encircles the biggest tree in one clasp of its rhizomes, which
travellers mistake for the coil of a boa constrictor. Furthermore, this
species emits the vilest stench known to scientific persons, which is a
great saying. But these points are insignificant. The charm of
Bulbophyllums lies in their machinery for trapping insects. Those who
attended the Temple show last year saw something of it, if they could
penetrate the crush around _B. barbigerum_ on Sir Trevor Lawrence's
stand. This tiny but amazing plant comes from Sierra Leone. The long
yellow lip is attached to the column by the slenderest possible joint,
so that it rocks without an instant's pause. At the tip is set a brush
of silky hairs, which wave backwards and forwards with the precision of
machinery. No wonder that the natives believe it a living thing. The
purpose of these arrangements is to catch flies, which other species
effect with equal ingenuity if less elaboration. Very pretty too are
some of them, as _B. Lobbii_. Its clear, clean, orange-creamy hue is
delightful to behold. The lip, so delicately balanced, quivers at every
breath. If the slender stem be bent back, as by a fly alighting on the
column, that quivering cap turns and hangs imminent; another tiny shake,
as though the fly approached the nectary, and it falls plump, head over
heels, like a shot, imprisoning the insect. Thus the flower is
impregnated. If we wished to excite a thoughtful child's interest in
botany--not regardless of the sense of beauty either--we should make an
investment in _Bulbophyllum Lobbii_. _Bulbophyllum Dearei_ also is
pretty--golden ochre spotted red, with a wide dorsal sepal, very narrow
petals flying behind, lower sepals broadly striped with red, and a
yellow lip, upon a hinge, of course; but the gymnastic performances of
this species are not so impressive as in most of its kin.
A new Bulbophyllum, _B. Godseffianum_, has lately been brought from the
Philippines, contrived on the same principle, but even more charming.
The flowers, two inches broad, have the colour of "old gold," with
stripes of crimson on the petals, and the dorsal sepal shows membranes
almost transparent, which have the effect of silver embroidery.
Until _B. Beccarii_ was introduced, from Borneo, in 1867, the
Grammatophyllums were regarded as monsters incomparable. Mr. Arthur
Keyser, Resident Magistrate at Selangor, in the Straits Settlement,
tells of one which he gathered on a Durian tree, seven feet two inches
high, thirteen feet six inches across, bearing seven spikes of flower,
the longest eight feet six inches--a weight which fifteen men could only
just carry. Mr. F.W. Burbidge heard a tree fall in the jungle one night
when he was four miles away, and on visiting the spot, he found, "right
in the collar of the trunk, a Grammatophyllum big enough to fill a
Pickford's van, just opening its golden-brown spotted flowers, on stout
spikes two yards long." It is not to be hoped that we shall ever see
monsters like these in Europe. The genus, indeed, is unruly. _G.
speciosum_ has been grown to six feet high, I believe, which is big
enough to satisfy the modest amateur, especially when it develops leaves
two feet long. The flowers are--that is, they ought to be--six inches in
diameter, rich yellow, blotched with reddish purple. They have some
giants at Kew now, of which fine things are expected. _G.
Measureseanum_, named after Mr. Measures, a leading amateur, is pale
buff, speckled with chocolate, the ends of the sepals and petals
charmingly tipped with the same hue. Within the last few months Mr.
Sander has obtained _G. multiflorum_ from the Philippines, which seems
to be not only the most beautiful, but the easiest to cultivate of those
yet introduced. Its flowers droop in a garland of pale green and yellow,
splashed with brown, not loosely set, as is the rule, but scarcely half
an inch apart. The effect is said to be lovely beyond description. We
may hope to judge for ourselves in no long time, for Mr. Sander has
presented a wondrous specimen to the Royal Gardens, Kew. This is
assuredly the biggest orchid ever brought to Europe. Its snakey
pseudo-bulbs measure nine feet, and the old flower spikes stood eighteen
feet high. It will be found in the Victoria Regia house, growing
strongly.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 6: _Vanda Lowii_ is properly called _Renanthera Lowii_.]
[Footnote 7: _Vide_ page 100.]
THE LOST ORCHID.
