sculptured in the snowiest of transparent marble. That stolid
pretentious air which offends one--offends me, at least--in the coloured
examples, becomes virginal dignity in this case. Then, of the normal
type there are more than a hundred variations recognized, some with lips
as deep in tone, and as smooth in texture, as velvet, of all shades from
maroon to brightest crimson. It will be understood that I allude to the
common forms in depreciating this species. How vast is the difference
between them, their commercial value shows. Plants of the same size and
the same species range from 3s. 6d. to 35 guineas, or more
indefinitely.
Lycastes are found in the woods, of Guatemala especially, and I have
heard no such adventures in the gathering of them as attend
Odontoglossums. Easily obtained, easily transported, and remarkably easy
to grow, of course they are cheap. A man must really "give his mind to
it" to kill a Lycaste. This counts for much, no doubt, in the popularity
of the genus, but it has plenty of other virtues. _L. Skinneri_ opens in
the depth of winter, and all the rest, I think, in the dull months.
Then, they are profuse of bloom, throwing up half a dozen spikes, or, in
some species, a dozen, from a single bulb, and the flowers last a
prodigious time. Their extraordinary thickness in every part enables
them to withstand bad air and changes of temperature, so that ladies
keep them on a drawing-room table, night and day, for months, without
change perceptible. Mr. Williams names an instance where a _L.
Skinneri_, bought in full bloom on February 2, was kept in a
sitting-room till May 18, when the purchaser took it back, still
handsome. I have heard cases more surprising. Of species somewhat less
common there is _L. aromatica_, a little gem, which throws up an
indefinite number of short spikes, each crowned with a greenish yellow
triangular sort of cup, deliciously scented. I am acquainted with no
flower that excites such enthusiasm among ladies who fancy Messrs.
Liberty's style of toilette; sad experience tells me that ten
commandments or twenty will not restrain them from appropriating it. _L.
cruenta_ is almost as tempting. As for _L. leucanthe_, an exquisite
combination of pale green and snow white, it ranks with _L. Skinneri
alba_ as a thing too beautiful for words. This species has not been long
introduced, and at the moment it is dear proportionately. There is yet
another virtue of the Lycaste which appeals to the expert. It lends
itself readily to hybridization. This most fascinating pursuit attracts
few amateurs as yet, and the professionals have little time or
inclination for experiments. They naturally prefer to make such crosses
as are almost certain to pay. Thus it comes about that the hybridization
of Lycastes has been attempted but recently, and none of the seedlings,
so far as I can learn, have flowered. They have been obtained, however,
in abundance, not only from direct crossing, but also from alliance with
Zygopetalum, Anguloa, and Maxillaria.
The genus Cypripedium, Lady's Slipper, is perhaps more widely scattered
over the globe than any other class of plant; I, at least, am acquainted
with none that approaches it. From China to Peru--nay, beyond, from
Archangel to Torres Straits,--but it is wise to avoid these semi-poetic
descriptions. In brief, if we except Africa and the temperate parts of
Australia, there is no large tract of country in the world that does not
produce Cypripediums; and few authorities doubt that a larger
acquaintance with those realms will bring them under the rule. We have a
species in England, _C. calceolus_, by no means insignificant; it can be
purchased from the dealers, but it is almost extinct in this country
now. America furnishes a variety of species; which ought to be hardy.
They will bear a frost below zero, but our winter damp is intolerable.
Mr. Godseff tells me that he has seen _C. spectabile_ growing like any
water-weed in the bogs of New Jersey, where it is frozen hard, roots and
all, for several months of the year; but very few survive the season in
this country, even if protected. Those fine specimens so common at our
spring shows are imported in the dry state. From the United States also
we get the charming _C. candidum_, _C. parviflorum_, _C. pubescens_, and
many more less important. Canada and Siberia furnish _C. guttatum_, _C.
macranthum_, and others. I saw in Russia, and brought home, a
magnificent species, tall and stately, bearing a great golden flower,
which is not known "in the trade;" but they all rotted gradually.
Therefore I do not recommend these fine outdoor varieties, which the
inexperienced are apt to think so easy. At the same cost others may be
bought, which, coming from the highlands of hot countries, are used to a
moderate damp in winter.
Foremost of these, perhaps the oldest of cool orchids in cultivation, is
_C. insigne_, from Nepal. Everyone knows its original type, which has
grown so common that I remarked a healthy pot at a window-garden
exhibition some years ago in Westminster. One may say that this, the
early and familiar form, has no value at present, so many fine varieties
have been introduced. A reader may form a notion of the difference when
I state that a small plant of exceptional merit sold for thirty guineas
a short time ago--it was _C. insigne_, but glorified. This ranks among
the fascinations of orchid culture. You may buy a lot of some common
kind, imported, at a price representing coppers for each individual, and
among them may appear, when they come to bloom, an eccentricity which
sells for a hundred pounds or more. The experienced collector has a
volume of such legends. There is another side to the question, truly,
but it does not personally interest the class which I address. To make a
choice among numberless stories of this sort, we may take the instance
of _C. Spicerianum_.
It turned up among a quantity of _Cypripedium insigne_ in the
greenhouse of Mrs. Spicer, a lady residing at Twickenham. Astonished at
the appearance of this swan among her ducks, she asked Mr. Veitch to
look at it. He was delighted to pay seventy guineas down for such a
prize. Cypripediums propagate easily, no more examples came into the
market, and for some years this lovely species was a treasure for dukes
and millionaires. It was no secret that the precious novelty came from
Mrs. Spicer's greenhouse; but to call on a strange lady and demand how
she became possessed of a certain plant is not a course of action that
commends itself to respectable business men. The circumstances gave no
clue. Messrs. Spicer were and are large manufacturers of paper; there is
no visible connection betwixt paper and Indian orchids. By discreet
inquiries, however, it was ascertained that one of the lady's sons had a
tea-plantation in Assam. No more was needed. By the next mail Mr.
Forstermann started for that vague destination, and in process of time
reached Mr. Spicer's bungalow. There he asked for "a job." None could be
found for him; but tea-planters are hospitable, and the stranger was
invited to stop a day or two. But he could not lead the conversation
towards orchids--perhaps because his efforts were too clever, perhaps
because his host took no interest in the subject. One day, however, Mr.
Spicer's manager invited him to go shooting, and casually remarked "we
shall pass the spot where I found those orchids they're making such a
fuss about at home." Be sure Mr. Forstermann was alert that morning!
Thus put upon the track, he discovered quantities of it, bade the
tea-planter adieu, and went to work; but in the very moment of triumph a
tiger barred the way, his coolies bolted, and nothing would persuade
them to go further. Mr. Forstermann was no shikari, but he felt himself
called upon to uphold the cause of science and the honour of England at
this juncture. In great agitation he went for that feline, and, in
short, its skin still adorns Mrs. Sander's drawing-room. Thus it
happened that on a certain Thursday a small pot of _C. Spicerianum_ was
sold, as usual, for sixty guineas at Stevens's; on the Thursday
following all the world could buy fine plants at a guinea.
Cypripedium is the favourite orchid of the day. It has every advantage,
except, to my perverse mind--brilliancy of colour. None show a whole
tone; even the lovely _C. niveum_ is not pure white. My views, however,
find no backing. At all other points the genus deserves to be a
favourite. In the first place, it is the most interesting of all orchids
to science.[3] Then its endless variations of form, its astonishing
oddities, its wide range of hues, its easy culture, its readiness to
hybridize and to ripen seed, the certainty, by comparison, of rearing
the proceeds, each of these merits appeals to one or other of
orchid-growers. Many of the species which come from torrid lands,
indeed, are troublesome, but with such we are not concerned. The cool
varieties will do well anywhere, provided they receive water enough in
summer, and not too little in winter. I do not speak of the American and
Siberian classes, which are nearly hopeless for the amateur, nor of the
Hong-Kong _Cypripedium purpuratum_, a very puzzling example.
On the roll of martyrs to orchidology, Mr. Pearce stands high. To him we
owe, among many fine things, the hybrid Begonias which are becoming such
favourites for bedding and other purposes. He discovered the three
original types, parents of the innumerable "garden flowers" now on
sale--_Begonia Pearcii_, _B. Veitchii_, and _B. Boliviensis_. It was his
great luck, and great honour, to find _Masdevallia Veitchii_--so long,
so often, so laboriously searched for from that day to this, but never
even heard of. To collect another shipment of that glorious orchid, Mr.
Pearce sailed for Peru, in the service, I think, of Mr. Bull.
Unhappily--for us all as well as for himself--he was detained at Panama.
Somewhere in those parts there is a magnificent Cypripedium with which
we are acquainted only by the dried inflorescence, named _planifolium_.
The poor fellow could not resist this temptation. They told him at
Panama that no white man had returned from the spot, but he went on. The
Indians brought him back, some days or weeks later, without the prize;
and he died on arrival.
Oncidiums also are a product of the New World exclusively; in fact, of
the four classes most useful to amateurs, three belong wholly to
America, and the fourth in great part. I resist the temptation to
include Masdevallia, because that genus is not so perfectly easy as the
rest; but if it be added, nine-tenths, assuredly, of the plants in our
cool house come from the West. Among the special merits of the Oncidium
is its colour. I have heard thoughtless persons complain that they are
"all yellow;" which, as a statement of fact, is near enough to the
truth, for about three-fourths may be so described roughly. But this
dispensation is another proof of Nature's kindly regard for the
interests of our science. A clear, strong, golden yellow is the colour
that would have been wanting in our cool houses had not the Oncidium
supplied it. Shades of lemon and buff are frequent among Odontoglossums,
but, in a rough, general way of speaking, they have a white ground.
Masdevallias give us scarlet and orange and purple; Lycastes, green and
dull yellow; Sophronitis, crimson; Mesospinidium, rose, and so forth.
Blue must not be looked for. Even counting the new Utricularia for an
orchid, as most people do, there are, I think, but five species that
will live among us at present, in all the prodigious family, showing
this colour; and every one of them is very "hot." Thus it appears that
the Oncidium fills a gap--and how gloriously! There is no such pure gold
in the scheme of the universe as it displays under fifty shapes
wondrously varied. Thus--_Oncidium macranthum!_ one is continually
tempted to exclaim, as one or other glory of the orchid world recurs to
mind, that it is the supreme triumph of floral beauty. I have sinned
thus, and I know it. Therefore, let the reader seek an opportunity to
behold _O. macranthum_, and judge for himself. But it seems to me that
Nature gives us a hint. As though proudly conscious what a marvel it
will unfold, this superb flower often demands nine months to perfect
itself. Dr. Wallace told me of an instance in his collection where
eighteen months elapsed from the appearance of the spike until the
opening of the first bloom. But it lasts a time proportionate.
