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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 Phalœnopsis, 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. cœrulea, but that species is a native of the Khasya
hills; more appropriately, as I recall Mr. Bentley's words, to V.
cœrulescens, 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, Phalœnopsis 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.
Footnotes:
[6] Vanda Lowii is properly called Renanthera Lowii.
[7] Vide page 100
About Orchids
About Orchids, 1893
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