Not a few orchids are "lost"--have been described that is, and named,
even linger in some great collection, but, bearing no history, cannot
now be found. Such, for instance, are _Cattleya Jongheana_, _Cymbidium
Hookerianum_, _Cypripedium Fairianum_. But there is one to which the
definite article might have been applied a very few days ago. This is
_Cattleya labiata vera_. It was the first to bear the name of Cattleya,
though not absolutely the first of that genus discovered. _C.
Loddigesii_ preceded it by a few years, but was called an Epidendrum.
Curious it is to note how science has returned in this latter day to the
views of a pre-scientific era. Professor Reichenbach was only restrained
from abolishing the genus Cattleya, and merging all its species into
Epidendrum, by regard for the weakness of human nature. _Cattleya
labiata vera_ was sent from Brazil to Dr. Lindley by Mr. W. Swainson,
and reached Liverpool in 1818. So much is certain, for Lindley makes
the statement in his _Collectanea Botanica_. But legends and myths
encircle that great event. It is commonly told in books that Sir W.
Jackson Hooker, Regius Professor of Botany at Glasgow, begged Mr.
Swainson--who was collecting specimens in natural history--to send him
some lichens. He did so, and with the cases arrived a quantity of
orchids which had been used to pack them. Less suitable material for
"dunnage" could not be found, unless we suppose that it was thrust
between the boxes to keep them steady. Paxton is the authority for this
detail, which has its importance. The orchid arriving in such humble
fashion proved to be _Cattleya labiata_; Lindley gave it that
name--there was no need to add _vera_ then. He established a new genus
for it, and thus preserved for all time the memory of Mr. Cattley, a
great horticulturist dwelling at Barnet. There was no ground in
supposing the species rare. A few years afterwards, in fact, Mr.
Gardner, travelling in pursuit of butterflies and birds, sent home
quantities of a Cattleya which he found on the precipitous sides of the
Pedro Bonita range, and also on the Gavea, which our sailors call
"Topsail" Mountain, or "Lord Hood's Nose." These orchids passed as _C.
labiata_ for a while. Paxton congratulated himself and the world in his
_Flower Garden_ that the stock was so greatly increased. Those were the
coaching days, when botanists had not much opportunity for comparison.
It is to be observed, also, that Gardner's Cattleya was the nearest
relative of Swainson's;--it is known at present as _C. labiata Warneri_.
The true species, however, has points unmistakable. Some of its kinsfolk
show a double flower-sheath;--very, very rarely, under exceptional
circumstances. But _Cattleya labiata vera_ never fails, and an
interesting question it is to resolve why this alone should be so
carefully protected. One may cautiously surmise that its habitat is even
damper than others'. In the next place, some plants have their leaves
red underneath, others green, and the flower-sheath always corresponds;
this peculiarity is shared by _C. l. Warneri_ alone. Thirdly--and there
is the grand distinction, the one which gives such extreme value to the
species--it flowers in the late autumn, and thus fills a gap. Those who
possess a plant may have Cattleyas in bloom the whole year round--and
they alone. Accordingly, it makes a section by itself in the
classification of _Reichenbachia_, as the single species that flowers
from the current year's growth, after resting. Section II. contains the
species that flower from the current year's growth before resting.
Section III., those that flower from last year's growth after resting.
All these are many, but _C. l. vera_ stands alone.
[Illustration: CATTLEYA LABIATA.
Reduced to One Sixth.]
We have no need to dwell upon the contest that arose at the introduction
of _Cattleya Mossiæ_ in 1840, which grew more and more bitter as others
of the class came in, and has not yet ceased. It is enough to say that
Lindley declined to recognize _C. Mossiæ_ as a species, though he stood
almost solitary against "the trade," backed by a host of enthusiastic
amateurs. The great botanist declared that he could see nothing in the
beautiful new Cattleya to distinguish it as a species from the one
already named, _C. labiata_, except that most variable of
characteristics, colour. Modes of growth and times of flowering do not
concern science. The structure of the plants is identical, and to admit
_C. Mossiæ_ as a sub-species of the same was the utmost concession
Lindley would make. This was in 1840. Fifteen years later came _C.
Warscewiczi_, now called _gigas_; then, next year, _C. Trianæ_; _C.
Dowiana_ in 1866; _C. Mendellii_ in 1870--all _labiatas_, strictly
speaking. At each arrival the controversy was renewed; it is not over
yet. But Sir Joseph Hooker succeeded Lindley and Reichenbach succeeded
Hooker as the supreme authority, and each of them stood firm. There
are, of course, many Cattleyas recognized as species, but Lindley's rule
has been maintained. We may return to the lost orchid.