[Illustration: ONCIDIUM MACRANTHUM
Reduced to One Sixth]
Nature forestalled the dreams of æsthetic colourists when she designed
_Oncidium macranthum_. Thus, and not otherwise, would the thoughtful of
them arrange a "harmony" in gold and bronze; but Nature, with
characteristic indifference to the fancies of mankind, hid her
_chef-d'oeuvre_ in the wilds of Ecuador. Hardly less striking,
however, though perhaps less beautiful, are its sisters of the
"small-lipped" species--_Onc. serratum_, _O. superbiens_, and _O.
sculptum_. This last is rarely seen. As with others of its class, the
spike grows very long, twelve feet perhaps, if it were allowed to
stretch. The flowers are small comparatively, clear bronze-brown, highly
polished, so closely and daintily frilled round the edges that a fairy
goffering-iron could not give more regular effects, and outlined by a
narrow band of gold. _Onc. serratum_ has a much larger bloom, but less
compact, rather fly-away indeed, its sepals widening gracefully from a
narrow neck. Excessively curious is the disposition of the petals, which
close their tips to form a circle of brown and gold around the column.
The purpose of this extraordinary arrangement--unique among orchids, I
believe--will be discovered one day, for purpose there is, no doubt; to
judge by analogy, it may be supposed that the insect upon which _Onc.
serratum_ depends for fertilization likes to stand upon this ring while
thrusting its proboscis into the nectary. The fourth of these fine
species, _Onc. superbiens_, ranks among the grandest of flowers--knowing
its own value, it rarely consents to "oblige;" the dusky green sepals
are margined with yellow, petals white, clouded with pale purple, lip
very small, of course, purple, surmounted by a great golden crest.
Most strange and curious is _Onc. fuscatum_, of which the shape defies
description. Seen from the back, it shows a floriated cross of equal
limbs; but in front the nethermost is hidden by a spreading lip, very
large proportionately. The prevailing tint is a dun-purple, but each arm
has a broad white tip. Dun-purple, also, is the centre of the labellum,
edged with a distinct band of lighter hue, which again, towards the
margin, becomes white. These changes of tone are not gradual, but as
clear as a brush could make them. Botanists must long to dissect this
extraordinary flower, but the opportunity seldom occurs. It is
desperately puzzling to understand how nature has packed away the
component parts of its inflorescence, so as to resolve them into four
narrow arms and a labellum. But the colouring of this plant is not
always dull. In the small Botanic Garden at Florence, by Santa Maria
Maggiore, I remarked with astonishment an _Onc. fuscatum_, of which the
lip was scarlet-crimson and the other tints bright to match. That
collection is admirably grown, but orchids are still scarce in Italy.
The Society did not know what a prize it had secured by chance.
The genus Oncidium has, perhaps, more examples of a startling
combination in hues than any other--but one must speak thoughtfully and
cautiously upon such points.
I have not to deal with culture, but one hint may be given. Gardeners
who have a miscellaneous collection to look after, often set themselves
against an experiment in orchid-growing because these plants suffer
terribly from green-fly and other pests, and will not bear "smoking." To
keep them clean and healthy by washing demands labour for which they
have no time. This is a very reasonable objection. But though the smoke
of tobacco is actual ruination, no plant whatever suffers from the steam
thereof. An ingenious Frenchman has invented and patented in England
lately a machine called the Thanatophore, which I confidently
recommend. It can be obtained from Messrs. B.S. Williams, of Upper
Holloway. The Thanatophore destroys every insect within reach of its
vapour, excepting, curiously enough, scaly-bug, which, however, does not
persecute cool orchids much. The machine may be obtained in different
sizes through any good ironmonger.
To sum up: these plants ask nothing in return for the measureless
enjoyment they give but light, shade from the summer sun, protection
from the winter frost, moisture--and brains.
* * * * *
I am allowed to print a letter which bears upon several points to which
I have alluded. It is not cheerful reading for the enthusiast. He will
be apt to cry, "Would that the difficulties and perils were infinitely
graver--so grave that the collecting grounds might have a rest for
twenty years!"
_January 19th, 1893._
DEAR SIR,
I have received your two letters asking for _Cattleya Lawrenceana_,
_Pancratium Guianense_, and _Catasetum pileatum_. Kindly excuse my
answering your letters only to-day. But I have been away in the
interior, and on my return was sick, besides other business taking up my
time; I was unable to write until to-day. Now let me give you some
information concerning orchid-collecting in this colony. Six or seven
years ago, just when the gold industry was starting, very few people
ever ventured in the far interior. Boats, river-hands, and Indians could
be hired at ridiculously low prices, and travelling and bartering paid;
wages for Indians being about a shilling per day, and all found; the
same for river-hands. Captains and boatswains to pilot the boat through
the rapids up and down for sixty-four cents a day. To-day you have got
to pay sixty-four to eighty cents per day for Indians and river-hands.
Captains and boatswains, $2 the former, and $1:50 the latter per day,
and then you often cannot get them. Boat-hire used to be $8 to $10 for a
big boat for three to four months; to-day $5, $6, and $7 per day, and
all through the rapid development of the gold industry. As you can
calculate twenty-five days' river travel to get within reach of the
Savannah lands, you can reckon what the expenses must be, and then again
about five to seven days coming down the river, and a couple of days to
lay over. Then you must count two trips like this, one to bring you up,
and one to bring you down three months after, when you return with your
collection. Besides this, you run the risk of losing your boat in the
rapids either way, which happens not very unfrequently either going or
coming; and we have not only to record the loss of several boats with
goods, etc., every month, but generally to record the loss of life; only
two cases happening last month, in one case seven, in the other twelve
men losing their lives. Besides, river-hands and blacks will not go
further than the boats can travel, and nothing will induce them to go
among the Indians, being afraid of getting poisoned by Inds.
(Kaiserimas) or strangled. So you have to rely utterly on Indians, which
you often cannot get, as the district of Roraima is very poorly
inhabited, and most of the Indians died by smallpox and measles breaking
out among them four years ago, and those that survived left the
district, and you will find whole districts nearly uninhabited. About
five years ago I went up with Mr. Osmers to Roraima, but he broke down
before we reached the Savannah. He lay there for a week, and I gave him
up; he recovered, however, and dragged himself into the Savannah near
Roraima, about three days distant from it, where I left him. Here we
found and made a splendid collection of about 3000 first-class plants of
different kinds.
While I was going up to Roraima, he stayed in the Savannah, still too
sick to go further. At Roraima I collected everything except _Catt.
Lawrenceana_, which was utterly rooted out already by former collectors.
On my return to Osmers' camp, I found him more dead than alive, thrown
down by a new attack of sickness; but not alone that, I also found him
abandoned by most of our Indians, who had fled on account of the Kanaima
having killed three of their number. So Mr. Osmers--who got soon
better--and I, made up our baskets with plants, and made everything
ready. Our Indians returning partly, I sent him ahead with as many loads
as we could carry, I staying behind with the rest of baskets of plants.
Had all our Indians come back, we would have been all right, but this
not being the case I had to stay until the Indians returned and fetched
me off. After this we got back all right. This was before the sickness
broke out among the Indians.
Last year I went up with Mr. Kromer, who met me going up-river while I
was coming down. So I joined him. We got up all right to the river's
head, but here our troubles began, as we got only about eight Indians to
go on with us who had worked in the gold-diggings, and no others could
be had, the district being abandoned. We had to pay them half a dollar
a day to carry loads. So we pushed on, carrying part of our loads,
leaving the rest of our cargo behind, until we reached the Savannah,
when we had to send them back several times to get the balance of our
goods. From the time we reached the Savannah we were starving, more or
less, as we could procure only very little provisions. We hunted all
about for _Catt. Lawrenceana_, and got only about 1500 or so, it growing
only here and there. At Roraima we did not hunt at all, as the district
is utterly rubbed out by the Indians. We were about fourteen days at
Roraima and got plenty of _Utricularia Campbelliana_, _U. Humboldtii_,
and _U. montana_. Also _Zygopetalum_, _Cyp. Lindleyanum_, _Oncidium
nigratum_ (only fifty--very rare now), _Cypripedium Schomburgkianum_,
_Zygopetalum Burkeii_, and in fact, all that is to be found on and about
Roraima, except the _Cattleya Lawrenceana_. Also plenty others, as
Sobralia, Liliastrum, etc. So our collection was not a very great one;
we had the hardest trouble now through the want of Indians to carry the
loads. Besides this, the rainy weather set in and our loads suffered
badly for all the care we took of them. Besides, the Indians got
disagreeable, having to go back several times to bring the remaining
baskets. Nevertheless, we got down as far as the Curubing mountains. Up
to this time we were more or less always starving. Arrived at the
Curubing mountains, procured a scant supply of provisions, but lost
nearly all of them in a small creek, and what was saved was spoiling
under our eyes, it being then that the rainy season had fully started,
drenching us from morning to night. It took us nine days to get our
loads over the mountain, where our boat was to reach us to take us down
river. And we were for two and a half days entirely without food.
Besides the plants being damaged by stress of weather, the Indians had
opened the baskets and thrown partly the loads away, not being able to
carry the heavy soaked-through baskets over the mountains, so making us
lose the best of our plants.
Arrived at our landing we had to wait for our boat, which arrived a week
later in consequence of the river being high, and, of course, short of
provisions. Still, we got away with what we had of our loads until we
reached the first gold places kept by a friend of mine, who supplied us
with food. Thereafter we started for town. Halfway, at Kapuri falls (one
of the most dangerous), we swamped down over a rock, and so we lost some
of our things; still saved all our plants, though they lay for a few
hours under water with the boat. After this we reached town in safety.
So after coming home we found, on packing up, that we had only about 900
plants, that is, _Cattleya Lawrenceana_, of which about one-third good,
one-third medium, and one-third poor quality. This trip took us about
three and a half months, and cost over 2500 dollars. Besides, I having
poisoned my leg on a rotten stump which I run up in my foot, lay for
four months suffering terrible pain.
