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[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.