As time went on, and the merits of _C. labiata vera_ were understood,
the few specimens extant--proceeding from Mr. Swainson's
importation--fetched larger and larger prices. Those merits, indeed,
were conspicuous. Besides the season of flowering, this proved to be the
strongest and most easily grown of Cattleyas. Its normal type was at
least as charming as any, and it showed an extraordinary readiness to
vary. Few, as has been said, were the plants in cultivation, but they
gave three distinct varieties. Van Houtte shows us two in his admirable
_Flore des Serres; C. l. candida_, from Syon House, pure white excepting
the ochrous throat--which is invariable--and _C. l. picta_, deep red,
from the collection of J.J. Blandy, Esq., Reading. The third was _C. l.
Pescatorei_, white, with a deep red blotch upon the lip, formerly owned
by Messrs. Rouget-Chauvier, of Paris, now by the Duc de Massa.
Under such circumstances the dealers began to stir in earnest. From the
first, indeed, the more enterprising had made efforts to import a plant
which, as they supposed, must be a common weed at Rio, since men used
it to "pack" boxes. But that this was an error they soon perceived.
Taking the town as a centre, collectors pushed out on all sides.
Probably there is not one of the large dealers, in England or the
Continent, dead or living, who has not spent money--a large sum, too--in
searching for _C. l. vera_. Probably, also, not one has lost by the
speculation, though never a sign nor a hint, scarcely a rumour, of the
thing sought rewarded them. For all secured new orchids, new
bulbs--Eucharis in especial--Dipladenias, Bromeliaceæ, Calladiums,
Marantas, Aristolochias, and what not. In this manner the lost orchid
has done immense service to botany and to mankind. One may say that the
hunt lasted seventy years, and led collectors to strike a path through
almost every province of Brazil--almost, for there are still vast
regions unexplored. A man might start, for example, at Para, and travel
to Bogota, two thousand miles or so, with a stretch of six hundred miles
on either hand which is untouched. It may well be asked what Mr.
Swainson was doing, if alive, while his discovery thus agitated the
world. Alive he was, in New Zealand, until the year 1855, but he offered
no assistance. It is scarcely to be doubted that he had none to give.
The orchids fell in his way by accident--possibly collected in distant
parts by some poor fellow who died at Rio. Swainson picked them up, and
used them to stow his lichens.
Not least extraordinary, however, in this extraordinary tale is the fact
that various bits of _C. l. vera_ turned up during this time. Lord Home
has a noble specimen at Bothwell Castle, which did not come from
Swainson's consignment. His gardener told the story five years ago. "I
am quite sure," he wrote, "that my nephew told me the small bit I had
from him"--forty years before--"was off a newly-imported plant, and I
understood it had been brought by one of Messrs. Horsfall's ships." Lord
Fitzwilliam seems to have got one in the same way, from another ship.
But the most astonishing case is recent. About seven years ago two
plants made their appearance in the Zoological Gardens at Regent's
Park--in the conservatory behind Mr. Bartlett's house. How they got
there is an eternal mystery. Mr. Bartlett sold them for a large sum; but
an equal sum offered him for any scrap of information showing how they
came into his hands he was sorrowfully obliged to refuse--or, rather,
found himself unable to earn. They certainly arrived in company with
some monkeys; but when, from what district of South America, the closest
search of his papers failed to show. In 1885, Dr. Regel, Director of
the Imperial Gardens at St. Petersburg, received a few plants. It may be
worth while to name those gentlemen who recently possessed examples of
_C. l. vera_, so far as our knowledge goes. They were Sir Trevor
Lawrence, Lord Rothschild, Duke of Marlborough, Lord Home, Messrs. J.
Chamberlain, T. Statten, J.J. Blandy, and G. Hardy, in England; in
America, Mr. F.L. Ames, two, and Mr. H.H. Hunnewell; in France, Comte de
Germiny, Duc de Massa, Baron Alphonse and Baron Adolf de Rothschild, M.
Treyeran of Bordeaux. There were two, as is believed, in Italy.