You will, of course, see from this that orchid-hunting is no pleasure,
as you of course know, but what I want to point out to you is that
_Cattleya Lawrenceana_ is very rare in the interior now.
The river expenses fearfully high, in fact, unreasonably high, on
account of the gold-digging. Labourers getting 64 c. to $1.00 per day,
and all found. No Indians to be got, and those that you can get at
ridiculous prices, and getting them, too, by working on places where
they build and thatch houses and clear the ground from underbush, and as
huntsmen for gold-diggers. Even if Mr. Kromer had succeeded to get 3000
or 4000 fine _Cattleya Lawrenceana_, it would have been of no value to
us, as we could not have got anybody to carry them to the river where a
boat could reach. Besides this, I also must tell you that there is a
license to be paid out here if you want to collect orchids, amounting
to $100, which Mr. Kromer had to pay, and also an export tax duty of 2
cents per piece. So that orchid collecting is made a very expensive
affair. Besides its success being very doubtful, even if a man is very
well acquainted with Indian life and has visited the Savannah reaches
year after year. We spent something over $2500 to $2900, including Mr.
Kromer's and Steigfer's passage out, on our last expedition.
If you want to get any _Lawrenceana_, you will have to send yourself,
and as I said before, the results will be very doubtful. As far as I
myself am concerned, I am interested besides my baking business, in the
gold-diggings, and shall go up to the Savannah in a few months. I can
give you first-class references if you should be willing to send an
expedition, and we could come to some arrangement; at least, you would
save the expenses of the passage of one of your collectors. I may say
that I am quite conversant with the way of packing orchids and handling
them as well for travel as shipment.
Kindly excuse, therefore, my lengthy letter and its bad writing. And if
you should be inclined to go in for an expedition, just send me a list
of what you require, and I will tell you whether the plants are found
along the route of travel and in the Savannah visited; as, for
instance, _Catt. superba_ does not grow at all in the district where
_Catt. Lawrenceana_ is to be found, but far further south.
Before closing, I beg you to let me know the prices of about twenty-five
of the best of and prettiest South American orchids, which I want for my
own collection, as _Catt. Medellii_, _Catt. Trianæ_, _Odontoglossum
crispum_, _Miltonia vexillaria_, _Catt. labiata_, &c.
I shall await your answer as soon as possible, and send you a list by
last mail of what is to be got in this colony.
We also found on our last visit something new--a very large bulbed
Oncidium, or may be Catasetum, on the top of Roraima, where we spent a
night, but got only two specimens, one of which got lost, and the other
one I left in the hands of Mr. Rodway, but so we tried our best. It
decayed, having been too seriously damaged to revive and flower, and so
enable us to see what it was, it not being in flower when found.
Awaiting your kind reply,
Yours truly,
SEYLER.
P.S.--If you should send out one of your collectors, or require any
information, I shall be glad to give it.
One of the most experienced collectors, M. Oversluys, writes from the
Rio de Yanayacca, January, 1893:--
"Here it is absolutely necessary that one goes himself into the woods
ahead of the peons, who are quite cowards to enter the woods; and not
altogether without reason, for the larger part of them get sick here,
and it is very hard to enter--nearly impenetrable and full of insects,
which make fresh-coming people to get cracked and mad. I have from the
wrist down not a place to put in a shilling piece which is not a wound,
through the very small red spider and other insects. Also my people are
the same. Of the five men I took out, two have got fever already, and
one ran back. To-morrow I expect other peons, but not a single one from
Mengobamba. It is a trouble to get men who will come into the woods, and
I cannot have more than eight or ten to work with, because when I should
not be continually behind them or ahead they do nothing. It is not a
question of money to do good here, but merely luck and the way one
treats people. The peons come out less for their salaries than for good
and plenty of food, which is very difficult to find in these scarce
times....
"The plants are here one by one, and we have got but one tree with three
plants. They are on the highest and biggest trees, and these must be
cut down with axes. Below are all shrubs, full of climbers and lianas
about a finger thick. Every step must be cut to advance, and the ground
cleared below the high trees in order to spy the branches. It is a very
difficult job. Nature has well protected this Cattleya.... Nobody can
like this kind of work."
The poor man ends abruptly, "I will write when I can--the mosquitos
don't leave me a moment."
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 2: See a letter at p. 92.]
[Footnote 3: _Vide_ "Orchids and Hybridizing," _infra_, p. 210.]
WARM ORCHIDS.
By the expression "warm" we understand that condition which is
technically known as "intermediate." It is waste of time to ask, at this
day, why a Latin combination should be employed when there is an English
monosyllable exactly equivalent; we, at least, will use our
mother-tongue. Warm orchids are those which like a minimum temperature,
while growing, of 60°; while resting, of 55°. As for the maximum, it
signifies little in the former case, but in the latter--during the
months of rest--it cannot be allowed to go beyond 60°, for any length of
time, without mischief. These conditions mean, in effect, that the house
must be warmed during nine months of the twelve in this realm of
England. "Hot" orchids demand a fire the whole year round--saving a few
very rare nights when the Briton swelters in tropical discomfort. Upon
this dry subject of temperature, however, I would add one word of
encouragement for those who are not willing to pay a heavy bill for
coke. The cool-house, in general, requires a fire, at night, until June
1. Under that condition, if it face the south, in a warm locality, very
many genera and species classed as intermediate should be so thoroughly
started before artificial heat is withdrawn that they will do
excellently, unless the season be unusual.
Warm orchids come from a sub-tropic region, or from the mountains of a
hotter climate, where their kinsfolk dwelling in the plains defy the
thermometer; just as in sub-tropic lands warm species occupy the
lowlands, while the heights furnish Odontoglossums and such lovers of a
chilly atmosphere. There are, however, some warm Odontoglossums, notable
among them _O. vexillarium_, which botanists class with the Miltonias.
This species is very fashionable, and I give it the place of honour; but
not, in my own view, for its personal merits. The name is so singularly
appropriate that one would like to hear the inventor's reasons for
transfiguring it. _Vexillum_ we know, and _vexillarius_, but
_vexillarium_ goes beyond my Latin. However, it is an intelligible word,
and those acquainted with the appearance of "regimental colours" in Old
Rome perceive its fitness at a glance. The flat bloom seems to hang
suspended from its centre, just as the _vexillum_ figures in
bas-relief--on the Arch of Antoninus, for example. To my mind the
colouring is insipid, as a rule, and the general effect stark--fashion
in orchids, as in other things, has little reference to taste. I repeat
with emphasis, _as a rule_, for some priceless specimens are no less
than astounding in their blaze of colour, the quintessence of a million
uninteresting blooms. The poorest of these plants have merit, no doubt,
for those who can accommodate giants. They grow fast and big. There are
specimens in this country a yard across, which display a hundred and
fifty or two hundred flowers open at the same time for months. A superb
show they make, rising over the pale sea-green foliage, four spikes
perhaps from a single bulb. But this is a beauty of general effect,
which must not be analyzed, as I think.
_Odontoglossum vexillarium_ is brought from Colombia. There are two
forms: the one--small, evenly red, flowering in autumn--was discovered
by Frank Klaboch, nephew to the famous Roezl, on the Dagua River, in
Antioquia. For eight years he persisted in despatching small quantities
to Europe, though every plant died; at length a safer method of
transmission was found, but simultaneously poor Klaboch himself
succumbed. It is an awful country--perhaps the wettest under the sun.
Though a favourite hunting-ground of collectors now--for Cattleyas of
value come from hence, besides this precious Odontoglot--there are still
no means of transport, saving Indians and canoes. _O. vexillarium_ would
not be thought costly if buyers knew how rare it is, how expensive to
get, and how terribly difficult to bring home. Forty thousand pieces
were despatched to Mr. Sander in one consignment--he hugged himself with
delight when three thousand proved to have some trace of vitality.
Mr. Watson, Assistant Curator at Kew, recalls an amusing instance of the
value and the mystery attached to this species so late as 1867. In that
year Professor Reichenbach described it for the first time. He tells how
a friend lent him the bloom upon a negative promise under five
heads--"First, not to show it to any one else; (2) not to speak much
about it; (3) not to take a drawing of it; (4) not to have a photograph
made; (5) not to look oftener than three times at it." By-the-bye, Mr.
Watson gives the credit of the first discovery to the late Mr. Bowman;
but I venture to believe that my account is exact--in reference to the
Antioquia variety, at least.
The other form occurs in the famous district of Frontino, about two
hundred and fifty miles due north of the first habitat, and
shows--_savants_ would add "of course"--a striking difference. In the
geographical distinctions of species will be found the key to whole
volumes of mystery that perplex us now. I once saw three Odontoglossums
ranged side by side, which even an expert would pronounce mere varieties
of the same plant if he were not familiar with them--_Od. Williamsi_,
_Od. grande_, and _Od. Schlieperianum_. The middle one everybody knows,
by sight at least, a big, stark, spread-eagle flower, gamboge yellow
mottled with red-brown, vastly effective in the mass, but individually
vulgar. On one side was _Od. Williamsi_, essentially the same in flower
and bulb and growth, but smaller; opposite stood _Od. Schlieperianum_,
only to be distinguished as smaller still. But both these latter rank as
species. They are separated from the common type, _O. grande_, by nearly
ten degrees of latitude and ten degrees of longitude, nor--we might
almost make an affidavit--do any intermediate forms exist in the space
between; and those degrees are sub-tropical, by so much more significant
than an equal distance in our zone. Instances of the same class and more
surprising are found in many genera of orchid.
