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Coelogene Pandurata |
Many of the Cślogenes classed as cool,
which, indeed, rub along with Odontoglossums, do better in the stove
while growing. Cśl. cristata itself comes from Nepaul, where the
summer sun is terrible, and it covers the rocks most exposed. But I
will only name a few of those recognized as hot. Amongst the most
striking of flowers, exquisitely pretty also, is Cśl. pandurata,
from Borneo. Its spike has been described by a person of fine fancy
as |
resembling a row of glossy pea-green
frogs with black tongues, each three inches in diameter. The whole
bloom is brilliantly green, but several ridges clothed with hairs as
black and soft as velvet run down the lip, seeming to issue from a
mouth. It is strange to see that a plant so curious, so beautiful,
and so sweet should be so rarely cultivated; I own, however, that it
is very unwilling to make itself at home with us. Cśl. Dayana, also
a native of Borneo, one of our newest discoveries, is named after
Mr. Day, of Tottenham. I may interpolate a remark here for the
encouragement of poor but enthusiastic members of our fraternity.
When Mr. Day sold his collection lately, an American "Syndicate"
paid 12,000l. down, and the remaining plants fetched 12,000l. at
auction; so, at least, the uncontradicted report goes. Cśl. Dayana
is rare, of course, and dear, but Mr. Sander has lately imported a
large quantity. The spike is three feet long sometimes, a pendant
wreath of buff-yellow flowers broadly striped with chocolate. Cśl.
Massangeana, from Assam, resembles this, but the lip is deep
crimson-brown, with lines of yellow, and a white edge. Newest of all
the Cślogenes, and supremely beautiful, is Cśl. Sanderiana, imported
by the gentleman whose name it bears. He has been called "The Orchid
King." This superb species has only flowered once in Europe as yet;
Baron Ferdinand Rothschild is the happy man. Its snow-white blooms,
six on a spike generally, each three inches across, have very dark
brown stripes on the lip. It was discovered in Borneo by Mr.
Forstermann, the same collector who happed upon the wondrous scarlet
Dendrobe, mentioned in a former chapter. There I stated that Baron
Schroeder had three pieces; this was a mistake unfortunately. Mr.
Forstermann only secured three, of which two died on the journey.
Baron Schroeder bought the third, but it has perished. No more can
be found as yet.
Of Oncidiums there are many that
demand stove treatment. The story of Onc. splendidum is curious. It
first turned up in France some thirty years ago. A ship's captain
sailing from St. Lazare brought half a dozen pieces, which he gave
to his "owner," M. Herman. The latter handed them to MM. Thibaut and
Ketteler, of Sceaux, who split them up and distributed them. Two of
the original plants found their way to England, and they also appear
to have been cut up. A legend of the King Street Auction Room
recalls how perfervid competitors ran up a bit of Onc. splendidum,
that had only one leaf, to thirty guineas. The whole stock vanished
presently, which is not surprising if it had all been divided in the
same ruthless manner. From that day the species was lost until Mr.
Sander turned his attention to it. There was no record of its
habitat. The name of the vessel, or even of the captain, might have
furnished a clue had it been recorded, for the shipping intelligence
of the day would have shown what ports he was frequenting about that
time. I could tell of mysterious orchids traced home upon
indications less distinct. But there was absolutely nothing. Mr.
Sander, however, had scrutinized the plant carefully, while
specimens were still extant, and from the structure of the leaf he
formed a strong conclusion that it must belong to the Central
American flora; furthermore, that it must inhabit a very warm
locality. In 1882 he directed one of his collectors, Mr. Oversluys,
to look for the precious thing in Costa Rica. Year after year the
search proceeded, until Mr. Oversluys declared with some warmth that
Onc. splendidum might grow in heaven or in the other place, but it
was not to be found in Costa Rica. But theorists are stubborn, and
year after year he was sent back. At length, in 1882, riding through
a district often explored, the collector found himself in a grassy
plain, dotted with pale yellow flowers. He had beheld the same many
times, but his business was orchids. On this occasion, however, he
chanced to approach one of the masses, and recognized the object of
his quest. It was the familiar case of a man who overlooks the thing
he has to find, because it is too near and too conspicuous. But Mr.
Oversluys had excuse enough. Who could have expected to see an
Oncidium buried in long grass, exposed to the full power of a tropic
sun?
Oncidium Lanceanum is, perhaps, the hottest of its genus. Those
happy mortals who can grow it declare they have no trouble, but
unless perfectly strong and healthy it gets "the spot," and promptly
goes to wreck. In the houses of the "New Plant and Bulb Company," at
Colchester—now extinct—Onc. Lanceanum flourished with a vigour
almost embarrassing, putting forth such enormous leaves, as it hung
close to the glass, as made blinds quite superfluous at midsummer.
But this was an extraordinary case. Certainly it is a glorious
spectacle in flower—yellow, barred with brown; the lip violet. The
spikes last a month in full beauty—sometimes two.