And now the horticultural papers inform us that the lost orchid is
found, by Mr. Sander of St. Albans. Assuredly he deserves his luck--if
the result of twenty years' labour should be so described. It was about
1870, we believe, that Mr. Sander sent out Arnold, who passed five years
in exploring Venezuela. He had made up his mind that the treasure must
not be looked for in Brazil. Turning next to Colombia, in successive
years, Chesterton, Bartholomeus, Kerbach, and the brothers Klaboch
overran that country. Returning to Brazil, his collectors, Oversluys,
Smith, Bestwood, went over every foot of the ground which Swainson
seems, by his books, to have traversed. At the same time Clarke followed
Gardner's track through the Pedro Bonita and Topsail Mountains. Then
Osmers traced the whole coast-line of the Brazils from north to south,
employing five years in the work. Finally, Digance undertook the search,
and died this year. To these men we owe grand discoveries beyond
counting. To name but the grandest, Arnold found _Cattleya
Percevaliana_; from Colombia were brought _Odont. vex. rubellum_,
_Bollea coelestis_, _Pescatorea Klabochorum_; Smith sent _Cattleya
O'Brieniana_; Clarke the dwarf Cattleyas, _pumila_ and _præstans_;
Lawrenceson _Cattleya Schroederæ_; Chesterton _Cattleya Sanderiana_;
Digance _Cattleya Diganceana_, which received a Botanical certificate
from the Royal Horticultural Society on September 8th, 1890. But they
heard not a whisper of the lost orchid.
In 1889 a collector employed by M. Moreau, of Paris, to explore Central
and North Brazil in search of insects, sent home fifty plants--for M.
Moreau is an enthusiast in orchidology also. He had no object in keeping
the secret of its habitat, and when Mr. Sander, chancing to call,
recognized the treasure so long lost, he gave every assistance.
Meanwhile, the International Horticultural Society of Brussels had
secured a quantity, but they regarded it as new, and gave it the name of
_Catt. Warocqueana_; in which error they persisted until Messrs. Sander
flooded the market.
AN ORCHID FARM.
My articles brought upon me a flood of questions almost as embarrassing
as flattering to a busy journalist. The burden of them was curiously
like. Three ladies or gentlemen in four wrote thus: "I love orchids. I
had not the least suspicion that they may be cultivated so easily and so
cheaply. I am going to begin. Will you please inform me"--here diversity
set in with a vengeance! From temperature to flower-pots, from the
selection of species to the selection of peat, from the architecture of
a greenhouse to the capabilities of window-gardening, with excursions
between, my advice was solicited. I replied as best I could. It must be
feared, however, that the most careful questioning and the most
elaborate replies by post will not furnish that ground-work of
knowledge, the ABC of the science, which is needed by a person utterly
unskilled; nor will he find it readily in the hand-books. Written by men
familiar with the alphabet of orchidology from their youth up, though
they seem to begin at the beginning, ignorant enthusiasts who study them
find woeful gaps. It is little I can do in this matter; yet, believing
that the culture of these plants will be as general shortly as the
culture of pelargoniums under glass--and firmly convinced that he who
hastens that day is a real benefactor to his kind--I am most anxious to
do what lies in my power. Considering the means by which this end may be
won, it appears necessary above all to avoid boring the student. He
should be led to feel how charming is the business in hand even while
engaged with prosaic details; and it seems to me, after some thought,
that the sketch of a grand orchid nursery will best serve our purpose
for the moment. There I can show at once processes and results, passing
at a step as it were from the granary into the harvest-field, from the
workshop to the finished and glorious production.
"An orchid farm" is no extravagant description of the establishment at
St. Albans. There alone in Europe, so far as I know, three acres of
ground are occupied by orchids exclusively. It is possible that larger
houses might be found--everything is possible; but such are devoted more
or less to a variety of plants, and the departments are not all
gathered beneath one roof. I confess, for my own part, a hatred of
references. They interrupt the writer, and they distract the reader. At
the place I have chosen to illustrate our theme, one has but to cross a
corridor from any of the working quarters to reach the showroom. We may
start upon our critical survey from the very dwelling-house. Pundits of
agricultural science explore the sheds, I believe, the barns, stables,
machine-rooms, and so forth, before inspecting the crops. We may follow
the same course, but our road offers an unusual distraction.