The Frontino _vexillarium_ grows "cooler," has a much larger bloom,
varies in hue from purest white to deepest red, and flowers in May or
June. The most glorious of these things, however, is _O. vex.
superbum_, a plant of the greatest rarity, conspicuous for its blotch of
deep purple in the centre of the lip, and its little dot of the same on
each wing. Doubtless this is a natural hybrid betwixt the Antioquia form
and _Odontoglossum Roezlii_, which is its neighbour. The chance of
finding a bit of _superbum_ in a bundle of the ordinary kind lends
peculiar excitement to a sale of these plants. Such luck first occurred
to Mr. Bath, in Stevens' Auction Rooms. He paid half-a-crown for a very
weakly fragment, brought it round, flowered it, and received a prize for
good gardening in the shape of seventy-two pounds, cheerfully paid by
Sir Trevor Lawrence for a plant unique at that time. I am reminded of
another little story. Among a great number of _Cypripedium insigne_
received at St. Albans, and "established," Mr. Sander noted one
presently of which the flower-stalk was yellow instead of brown, as is
usual. Sharp eyes are a valuable item of the orchid-grower's
stock-in-trade, for the smallest peculiarity among such "sportive"
objects should not be neglected. Carefully he put the yellow stalk
aside--the only one among thousands, one might say myriads, since _C.
insigne_ is one of our oldest and commonest orchids, and it never
showed this phenomenon before. In due course the flower opened, and
proved to be all golden! Mr. Sander cut his plant in two, sold half for
seventy-five pounds to a favoured customer, and the other half,
publicly, for one hundred guineas. One of the purchasers has divided his
plant now and sold two bits at 100 guineas. Another piece was bought
back by Mr. Sander, who wanted it for hybridizing, at 250 guineas--not a
bad profit for the buyer, who has still two plants left. Another
instance occurs to me while I write--such legends of shrewdness worthily
rewarded fascinate a poor journalist who has the audacity to grow
orchids. Mr. Harvey, solicitor, of Liverpool, strolling through the
houses at St. Albans on July 24, 1883, remarked a plant of _Loelia
anceps_, which had the ring-mark on its pseudo-bulb much higher up than
is usual. There might be some meaning in that eccentricity, he thought,
paid two guineas for the little thing, and on December 1, 1888, sold it
back to Mr. Sander for 200l. It proved to be _L. a. Amesiana_, the
grandest form of _L. anceps_ yet discovered--rosy white, with petals
deeply splashed; thus named after F.L. Ames, an American amateur. Such
pleasing opportunities might arise for you or me any day.
The first name that arises to most people in thinking of warm orchids
is Cattleya, and naturally. The genus Odontoglossum alone has more
representatives under cultivation. Sixty species of Cattleya are grown
by amateurs who pay special attention to these plants; as for the number
of "varieties" in a single species, one boasts forty, another thirty,
several pass the round dozen. They are exclusively American, but they
flourish over all the enormous space between Mexico and the Argentine
Republic. The genus is not a favourite of my own, for somewhat of the
same reason which qualifies my regard for _O. vexillarium_. Cattleyas
are so obtrusively beautiful, they have such great flowers, which they
thrust upon the eye with such assurance of admiration! Theirs is a style
of effect--I refer to the majority--which may be called infantine; such
as an intelligent and tasteful child might conceive if he had no fine
sense of colour, and were too young to distinguish a showy from a
charming form. But I say no more.
The history of Orchids long established is uncertain, but I believe that
the very first Cattleya which appeared in Europe was _C. violacea
Loddigesi_, imported by the great firm whose name it bears, to which we
owe such a heavy debt. Two years later came _C. labiata_, of which more
must be said; then _C. Mossiæ_, from Caraccas; fourth, _C. Trianæ_ named
after Colonel Trian, of Tolima, in the United States of Colombia. Trian
well deserved immortality, for he was a native of that secluded
land--and a botanist! It is a natural supposition that his orchid must
be the commonest of weeds in its home; seeing how all Europe is stocked
with it, and America also, rash people might say there are millions in
cultivation. But it seems likely that _C. Trianæ_ was never very
frequent, and at the present time assuredly it is so scarce that
collectors are not sent after it. Probably the colonel, like many other
_savants_, was an excellent man of business, and he established "a
corner" when he saw the chance. _C. Mossiæ_ stands in the same
situation--or indeed worse; it can scarcely be found now. These
instances convey a serious warning. In seventy years we have destroyed
the native stock of two orchids, both so very free in propagating that
they have an exceptional advantage in the struggle for existence. How
long can rare species survive, when the demand strengthens and widens
year by year, while the means of communication and transport become
easier over all the world? Other instances will be mentioned in their
place.
Island species are doomed, unless, like _Loelia elegans_, they have
inaccessible crags on which to find refuge. It is only a question of
time; but we may hope that Governments will interfere before it is too
late. Already Mr. Burbidge has suggested that "some one" who takes an
interest in orchids should establish a farm, a plantation, here and
there about the world, where such plants grow naturally, and devote
himself to careful hybridization on the spot. "One might make as much,"
he writes, "by breeding orchids as by breeding cattle, and of the two,
in the long run, I should prefer the orchid farm." This scheme will be
carried out one day, not so much for the purpose of hybridization as for
plain "market-gardening;" and the sooner the better.
The prospect is still more dark for those who believe--as many do--that
no epiphytal orchid under any circumstances can be induced to establish
itself permanently in our greenhouses as it does at home. Doubtless,
they say, it is possible to grow them and to flower them, by assiduous
care, upon a scale which is seldom approached under the rough treatment
of Nature. But they are dying from year to year, in spite of
appearances. That it is so in a few cases can hardly be denied; but,
seeing how many plants which have not changed hands since their
establishment, twenty or thirty or forty years ago, have grown
continually bigger and finer, it seems much more probable that our
ignorance is to blame for the loss of those species which suddenly
collapse. Sir Trevor Lawrence observed the other day: "With regard to
the longevity of orchids, I have one which I know to have been in this
country for more than fifty years, probably even twenty years longer
than that--_Renanthera coccinea_." The finest specimens of Cattleya in
Mr. Stevenson Clarke's houses have been "grown on" from small pieces
imported twenty years ago. If there were more collections which could
boast, say, half a century of uninterrupted attention, we should have
material for forming a judgment; as a rule, the dates of purchase or
establishment were not carefully preserved till late years.
But there is one species of Cattleya which must needs have seventy years
of existence in Europe, since it had never been re-discovered till 1890.
When we see a pot of _C. labiata_, the true, autumn-flowering variety,
more than two years old, we know that the very plant itself must have
been established about 1818, or at least its immediate parent--for no
seedling has been raised to public knowledge.[4]
In avowing a certain indifference to Cattleyas, I referred to the bulk,
of course. The most gorgeous, the stateliest, the most imperial of all
flowers on this earth, is _C. Dowiana_--unless it be _C. aurea_, a
"geographical variety" of the same. They dwell a thousand miles apart at
least, the one in Colombia, the other in Costa Rica; and neither occurs,
so far as is known, in the great intervening region. Not even a
connecting link has been discovered; but the Atlantic coast of Central
America is hardly explored, much less examined. In my time it was held,
from Cape Camarin to Chagres, by independent tribes of savages--not
independent in fact alone, but in name also. The Mosquito Indians are
recognized by Europe as free; the Guatusos kept a space of many hundred
miles from which no white man had returned; when I was in those parts,
the Talamancas, though not so unfriendly, were only known by the report
of adventurous pedlars. I made an attempt--comparatively spirited--to
organize an exploring party for the benefit of the Guatusos, but no
single volunteer answered our advertisements in San José de Costa Rica;
I have lived to congratulate myself on that disappointment. Since my day
a road has been cut through their wilds to Limon, certain luckless
Britons having found the money for a railway; but an engineer who
visited the coast but two years ago informs me that no one ever wandered
into "the bush." Collectors have not been there, assuredly. So there may
be connecting links between _C. Dowiana_ and _C. aurea_ in that vast
wilderness, but it is quite possible there are none.
Words could not picture the glory of these marvels. In each the scheme
of colour is yellow and crimson, but there are important modifications.
Yellow is the ground all through in _Cattleya aurea_--sepals, petals,
and lip; unbroken in the two former, in the latter superbly streaked
with crimson. But _Cattleya Dowiana_ shows crimson pencillings on its
sepals, while the ground colour of the lip is crimson, broadly lined and
reticulated with gold. Imagine four of these noble flowers on one stalk,
each half a foot across! But it lies beyond the power of imagination.
_C. Dowiana_ was discovered by Warscewicz about 1850, and he sent home
accounts too enthusiastic for belief. Steady-going Britons utterly
refused to credit such a marvel--his few plants died, and there was an
end of it for the time. I may mention an instance of more recent date,
where the eye-witness of a collector was flatly rejected at home.
Monsieur St. Leger, residing at Asuncion, the capital of Paraguay, wrote
a warm description of an orchid in those parts to scientific friends.
The account reached England, and was treated with derision. Monsieur St.
Leger, nettled, sent some dried flowers for a testimony; but the mind of
the Orchidaceous public was made up. In 1883 he brought a quantity of
plants and put them up at auction; nobody in particular would buy. So
those reckless or simple or trusting persons who invested a few
shillings in a bundle had all the fun to themselves a few months
afterwards, when the beautiful _Oncidium Jonesianum_ appeared, to
confound the unbelieving. It must be added, however, that orchid-growers
may well become an incredulous generation. When their judgment leads
them wrong we hear of it, the tale is published, and outsiders mock. But
these gentlemen receive startling reports continually, honest enough for
the most part. Much experience and some loss have made them rather
cynical when a new wonder is announced. The particular case of Monsieur
St. Leger was complicated by the extreme resemblance which the foliage
of _Onc. Jonesianum_ bears to that of _Onc. cibolletum_, a species
almost worthless. Unfortunately the beautiful thing declines to live
with us--as yet.
_Cattleya Dowiana_ was rediscovered by Mr. Arce, when collecting birds:
it must have been a grand moment for Warscewicz when the horticultural
world was convulsed by its appearance in bloom. _Cattleya aurea_ had no
adventures of this sort. Mr. Wallis found it in 1868 in the province of
Antioquia, and again on the west bank of the Magdalena; but it is very
rare. This species is persecuted in its native home by a beetle, which
accompanies it to Europe not infrequently--in the form of eggs, no
doubt. A more troublesome alien is the fly which haunts _Cattleya
Mendellii_, and for a long time prejudiced growers against that fine
species, until, in fact, they had made a practical and rather costly
study of its habits. An experienced grower detects the presence of this
enemy at a glance. It pierces an "eye"--a back one in general,
happily--and deposits an egg in the very centre. Presently this growth
begins to swell in a manner that delights the ingenuous horticulturist,
until he remarks that its length does not keep pace with its breadth.