An Oncidium which always commands attention from the public and
grateful regard from the devotee is Onc. papilio. Its strange form
fascinated the Duke of Devonshire, grandfather to the present, who
was almost the first of our lordly amateurs, and tempted him to
undertake the explorations which introduced so many fine plants to
Europe.
The "Butterfly orchid" is so familiar that I do not pause to
describe it. But imagine that most interesting flower all blue,
instead of gold and brown! I have never been able to learn what was
the foundation of the old belief in such a marvel. But the great
Lindley went to his grave in unshaken confidence that a blue papilio
exists. Once he thought he had a specimen; but it flowered, and his
triumph had to be postponed. I myself heard of it two years back,
and tried to cherish a belief that the news was true. A friend from
Natal assured me that he had seen one on the table of the Director
of the Gardens at Durban; but it proved to be one of those
terrestrial orchids, so lovely and so tantalizing to us, with which
South Africa abounds. Very slowly do we lengthen the catalogue of
them in our houses. There are gardeners, such as Mr. Cook at
Loughborough, who grow Disa grandiflora like a weed. Mr. Watson of
Kew demonstrated that Disa racemosa will flourish under conditions
easily secured. I had the good fortune to do as much for Disa
Cooperi, though not by my own skill. One supreme little triumph is
mine, however. In very early days, when animated with the courage of
utter ignorance, I bought eight bulbs of Disa discolor, and flowered
them, every one! No mortal in Europe had done it before, nor has any
tried since, I charitably hope, for a more rubbishing bloom does not
exist. But there it was—Ego feci! And the specimen in the Herbarium
at Kew bears my name.
But legends should not be disregarded when it is certain that they
reach us from a native source. Some of the most striking finds had
been announced long since by observant savages. I have told the
story of Phalśnopsis Sanderiana. It was a Zulu who put the
discoverer of the new yellow Calla on the track. The blue
Utricularia had been heard of and discredited long before it was
found—Utricularias are not orchids indeed, but only botanists regard
the distinction. The natives of Assam persistently assert that a
bright yellow Cymbidium grows there, of supremest beauty, and we
expect it to turn up one day; the Malagasy describe a scarlet one.
But I am digressing.
Epidendrums mostly will bear as
much heat as can be given them while growing; all demand more
sunshine than they can get in our climate. Amateurs do not seem to
be so well acquainted with the grand things of this genus as they
should be. They distrust all imported Epidendrums. Many worthless
species, indeed, bear a perplexing resemblance to the finest; so
much so, that the most observant of authorities would not think of
buying at the auction-room unless he had confidence enough in the
seller's honesty to accept his description of a "lot." Gloriously
beautiful, however, are some of those rarely met with; easy to
cultivate also, in a sunny place, and not dear. Epid. rhizophorum
has been lately rechristened Epid. radicans—a name which might be
confined to the Mexican variety. For the plant recurs in Brazil,
practically the same, but with a certain difference. The former
grows on shrubs, a true epiphyte; the latter has its bottom roots in
the soil, at foot of the tallest trees, and runs up to the very
summit, perhaps a hundred and fifty feet. The flowers also show a
distinction, but in effect they are brilliant orange-red, the lip
yellow, edged with scarlet. Forty or fifty of them hanging in a
cluster from the top of the raceme make a show to remember. Mr.
Watson "saw a plant a few years ago, that bore eighty-six heads of
flowers!" They last for three months. Epid. prismatocarpum, also, is a lovely thing, with narrow dagger-like sepals and
petals, creamy-yellow, spotted black, lip mauve or violet, edged
with pale yellow.
Of the many hot Dendrobiums,
Australia supplies a good proportion. There is D. bigibbum, of
course, too well known for description; it dwells on the small
islands in Torres Straits. This species flowered at Kew so early as
1824, but the plant died. Messrs. Loddiges, of Hackney,
re-introduced it thirty years later. D. Johannis, from Queensland,
brown and yellow, streaked with orange, the flowers curiously
twisted. D. superbiens, from Torres Straits, rosy purple, edged with
white, lip crimson. Handsomest of all by far is D. phalśnopsis. It
throws out a long, slender spike from the tip of the pseudo-bulb,
bearing six or more flowers, three inches across. The sepals are
lance-shaped, and the petals, twice as broad, rosy-lilac, with veins
of darker tint; the lip, arched over by its side lobes, crimson-lake
in the throat, paler and striped at the mouth. It was first sent
home by Mr. Forbes, of Kew Gardens, from Timor Laüt, in 1880. But
Mr. Fitzgerald had made drawings of a species substantially the
same, some years before, from a plant he discovered on the property
of Captain Bloomfield, Balmain, in Queensland, nearly a thousand
miles south of Timor. Mr. Sander caused search to be made, and he
has introduced Mr. Fitzgerald's variety under the name of D. ph.
Statterianum. It is smaller than the type, and crimson instead of
lilac.
Bulbophyllums rank among the
marvels of nature. It is a point comparatively trivial that this
genus includes the largest of orchids and, perhaps, the smallest.
B. Beccarii has leaves two feet long, eighteen inches broad. It
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. |
About Orchids
About Orchids, 1893
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