It passes from the farmer's hall beneath a high glazed arch. Some thirty
feet beyond, the path is stopped by a wall of tufa and stalactite which
rises to the lofty roof, and compels the traveller to turn right or
left. Water pours down it and falls trickling into a narrow pool
beneath. Its rough front is studded with orchids from crest to base.
Coelogenes have lost those pendant wreaths of bloom which lately
tipped the rock as with snow. But there are Cymbidiums arching long
sprays of green and chocolate; thickets of Dendrobe set with flowers
beyond counting--ivory and rose and purple and orange; scarlet
Anthuriums: huge clumps of Phajus and evergreen Calanthe, with a score
of spikes rising from their broad leaves; Cypripediums of quaint form
and striking half-tones of colour; Oncidiums which droop their slender
garlands a yard long, golden yellow and spotted, purple and white--a
hundred tints. The crown of the rock bristles all along with Cattleyas,
a dark-green glossy little wood against the sky. The _Trianæs_ are
almost over, but here and there a belated beauty pushes through, white
or rosy, with a lip of crimson velvet. _Mossiæs_ have replaced them
generally, and from beds three feet in diameter their great blooms start
by the score, in every shade of pink and crimson and rosy purple. There
is _Loelia elegans_, exterminated in its native home, of such bulk and
such luxuriance of growth that the islanders left forlorn might almost
find consolation in regarding it here. Over all, climbing up the
spandrils of the roof in full blaze of sunshine, is _Vanda teres_, round
as a pencil both leaves and stalk, which will drape those bare iron rods
presently with crimson and pink and gold.[8] The way to our farmyard is
not like others. It traverses a corner of fairyland.
We find a door masked by such a rock as that faintly and vaguely
pictured, which opens on a broad corridor. Through all its length, four
hundred feet, it is ceilinged with baskets of Mexican orchid, as close
as they will fit. Upon the left hand lie a series of glass structures;
upon the right, below the level of the corridor, the workshops; at the
end--why, to be frank, the end is blocked by a ponderous screen of
matting just now. But this dingy barrier is significant of a work in
hand which will not be the least curious nor the least charming of the
strange sights here. The farmer has already a "siding" of course, for
the removal of his produce; he finds it necessary to have a station of
his own also for the convenience of clients. Beyond the screen at
present lies an area of mud and ruin, traversed by broken walls and rows
of hot-water piping swathed in felt to exclude the chill air. A few
weeks since, this little wilderness was covered with glass, but the ends
of the long "houses" have been cut off to make room for a structure into
which visitors will step direct from the train. The platform is already
finished, neat and trim; so are the vast boilers and furnaces, newly
rebuilt, which would drive a cotton factory.
A busy scene that is which we survey, looking down through openings in
the wall of the corridor. Here is the composing-room, where that
magnificent record of orchidology in three languages, the
"Reichenbachia," slowly advances from year to year. There is the
printing-room, with no steam presses or labour-saving machinery, but the
most skilful craftsmen to be found, the finest paper, the most
deliberate and costly processes, to rival the great works of the past in
illustrating modern science. These departments, however, we need not
visit, nor the chambers, lower still, where mechanical offices are
performed.
The "Importing Room" first demands notice. Here cases are received by
fifties and hundreds, week by week, from every quarter of the orchid
world, unpacked, and their contents stored until space is made for them
up above. It is a long apartment, broad and low, with tables against the
wall and down the middle, heaped with things which to the uninitiated
seem, for the most part, dry sticks and dead bulbs. Orchids everywhere!
They hang in dense bunches from the roof. They lie a foot thick upon
every board, and two feet thick below. They are suspended on the walls.
Men pass incessantly along the gangways, carrying a load that would fill
a barrow. And all the while fresh stores are accumulating under the
hands of that little group in the middle, bent and busy at cases just
arrived. They belong to a lot of eighty that came in from Burmah last
night--and while we look on, a boy brings a telegram announcing fifty
more from Mexico, that will reach Waterloo at 2.30 p.m. Great is the
wrath and great the anxiety at this news, for some one has blundered;
the warning should have been despatched three hours before. Orchids must
not arrive at unknown stations unless there be somebody of discretion
and experience to meet them, and the next train does not leave St.
Albans until 2.44 p.m. Dreadful is the sense of responsibility, alarming
the suggestions of disaster, that arise from this incident.