But one remedy has yet been discovered--cutting off any suspected
growth. We understand now that _C. Mendellii_ is as safe to import as
any other species, unless it be gathered at the wrong time.[5]
Among the most glorious, rarest, and most valuable of Cattleyas is _C.
Hardyana_, doubtless a natural hybrid of _C. aurea_ with _C. gigas
Sanderiana_. Few of us have seen it--two-hundred-guinea plants are not
common spectacles. It has an immense flower, rose-purple; the lip
purple-magenta, veined with gold. _Cattleya Sanderiana_ offers an
interesting story. Mr. Mau, one of Mr. Sander's collectors, was
despatched to Bogota in search of _Odontoglossum crispum_. While
tramping through the woods, he came across a very large Cattleya at
rest, and gathered such pieces as fell in his way--attaching so little
importance to them, however, that he did not name the matter in his
reports. Four cases Mr. Mau brought home with his stock of
Odontoglossums, which were opened in due course of business. We can
quite believe that it was one of the stirring moments of Mr. Sander's
life. The plants bore many dry specimens of last year's inflorescence,
displaying such extraordinary size as proved the variety to be new; and
there is no large Cattleya of indifferent colouring. To receive a plant
of that character unannounced, undescribed, is an experience without
parallel for half a century. Mr. Mau was sent back by next mail to
secure every fragment he could find. Meantime, those in hand were
established, and Mr. Brymer, M.P., bought one--Mr. Brymer is
immortalized by the Dendrobe which bears his name. The new Cattleya
proved kindly, and just before Mr. Mau returned with some thousands of
its like Mr. Brymer's purchase broke into bloom. That must have been
another glorious moment for Mr. Sander, when the great bud unfolded,
displaying sepals and petals of the rosiest, freshest, softest pink,
eleven inches across; and a crimson labellum exquisitely shown up by a
broad patch of white on either side of the throat. Mr. Brymer was good
enough to lend his specimen for the purpose of advertisement, and
Messrs. Stevens enthusiastically fixed a green baize partition across
their rooms as a background for the wondrous novelty. What excitement
reigned there on the great day is not to be described. I have heard that
over 2000l. was taken in the room.
Most of the Cattleyas with which the public is familiar--_Mossiæ_,
_Trianæ_, _Mendellii_, and so forth--have white varieties; but an
example absolutely pure is so uncommon that it fetches a long price.
Loveliest of these is _C. Skinneri alba_. For generations, if not for
ages, the people of Costa Rica have been gathering every morsel they can
find, and planting it upon the roofs of their mud-built churches. Roezl
and the early collectors had a "good time," buying these semi-sacred
flowers from the priests, bribing the parishioners to steal them, or,
when occasion served, playing the thief themselves. But the game is
nearly up. Seldom now can a piece of _Cat. Skinneri alba_ be obtained by
honest means, and when a collector arrives guards are set upon the
churches that still keep their decoration. No plant has ever been found
in the forest, we understand.
It is just the same case with _Loelia anceps alba_. The genus Loelia
is distinguished from Cattleya by a peculiarity to be remarked only in
dissection; its pollen masses are eight as against four. To my taste,
however, the species are more charming on the whole. There is _L.
purpurata_. Casual observers always find it hard to grasp the fact that
orchids are weeds in their native homes, just like foxgloves and
dandelions with us. In this instance, as I have noted, they flatly
refuse to believe, and certainly "upon the face of it" their incredulity
is reasonable.
_Loelia purpurata_ falls under the head of hot orchids. _L. anceps_,
however, is not so exacting; many people grow it in the cool house when
they can expose it there to the full blaze of sunshine. In its commonest
form it is divinely beautiful. I have seen a plant in Mr. Eastey's
collection with twenty-three spikes, the flowers all open at once. Such
a spectacle is not to be described in prose. But when the enthusiast has
rashly said that earth contains no more ethereal loveliness, let him
behold _L. a. alba_, the white variety. The dullest man I ever knew, who
had a commonplace for all occasions, found no word in presence of that
marvel. Even the half-castes of Mexico who have no soul, apparently, for
things above horseflesh and cockfights, and love-making, reverence this
saintly bloom. The Indians adore it. Like their brethren to the south,
who have tenderly removed every plant of _Cattleya Skinneri alba_ for
generations unknown, to set upon their churches, they collect this
supreme effort of Nature and replant it round their huts. So thoroughly
has the work been done in either case that no single specimen was ever
seen in the forest. Every one has been bought from the Indians, and the
supply is exhausted; that is to say, a good many more are known to
exist, but very rarely now can the owner be persuaded to part with one.
The first example reached England nearly half a century ago, sent
probably by a native trader to his correspondent in this country; but,
as was usual at that time, the circumstances are doubtful. It found its
way, somehow, to Mr. Dawson, of Meadowbank, a famous collector, and by
him it was divided. Search was made for the treasure in its home, but
vainly; travellers did not look in the Indian gardens. No more arrived
for many years. Mr. Sander once conceived a fine idea. He sent one of
his collectors to gather _Loelia a. alba_ at the season when it is in
bud, with an intention of startling the universe by displaying a mass of
them in full bloom; they were still more uncommon then than now, when a
dozen flowering plants is still a show of which kings may be proud. Mr.
Bartholomeus punctually fulfilled his instructions, collected some forty
plants with their spikes well developed; attached them to strips of wood
which he nailed across shallow boxes, and shipped them to San Francisco.
Thence they travelled by fast train to New York, and proceeded without a
moment's delay to Liverpool on board the _Umbria_; it was one of her
first trips. All went well. Confidently did Mr. Sander anticipate the
sensation when a score of those glorious plants were set out in full
bloom upon the tables. But on opening the boxes he found every spike
withered. The experiment is so tempting that it has been essayed once
more, with a like result. The buds of _Loelia anceps_ will not stand
sea air.
Catasetums do not rank as a genus among our beauties; in fact, saving
_C. pileatum_, commonly called _C. Bungerothi_, and _C. barbatum_, I
think of none, at this moment, which are worthy of attraction on that
ground. _C. fimbriatum_, indeed, would be lovely if it could be
persuaded to show itself. I have seen one plant which condescended to
open its spotted blooms, but only one. No orchids, however, give more
material for study; on this account Catasetum was a favourite with Mr.
Darwin. It is approved also by unlearned persons who find relief from
the monotony of admiration as they stroll round in observing its
acrobatic performances. The "column" bears two horns; if these be
touched, the pollen-masses fly as if discharged from a catapult. _C.
pileatum_, however, is very handsome, four inches across, ivory white,
with a round well in the centre of its broad lip, which makes a theme
for endless speculation. The daring eccentricities of colour in this
class of plant have no stronger example than _C. callosum_, a novelty
from Caraccas, with inky brown sepals and petals, brightest orange
column, labellum of verdigris-green tipped with orange to match.
Schomburgkias are not often seen. Having a boundless choice of fine
things which grow and flower without reluctance, the practical gardener
gets irritated in these days when he finds a plant beyond his skill. It
is a pity, for the Schomburgkias are glorious things--in especial _Sch.
tibicinis_. No description has done it justice, and few are privileged
to speak as eye-witnesses. The clustering flowers hang down, sepals and
petals of dusky mauve, most gracefully frilled and twisted, encircling a
great hollow labellum which ends in a golden drop. That part of the
cavity which is visible between the handsome incurved wings has bold
stripes of dark crimson. The species is interesting, too. It comes from
Honduras, where the children use its great hollow pseudo-bulbs as
trumpets--whence the name. At their base is a hole--a touch-hole, as we
may say, the utility of which defies our botanists. Had Mr. Belt
travelled in those parts, he might have discovered the secret, as in the
similar case of the Bullthorn, one of the _Gummiferæ_. The great thorns
of that bush have just such a hole, and Mr. Belt proved by lengthy
observations that it is designed, to speak roughly, for the ingress of
an ant peculiar to that acacia, whose duty it is to defend the young
shoots--_vide_ Belt's "Naturalist in Nicaragua," page 218. Importers are
too well aware that _Schomburgkia tibicinis_ also is inhabited by an ant
of singular ferocity, for it survives the voyage, and rushes forth to
battle when the case is opened. We may suppose that it performs a like
service.
Dendrobiums are "warm" mostly; of the hot species, which are many, and
the cool, which are few, I have not to speak here. But a remark made at
the beginning of this chapter especially applies to Dendrobes. If they
be started early, so that the young growths are well advanced by June 1;
if the situation be warm, and a part of the house sunny--if they be
placed in that part without any shade till July, and freely
syringed--with a little extra attention many of them will do well
enough. That is to say, they will make such a show of blossom as is
mighty satisfactory in the winter time. We must not look for
"specimens," but there should be bloom enough to repay handsomely the
very little trouble they give. Among those that may be treated so are
_D. Wardianum_, _Falconeri_, _crassinode_, _Pierardii_, _crystallinum_,
_Devonianum_--sometimes--and _nobile_, of course. Probably there are
more, but these I have tried myself.
_Dendrobium Wardianum_, at the present day, comes almost exclusively
from Burmah--the neighbourhood of the Ruby Mines is its favourite
habitat. But it was first brought to England from Assam in 1858, when
botanists regarded it as a form of _D. Falconeri_. This error was not so
strange as its seems, for the Assamese variety has pseudo-bulbs much
less sturdy than those we are used to see, and they are quite pendulous.
It was rather a lively business collecting orchids in Burmah before the
annexation. The Roman Catholic missionaries established there made it a
source of income, and they did not greet an intruding stranger with
warmth--not genial warmth, at least. He was forbidden to quit the town
of Bhamo, an edict which compelled him to employ native collectors--in
fact, coolies--himself waiting helplessly within the walls; but his
reverend rivals, having greater freedom and an acquaintance with the
language, organized a corps of skirmishers to prowl round and intercept
the natives returning with their loads. Doubtless somebody received the
value when they made a haul, but who, is uncertain perhaps--and the
stranger was disappointed, anyhow. It may be believed that unedifying
scenes arose--especially on two or three occasions when an agent had
almost reached one of the four gates before he was intercepted. For the
hapless collector--having nothing in the world to do--haunted those
portals all day long, flying from one to the other in hope to see
"somebody coming." Very droll, but Burmah is a warm country for jests
of the kind. Thus it happened occasionally that he beheld his own
discomfiture, and rows ensued at the Mission-house. At length Mr. Sander
addressed a formal petition to the Austrian Archbishop, to whom the
missionaries owed allegiance. He received a sympathetic answer, and some
assistance.
From the Ruby Mines also comes a Dendrobium so excessively rare that I
name it only to call the attention of employés in the new company. This
is _D. rhodopterygium_. Sir Trevor Lawrence has or had a plant, I
believe; there are two or three at St. Albans; but the lists of other
dealers will be searched in vain. Sir Trevor Lawrence had also a scarlet
species from Burmah; but it died even before the christening, and no
second has yet been found. Sumatra furnishes a scarlet Dendrobe, _D.
Forstermanni_, but it again is of the utmost rarity. Baron Schroeder
boasts three specimens--which have not yet flowered, however. From
Burmah comes _D. Brymerianum_, of which the story is brief, but very
thrilling if we ponder it a moment. For the missionaries sent this plant
to Europe without a description--they had not seen the bloom,
doubtless--and it sold cheap enough. We may fancy Mr. Brymer's emotion,
therefore, when the striking flower opened. Its form is unique, though
some other varieties display a long fringe--as that extraordinary
object, _Nanodes Medusæ_, and also _Brassavola Digbyana_, which is
exquisitely lovely sometimes. In the case of _D. Brymerianum_ the bright
yellow lip is split all round, for two-thirds of its expanse, into
twisted filaments. We may well ask what on earth is Nature's purpose in
this eccentricity; but it is a question that arises every hour to the
most thoughtless being who grows orchids.
[Illustration: DENDROBIUM BRYMERIANUM.
Reduced To One Fourth.]
Everybody knows _Dendrobium nobile_ so well that it is not to be
discussed in prose; something might be done in poetry, perhaps, by young
gentlemen who sing of buttercups and daisies, but the rhyme would be
difficult. _D. nobile nobilius_, however, is by no means so
common--would it were! This glorified form turned up among an
importation made by Messrs. Rollisson. They propagated it, and sold four
small pieces, which are still in cultivation. But the troubles of that
renowned firm, to which we owe so great a debt, had already begun. The
mother-plant was neglected. It had fallen into such a desperate
condition when Messrs. Rollisson's plants were sold, under a decree in
bankruptcy, that the great dealers refused to bid for what should have
been a little gold-mine. A casual market-gardener hazarded thirty
shillings, brought it round so far that he could establish a number of
young plants, and sold the parent for forty pounds at last. There are,
however, several fine varieties of _D. nobile_ more valuable than
_nobilius_. _D. n. Sanderianum_ resembles that form, but it is smaller
and darker. Albinos have been found; Baron Schroeder has a beautiful
example. One appeared at Stevens' Rooms, announced as the single
instance in cultivation--which is not quite the fact, but near enough
for the auction-room, perhaps. It also was imported originally by Mr.
Sander, with _D. n. Sanderianum_. Biddings reached forty-three pounds,
but the owner would not deal at the price. Albinos are rare among the
Dendrobes.
_D. nobile Cooksoni_ was the _fons et origo_ of an unpleasant
misunderstanding. It turned up in the collection of Mr. Lange,
distinguished by a reversal of the ordinary scheme of colour. There is
actually no end to the delightful vagaries of these plants. If people
only knew what interest and pleasing excitement attends the
inflorescence of an imported orchid--one, that is, which has not bloomed
before in Europe--they would crowd the auction-rooms in which every
strange face is marked now. There are books enough to inform them,
certainly; but who reads an Orchid Book? Even the enthusiast only
consults it.
_Dendrobium nobile Cooksoni_, then, has white tips to petal and sepal;
the crimson spot keeps its place; and the inside of the flower is deep
red--an inversion of the usual colouring. Mr. Lange could scarcely fail
to observe this peculiarity, but he seems to have thought little of it.
Mr. Cookson, paying him a visit, was struck, however--as well he might
be--and expressed a wish to have the plant. So the two distinguished
amateurs made an exchange. Mr. Cookson sent a flower at once to
Professor Reichenbach, who, delighted and enthusiastic, registered it
upon the spot under the name of the gentleman from whom he received it.
Mr. Lange protested warmly, demanding that his discovery should be
called, after his residence, _Heathfieldsayeanum_. But Professor
Reichenbach drily refused to consider personal questions; and really,
seeing how short is life, and how long _Dendrobium nobile Heathfield_,
&c., true philanthropists will hold him justified.
We may expect wondrous Dendrobes from New Guinea. Some fine species have
already arrived, and others have been sent in the dried inflorescence.
Of _D. phaloenopsis Schroederi_ I have spoken elsewhere. There is _D.
Goldiei_; a variety of _D. superbiens_--but much larger. There is _D.
Albertesii_, snow-white; _D. Broomfieldianum_, curiously like _Loelia
anceps alba_ in its flower--which is to say that it must be the
loveliest of all Dendrobes. But this species has a further charm, almost
incredible. The lip in some varieties is washed with lavender blue, in
some with crimson! Another is nearly related to _D. bigibbum_, but much
larger, with sepals more acute. Its hue is a glorious rosy-purple,
deepening on the lip, the side lobes of which curl over and meet,
forming a cylindrical tube, while the middle lobe, prolonged, stands out
at right angles, veined with very dark purple; this has just been named
_D. Statterianum_. It has upon the disc an elevated, hairy crest, like
_D. bigibbum_, but instead of being white as always, more or less, in
that instance, the crest of the new species is dark purple. I have been
particular in describing this noble flower, because very, very few have
beheld it. Those who live will see marvels when the Dutch and German
portions of New Guinea are explored.
Recently I have been privileged to see another, the most impressive to
my taste, of all the lovely genus. It is called _D. atro-violaceum_. The
stately flowers hang down their heads, reflexed like a "Turban Lily,"
ten or a dozen on a spike. The colour is ivory-white, with a faintest
tinge of green, and green spots are dotted all over. The lobes of the
lip curl in, making half the circumference of a funnel, the outside of
which is dark violet-blue; with that fine colour the lip itself is
boldly striped. They tell me that the public is not expected to "catch
on" to this marvel. It hangs its head too low, and the contrast of hues
is too startling. If that be so, we multiply schools of art and County
Council lectures perambulate the realm, in vain. The artistic sense is
denied us.
Madagascar also will furnish some astonishing novelties; it has already
begun, in fact--with a vengeance. Imagine a scarlet Cymbidium! That such
a wonder existed has been known for some years, and three collectors
have gone in search of it; two died, and the third has been terribly ill
since his return to Europe--but he won the treasure, which we shall
behold in good time. Those parts of Madagascar which especially attract
botanists must be death-traps indeed! M. Léon Humblot tells how he dined
at Tamatave with his brother and six compatriots, exploring the country
with various scientific aims. Within twelve months he was the only
survivor. One of these unfortunates, travelling on behalf of Mr. Cutler,
the celebrated naturalist of Bloomsbury Street, to find butterflies and
birds, shot at a native idol, as the report goes. The priests soaked
him with paraffin, and burnt him on a table--perhaps their altar. M.
Humblot himself has had awful experiences. He was attached to the
geographical survey directed by the French Government, and ten years ago
he found _Phajus Humblotii_ and _Phajus tuberculosus_ in the deadliest
swamps of the interior. A few of the bulbs gathered lived through the
passage home, and caused much excitement when offered for sale at
Stevens' Auction Rooms. M. Humblot risked his life again, and secured a
great quantity for Mr. Sander, but at a dreadful cost. He spent twelve
months in the hospital at Mayotte, and on arrival at Marseilles with his
plants the doctors gave him no hope of recovery. _P. Humblotii_ is a
marvel of beauty--rose-pink, with a great crimson labellum exquisitely
frilled, and a bright green column.
Everybody who knows his "Darwin" is aware that Madagascar is the chosen
home of the Angræcums. All, indeed, are natives of Africa, so far as I
know, excepting the delightful _A. falcatum_, which comes, strangely
enough, from Japan. One cannot but suspect, under the circumstances,
that this species was brought from Africa ages ago, when the Japanese
were enterprising seamen, and has been acclimatized by those skilful
horticulturists. It is certainly odd that the only "cool" Aerides--the
only one found, I believe, outside of India and the Eastern
Tropics--also belongs to Japan, and a cool Dendrobe, _A. arcuatum_, is
found in the Transvaal; and I have reason to hope that another or more
will turn up when South Africa is thoroughly searched. A pink Angræcum,
very rarely seen, dwells somewhere on the West Coast; the only species,
so far as I know, which is not white. It bears the name of M. Du
Chaillu, who found it--he has forgotten where, unhappily. I took that
famous traveller to St. Albans in the hope of quickening his
recollection, and I fear I bored him afterwards with categorical
inquiries. But all was vain. M. Du Chaillu can only recall that once on
a time, when just starting for Europe, it occurred to him to run into
the bush and strip the trees indiscriminately. Mr. Sander was prepared
to send a man expressly for this Angræcum. The exquisite _A.
Sanderianum_ is a native of the Comorro Islands. No flower could be
prettier than this, nor more deliciously scented--when scented it is! It
grows in a climate which travellers describe as Paradise, and, in truth,
it becomes such a scene. Those who behold young plants with graceful
garlands of snowy bloom twelve to twenty inches long are prone to fall
into raptures; but imagine it as a long-established specimen appears
just now at St Albans, with racemes drooping two and a half feet from
each new growth, clothed on either side with flowers like a double train
of white long-tailed butterflies hovering! _A. Scottianum_ comes from
Zanzibar, discovered, I believe, by Sir John Kirk; _A. caudatum_, from
Sierra Leone. This latter species is the nearest rival of _A.
sesquipedale_, showing "tails" ten inches long. Next in order for this
characteristic detail rank _A. Leonis_ and _Kotschyi_--the latter rarely
grown--with seven-inch "tails;" _Scottianum_ and _Ellisii_ with
six-inch; that is to say, they ought to show such dimensions
respectively. Whether they fulfil their promise depends upon the grower.
With the exceptions named, this family belongs to Madagascar. It has a
charming distinction, shared by no other genus which I recall, save, in
less degree, Cattleya--every member is attractive. But I must
concentrate myself on the most striking--that which fascinated Darwin.
In the first place it should be pointed out that _savants_ call this
plant _Æranthus sesquipedalis_, not _Angræcum_--a fact useful to know,
but unimportant to ordinary mortals. It was discovered by the Rev. Mr.
Ellis, and sent home alive, nearly thirty years ago; but civilized
mankind has not yet done wondering at it. The stately growth, the
magnificent green-white flowers, command admiration at a glance, but the
"tail," or spur, offers a problem of which the thoughtful never tire. It
is commonly ten inches long, sometimes fourteen inches, and at home, I
have been told, even longer; about the thickness of a goose-quill,
hollow, of course, the last inch and a half filled with nectar. Studying
this appendage by the light of the principles he had laid down, Darwin
ventured on a prophecy which roused special mirth among the unbelievers.
Not only the abnormal length of the nectary had to be considered; there
was, besides, the fact that all its honey lay at the base, a foot or
more from the orifice. Accepting it as a postulate that every detail of
the apparatus must be equally essential for the purpose it had to serve,
he made a series of experiments which demonstrated that some insect of
Madagascar--doubtless a moth--must be equipped with a proboscis long
enough to reach the nectar, and at the same time thick enough at the
base to withdraw the pollinia--thus fertilizing the bloom. For, if the
nectar had lain so close to the orifice that moths with a proboscis of
reasonable length and thickness could get at it, they would drain the
cup without touching the pollinia. Darwin never proved his special
genius more admirably than in this case. He created an insect beyond
belief, as one may say, by the force of logic; and such absolute
confidence had he in his own syllogism that he declared, "If such great
moths were to become extinct in Madagascar, assuredly this Angræcum
would become extinct." I am not aware that Darwin's fine argument has
yet been clinched by the discovery of that insect. But cavil has ceased.
Long before his death a sphinx moth arrived from South Brazil which
shows a proboscis between ten and eleven inches long--very nearly equal,
therefore, to the task of probing the nectary of _Angræcum
sesquipidale_. And we know enough of orchids at this time to be
absolutely certain that the Madagascar species must exist.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 4: _Vide_ "The Lost Orchid," _infra_, p. 173.]
[Footnote 5: I have learned by a doleful experience that this fly,
commonly called "the weavil," is quite at home on _Loelia purpurata_;
in fact, it will prey on any Cattleya.]
HOT ORCHIDS.
In former chapters I have done my best to show that orchid culture is no
mystery. The laws which govern it are strict and simple, easy to define
in books, easily understood, and subject to few exceptions. It is not
with Odontoglossums and Dendrobes as with roses--an intelligent man or
woman needs no long apprenticeship to master their treatment. Stove
orchids are not so readily dealt with; but then, persons who own a stove
usually keep a gardener. Coming from the hot lowlands of either
hemisphere, they show much greater variety than those of the temperate
and sub-tropic zones; there are more genera, though not so many species,
and more exceptions to every rule. These, therefore, are not to be
recommended to all householders. Not everyone indeed is anxious to grow
plants which need a minimum night heat of 60° in winter, 70° in summer,
and cannot dispense with fire the whole year round.
The hottest of all orchids probably is _Peristeria elata_, the famous
"Spirito Santo," flower of the Holy Ghost. The dullest soul who observes
that white dove rising with wings half spread, as in the very act of
taking flight, can understand the frenzy of the Spaniards when they came
upon it. Rumours of Peruvian magnificence had just reached them at
Panama--on the same day, perhaps--when this miraculous sign from heaven
encouraged them to advance. The empire of the Incas did not fall a prey
to that particular band of ruffians, nevertheless. _Peristeria elata_ is
so well known that I would not dwell upon it, but an odd little tale
rises to my mind. The great collector Roezl was travelling homeward, in
1868, by Panama. The railway fare to Colon was sixty dollars at that
time, and he grudged the money. Setting his wits to work, Roezl
discovered that the company issued tickets from station to station at a
very low price for the convenience of its employés. Taking advantage of
this system, he crossed the isthmus for five dollars--such an advantage
it is in travelling to be an old campaigner! At one of the intermediate
stations he had to wait for his train, and rushed into the jungle of
course. _Peristeria_ abounded in that steaming swamp, but the collector
was on holiday. To his amazement, however, he found, side by side with
it, a Masdevallia--that genus most impatient of sunshine among all
orchids, flourishing here in the hottest blaze! Snatching up half a
dozen of the tender plants with a practised hand, he brought them safe
to England. On the day they were put up to auction news of Livingstone's
death arrived, and in a flash of inspiration Roezl christened his
novelty _M. Livingstoniana_. Few, indeed, even among authorities, know
where that rarest of Masdevallias has its home; none have reached Europe
since. A pretty flower it is--white, rosy tipped, with yellow "tails."
And it dwells by the station of Culebras, on the Panama railway.
Of genera, however, doubtless the Vandas are hottest; and among these,
_V. Sanderiana_ stands first. It was found in Mindanao, the most
southerly of the Philippines, by Mr. Roebelin when he went thither in
search of the red Phaloenopsis, as will be told presently. _Vanda
Sanderiana_ is a plant to be described as majestic rather than lovely,
if we may distinguish among these glorious things. Its blooms are five
inches across, pale lilac in their ground colour, suffused with brownish
yellow, and covered with a network of crimson brown. Twelve or more of
such striking flowers to a spike, and four or five spikes upon a plant
make a wonder indeed. But, to view matters prosaically, _Vanda_
_Sanderiana_ is "bad business." It is not common, and it grows on the
very top of the highest trees, which must be felled to secure the
treasure; and of those gathered but a small proportion survive. In the
first place, the agent must employ natives, who are paid so much per
plant, no matter what the size--a bad system, but they will allow no
change. It is evidently their interest to divide any "specimen" that
will bear cutting up; if the fragments bleed to death, they have got
their money meantime. Then, the Manilla steamers call at Mindanao only
once a month. Three months are needed to get together plants enough to
yield a fair profit. At the end of that time a large proportion of those
first gathered will certainly be doomed--Vandas have no pseudo-bulbs to
sustain their strength. Steamers run from Manilla to Singapore every
fortnight. If the collector be fortunate he may light upon a captain
willing to receive his packages; in that case he builds structures of
bamboo on deck, and spends the next fortnight in watering, shading, and
ventilating his precious _trouvailles_, alternately. But captains
willing to receive such freight must be waited for too often. At
Singapore it is necessary to make a final overhauling of the plants--to
their woeful diminution. This done, troubles recommence. Seldom will
the captain of a mail steamer accept that miscellaneous cargo. Happily,
the time of year is, or ought to be, that season when tea-ships arrive
at Singapore. The collector may reasonably hope to secure a passage in
one of these, which will carry him to England in thirty-five days or so.
If this state of things be pondered, even without allowance for
accident, it will not seem surprising that _V. Sanderiana_ is a costly
species. The largest piece yet secured was bought by Sir Trevor Lawrence
at auction for ninety guineas. It had eight stems, the tallest four feet
high. No consignment has yet returned a profit, however.
The favoured home of Vandas is Java. They are noble plants even when at
rest, if perfect--that is, clothed in their glossy, dark green leaves
from base to crown. If there be any age or any height at which the lower
leaves fall of necessity, I have not been able to identify it. In Mr.
Sander's collection, for instance, there is a giant plant of _Vanda
suavis_, eleven growths, a small thicket, established in 1847. The
tallest stem measures fifteen feet, and every one of its leaves remain.
They fall off easily under bad treatment, but the mischief is reparable
at a certain sacrifice. The stem may be cut through and the crown
replanted, with leaves perfect; but it will be so much shorter, of
course. The finest specimen I ever heard of is the _V. Lowii_ at
Ferrières, seat of Baron Alphonse de Rothschild, near Paris. It fills
the upper part of a large greenhouse, and year by year its twelve stems
produce an indefinite number of spikes, eight to ten feet long, covered
with thousands of yellow and brown blooms.[6] Vandas inhabit all the
Malayan Archipelago; some are found even in India. The superb _V. teres_
comes from Sylhet; from Burmah also. This might be called the floral
cognizance of the house of Rothschild. At Frankfort, Vienna, Ferrières,
and Gunnersbury little meadows of it are grown--that is, the plants
flourish at their own sweet will, uncumbered with pots, in houses
devoted to them. Rising from a carpet of palms and maidenhair, each
crowned with its drooping garland of rose and crimson and
cinnamon-brown, they make a glorious show indeed. A pretty little
coincidence was remarked when the Queen paid a visit to Waddesdon the
other day. _V. teres_ first bloomed in Europe at Syon House, and a small
spray was sent to the young Princess, unmarried then and uncrowned. The
incident recurred to memory when Baron Ferdinand de Rothschild chose
this same flower for the bouquet presented to Her Majesty; he adorned
the luncheon table therewith besides. This story bears a moral. The
plant of which one spray was a royal gift less than sixty years ago has
become so far common that it may be used in masses to decorate a room.
Thousands of unconsidered subjects of Her Majesty enjoy the pleasure
which one great duke monopolized before her reign began. There is matter
for an essay here. I hasten back to my theme.
_V. teres_ is not such a common object that description would be
superfluous. It belongs to the small class of climbing orchids,
delighting to sun itself upon the rafters of the hottest stove. If this
habit be duly regarded, it is not difficult to flower by any means,
though gardeners who do not keep pace with their age still pronounce it
a hopeless rebel. Sir Hugh Low tells me that he clothed all the trees
round Government House at Pahang with _Vanda teres_, planting its near
relative, _V. Hookeri_, more exquisite still, if that were possible, in
a swampy hollow. His servants might gather a basket of these flowers
daily in the season. So the memory of the first President for Pahang
will be kept green. A plant rarely seen is _V. limbata_ from the island
of Timor--dusky yellow, the tip purple, outlined with white, formed
like a shovel.
I may cite a personal reminiscence here, in the hope that some reader
may be able to supply what is wanting. In years so far back that they
seem to belong to a "previous existence," I travelled in Borneo, and
paid a visit to the antimony-mines of Bidi. The manager, Mr. Bentley,
showed me a grand tapong-tree at his door from which he had lately
gathered a "blue orchid,"--we were desperately vague about names in the
jungle at that day, or in England for that matter. In a note published
on my return, I said, "As Mr. Bentley described it, the blossoms hung in
an azure garland from the bough, more gracefully than art could design."
This specimen is, I believe, the only one at present known, and both
Malays and Dyaks are quite ignorant of such a flower! What was this?
There is no question of the facts. Mr. Bentley sent the plant, a large
mass to the chairman of the Company, and it reached home in fair
condition. I saw the warm letter, enclosing cheque for 100l., in which
Mr. Templar acknowledged receipt. But further record I have not been
able to discover. One inclines to assume that a blue orchid which puts
forth a "garland" of bloom must be a Vanda. The description might be
applied to _V. coerulea_, but that species is a native of the Khasya
hills; more appropriately, as I recall Mr. Bentley's words, to _V.
coerulescens_, which, however, is Burmese. Furthermore, neither of
these would be looked for on the branch of a great tree. Possibly
someone who reads this may know what became of Mr. Templar's specimen.
Both the species of Renanthera need great heat. Among "facts not
generally known" to orchid-growers, but decidedly interesting for them,
is the commercial habitat, as one may say, of _R. coccinea_. The books
state correctly that it is a native of Cochin China. Orchids coming from
such a distance must needs be withered on arrival. Accordingly, the most
experienced horticulturist who is not up to a little secret feels
assured that all is well when he beholds at the auction-room or at one
of the small dealer's a plant full of sap, with glossy leaves and
unshrivelled roots. It must have been in cultivation for a year at the
very least, and he buys with confidence. Too often, however, a
disastrous change sets in from the very moment his purchase reaches
home. Instead of growing it falls back and back, until in a very few
weeks it has all the appearance of a newly-imported piece. The
explanation is curious. At some time, not distant, a quantity of _R.
coccinea_ must have found its way to the neighbourhood of Rio. There it
flourishes as a weed, with a vigour quite unparalleled in its native
soil. Unscrupulous persons take advantage of this extraordinary
accident. From a country so near and so readily accessible they can get
plants home, pot them up, and sell them, before the withering process
sets in. May this revelation confound such knavish tricks! The moral is
old--buy your orchids from one of the great dealers, if you do not care
to "establish" them yourself.
_R. coccinea_ is another of the climbing species, and it demands, even
more urgently than _V. teres_, to reach the top of the house, where
sunshine is fiercest, before blooming. Under the best conditions,
indeed, it is slow to produce its noble wreaths of flower--deep red,
crimson, and orange. Upon the other hand, the plant itself is
ornamental, and it grows very fast. The Duke of Devonshire has some at
Chatsworth which never fail to make a gorgeous show in their season; but
they stand twenty feet high, twisted round birch-trees, and they have
occupied their present quarters for half a century or near it. There is
but one more species in the genus, so far as the unlearned know, but
this, generally recognized as _Vanda Lowii_, as has been already
mentioned, ranks among the grand curiosities of botanic science. Like
some of the Catasetums and Cycnoches, it bears two distinct types of
flower on each spike, but the instance of _R. Lowii_ is even more
perplexing. In those other cases the differing forms represent male and
female sex, but the microscope has not yet discovered any sort of reason
for the like eccentricity of this Renanthera. Its proper inflorescence,
as one may put it, is greenish yellow, blotched with brown, three inches
in diameter, clothing a spike sometimes twelve feet long. The first two
flowers to open, however--those at the base--present a strong contrast
in all respects--smaller, of different shape, tawny yellow in colour,
dotted with crimson. It would be a pleasing task for ingenious youth
with a bent towards science to seek the utility of this arrangement.
Orchids are spreading fast over the world in these days, and we may
expect to hear of other instances where a species has taken root in
alien climes like _R. coccinea_ in Brazil. I cannot cite a parallel at
present. But Mr. Sander informs me that there is a growing demand for
these plants in realms which have their own native orchids. We have an
example in the letter which has been already quoted.[7] Among customers
who write to him direct are magnates of China and Siam, an Indian and a
Javanese rajah. Orders are received--not unimportant, nor
infrequent--from merchants at Calcutta, Singapore, Hong Kong, Rio de
Janeiro, and smaller places, of course. It is vastly droll to hear that
some of these gentlemen import species at a great expense which an
intelligent coolie could gather for them in any quantity within a few
furlongs of their go-down! But for the most part they demand foreigners.
The plants thus distributed will be grown in the open air; naturally
they will seed; at least, we may hope so. Even _Angræcum sesquipedale_,
of which I wrote in the preceding chapter, would find a moth able to
impregnate it in South Brazil. Such species as recognize the conditions
necessary for their existence will establish themselves. It is fairly
safe to credit that in some future time, not distant, Cattleyas may
flourish in the jungles of India, Dendrobiums on the Amazons,
Phaloenopsis in the coast lands of Central America. Those who wish well
to their kind would like to hasten that day.
Mr. Burbidge suggested at the Orchid Conference that gentlemen who have
plantations in a country suitable should establish a "farm," or rather
a market-garden, and grow the precious things for exportation. It is an
excellent idea, and when tea, coffee, sugar-cane, all the regular crops
of the East and West Indies, are so depreciated by competition, one
would think that some planters might adopt it. Perhaps some have; it is
too early yet for results. Upon inquiry I hear of a case, but it is not
encouraging. One of Mr. Sander's collectors, marrying when on service in
the United States of Colombia, resolved to follow Mr. Burbidge's advice.
He set up his "farm" and began "hybridizing" freely. No man living is
better qualified as a collector, for the hero of this little tale is Mr.
Kerbach, a name familiar among those who take interest in such matters;
but I am not aware that he had any experience in growing orchids. To
start with hybridizing seems very ambitious--too much of a short cut to
fortune. However, in less than eighteen months Mr. Kerbach found it did
not answer, for reasons unexplained, and he begged to be reinstated in
Mr. Sander's service. It is clear, indeed, that the orchid-farmer of the
future, in whose success I firmly believe, will be wise to begin
modestly, cultivating the species he finds in his neighbourhood. It is
not in our greenhouses alone that these plants sometimes show likes and
dislikes beyond explanation. For example, many gentlemen in Costa
Rica--a wealthy land, and comparatively civilized--have tried to
cultivate the glorious _Cattleya Dowiana_. For business purposes also
the attempt has been made. But never with success. In those tropical
lands a variation of climate or circumstances, small perhaps, but such
as plants that subsist mostly upon air can recognize, will be found in a
very narrow circuit. We say that Trichopilias have their home at Bogota.
As a matter of fact, however, they will not live in the immediate
vicinity of that town, though the woods, fifteen miles away, are stocked
with them. The orchid-farmer will have to begin cautiously, propagating
what he finds at hand, and he must not be hasty in sending his crop to
market. It is a general rule of experience that plants brought from the
forest and "established" before shipment do less well than those shipped
direct in good condition, though the public, naturally, is slow to admit
a conclusion opposed by _à priori_ reasoning. The cause may be that they
exhaust their strength in that first effort, and suffer more severely on
the voyage.
I hear of one gentleman, however, who appears to be cultivating orchids
with success. This is Mr. Rand, dwelling on the Rio Negro, in Brazil,
where he has established a plantation of _Hevia Brazilienses_, a new
caoutchouc of the highest quality, indigenous to those parts. Some years
ago Mr. Rand wrote to Mr. Godseff, at St. Albans, begging plants of
_Vanda Sanderiana_ and other Oriental species, which were duly
forwarded. In return he despatched some pieces of a new Epidendrum,
named in his honour _E. Randii_, a noble flower, with brown sepals and
petals, the lip crimson, betwixt two large white wings. This and others
native to the Rio Negro Mr. Rand is propagating on a large scale in
shreds of bamboo, especially a white _Cattleya superba_ which he himself
discovered. It is pleasing to add that by latest reports all the
Oriental species were thriving to perfection on the other side of the
Atlantic.
Vandas, indeed, should flourish where _Cattleya superba_ is at home, or
anything else that loves the atmosphere of a kitchen on washing-day at
midsummer. Though all the Cattleyas, or very nearly all, will "do" in an
intermediate house, several prefer the stove. Of two among them, _C.
Dowiana_ and _C. aurea_, I spoke in the preceding chapter with an
enthusiasm that does not bear repetition. _Cattleya guttata Leopoldi_
grows upon rocks in the little island of Sta. Catarina, Brazil, in
company with _Loelia elegans_ and _L. purpurata_. There the four dwelt
in such numbers only twenty years ago that the supply was thought
inexhaustible. It has come to an end already, and collectors no longer
visit the spot. Cliffs and ravines which men still young can recollect
ablaze with colour, are as bare now as a stone-quarry. Nature had done
much to protect her treasures; they flourished mostly in places which
the human foot cannot reach--_Loelia elegans_ and _Cattleya g.
Leopoldi_ inextricably entwined, clinging to the face of lofty rocks.
The blooms of the former are white and mauve, of the latter
chocolate-brown, spotted with dark red, the lip purple. A wondrous sight
that must have been in the time of flowering. It is lost now, probably
for ever. Natives went down, suspended on a rope, and swept the whole
circuit of the island, year by year. A few specimens remain in nooks
absolutely inaccessible, but those happy mortals who possess a bit of
_L. elegans_ should treasure it, for more are very seldom forthcoming.
_Loelia elegans Statteriana_ is the finest variety perhaps; the
crimson velvet tip of its labellum is as clearly and sharply-defined
upon the snow-white surface as pencil could draw; it looks like
painting by the steadiest of hands in angelic colour. _C. g. Leopoldi_
has been found elsewhere. It is deliciously scented. I observed a plant
at St. Albans lately with three spikes, each bearing over twenty
flowers; many strong perfumes there were in the house, but that
overpowered them all. The _Loelia purpurata_ of Sta. Catarina, to
which the finest varieties in cultivation belong, has shared the same
fate. It occupied boulders jutting out above the swamps in the full
glare of tropic sunshine. Many gardeners give it too much shade. This
species grows also on the mainland, but of inferior quality in all
respects; curiously enough it dwells upon trees there, even though rocks
be at hand, while the island variety, I believe, was never found on
timber.
Another hot Cattleya of the highest class is _C. Acklandiæ_ It belongs
to the dwarf section of the genus, and inexperienced persons are vastly
surprised to see such a little plant bearing two flowers on a spike,
each larger than itself. They are four inches in diameter, petals and
sepals chocolate-brown, barred with yellow, lip lar
Showing first 200,000 characters. Full text: gutenberg.org/ebooks/17155