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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 Phalœnopsis Sanderiana and Vanda
Sanderiana, when a sum as yet unparalleled was taken in the room; Cypripedium
Spicerianum, Cyp. Curtisii, Lœlia 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
phalœnopsis 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
cœleste. 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
cœleste to show?" The unhappy agent protested that this was the divine thing. No
one would believe at first; the joke was too good—to put it in that mild form.
When at length it became evident that this grand new species, heavenly gem, &c.,
was the charming but familiar Odontoglossum ramossissimum, such a tumult of
laughter and indignation arose, that Messrs. Protheroe quashed the sale. A few
other instances of the kind might be given but none so grand.
The special interest of the sale to us lies in some novelties collected by Mr.
Edward Wallace in parts unknown, and he is probably among us. Mr. Wallace has no
adventures in particular to relate this time, but he tells, with due caution,
where and how his treasures were gathered in South America. There is a land
which those who have geographical knowledge sufficient may identify, surrounded
by the territories of Peru, Ecuador, Colombia, Venezuela, and Brazil. It is
traversed by some few Indian tribes, and no collector hitherto had penetrated
it. Mr. Wallace followed the central line of mountains from Colombia for a
hundred and fifty miles, passing a succession of rich valleys described as the
loveliest ever seen by this veteran young traveller, such as would support
myriads of cattle. League beyond league stretches the "Pajadena grass,"
pasturage unequalled; but "the wild herds that never knew a fold" are its only
denizens. Here, on the mountain slopes, Mr. Wallace found Bletia Sherrattiana,
the white form, very rare; another terrestrial orchid, unnamed and, as is
thought, unknown, which sends up a branching spike two feet to three feet high,
bearing ten to twelve flowers, of rich purple hue, in shape like a
Sobralia, three and four inches across; and yet another of the same family,
growing on the rocks, and "looking like masses of snow on the hill-side." Such
descriptions are thrilling, but these gentlemen receive them placidly; they
would like to know, perhaps, what is the reserve price on such fine things, and
what the chance of growing them to a satisfactory result. Dealers have a
profound distrust of novelties, especially those of terrestrial genus; and their
feeling is shared, for a like reason, by most who have large collections. Mr.
Burbidge estimates roughly that we have fifteen hundred to two thousand species
and varieties of orchid in cultivation; a startling figure, which almost
justifies the belief of those who hold that no others worth growing will be
found in countries already explored. But beyond question there are six times
this number in existence, which collectors have not taken the trouble to gather.
The chances, therefore, are against any new thing. Many species well known show
slight differences of growth in different localities. Upon the whole, regular
orchidaceans prefer that some one else should try experiments, and would rather
pay a good price, when assured that it is worth their while, than a few
shillings when the only certainty is trouble and the strong probability is
failure. Mr. Wallace has nothing more to tell of the undiscovered country. The
Indians received him with composure, after he had struck up friendship with an
old woman, and for the four days of his stay made themselves both useful and
agreeable in their fashion.
The auctioneer has been chatting among his customers. He feels an interest in
his wares, as who would not that dealt in objects of the extremest beauty and
fascination? To him are consigned occasionally plants of unusual class, which
the owner regards as unique, and expects to sell at the fanciest of prices.
Unique indeed they must be which can pass unchallenged the ordeal of those keen
and learned eyes. Plumeria alba, for instance, may be laid before them, and by
no inexperienced horticulturist, with such a "reserve" as befits one of the most
exquisite flowers known, and the only specimen in England. But a quiet smile
goes round, and a gentleman present offers, in an audible whisper, to send in a
dozen of that next week at a fraction of the price. So pleasant chat goes on,
until, at the stroke of half-past twelve, the auctioneer mounts his rostrum.
First to come before him are a hundred lots of Odontoglossum crispum Alexandræ,
described as of "the very best type, and in splendid condition." For the latter
point everyone present is able to judge, and for the former all are willing to
accept the statements of vendors. The glossy bulbs are clean as new pins, with
the small "eye" just bursting among their roots; but nobody seems to want
Odontoglossum Alexandræ in particular. One neat little bunch is sold for 11s.,
which will surely bear a wreath of white flowers, splashed with red brown, in
the spring—perhaps two. And then bidding ceases. The auctioneer exclaims, "Does
anybody want any crispums?" and instantly passes by the ninety-nine lots
remaining.
It would mislead the unlearned public, and would not greatly interest them, to
go through the catalogue of an orchid sale and quote the selling price of every
lot. From week to week the value of these things fluctuates—that is, of course,
of bulbs imported and unestablished. Various circumstances effect it, but
especially the time of year. They sell best in spring, when they have months of
light and sun before them, in which to recover from the effects of a long voyage
and uncomfortable quarters. The buyer must make them grow strong before the dark
days of an English winter are upon him; and every month that passes weakens his
chance. In August it is already late; in September, the periodical auctions
ceased until lately. Some few consignments will be received, detained by
accident, or forwarded by persons who do not understand the business.
That instance of Odontoglossum Alexandræ shows well enough the price of orchids
this month, and the omission of all that followed illustrates it. The same lots
would have been eagerly contested at twice the sum in April. But those who want
that queenliest of flowers may get it for shillings at any time. The reputation
of the importer, and his assurance that the plants belong to the very best type,
give these more value than usual. He will try his luck once more perhaps this
season; and then he will pot the bulbs unsold to offer them as "established"
next year.
Oncidium luridum follows the Odontoglots, a broad-leaved, handsome orchid, which
the untrained eye might think to have no pseudo-bulb at all. This species always
commands a sale, if cheap, and ten shillings is a reasonable figure for a piece
of common size. If all go well, it may throw out a branching spike six or seven
feet long next summer, with—such a sight has been offered—several hundred
blooms, yellow, brown and orange, Oncidium juncifolium, which comes next, is
unknown to us, and probably to others; no offer is made for its reed-like
growths described as "very free blooming all the year round, with small yellow
flowers." Epidendrum bicornutum, on the other hand, is very well known and
deeply admired, when seen; but this is an event too rare. The description of its
exquisite white blossoms, crimson spotted on the lip, is still rather a legend
than a matter of eye-witness. Somebody is reported to have grown it for some
years "like a cabbage;" but his success was a mystery to himself. At Kew they
find no trouble in certain parts of a certain house. Most of these, however, are
fine growths, and the average price should be 12s. 6d. to 15s. Compare such
figures with those that ruled when the popular impression of the cost of orchids
was forming. I have none at hand which refer to the examples mentioned, but in
the cases following, one may safely reckon shillings at the present day for
pounds in 1846. That year, I perceive, such common species as Barkeria
spectabilis fetched 5l. to 17l. each; Epidendrum Stamfordianum, five guineas;
Dendrobium formosum, fifteen guineas; Aerides maculosum, crispum and odoratum
20l., 21l., and 16l., respectively. No one who understands orchids will believe
that the specimens which brought such monstrous prices were superior in any
respect to those we now receive, and he will be absolutely sure that they were
landed in much worse condition. But the average cost of the most expensive at
the present day might be 30s., and only a large piece would fetch that sum. It
is astonishing to me that so few people grow orchids. Every modern book on
gardening tells how five hundred varieties at least, the freest to flower and
assuredly as beautiful as any, may be cultivated without heat for seven or eight
months of the year. It is those "legends," I have spoken of which deter the
public from entertaining the notion. An afternoon at an orchid sale would dispel
them.
About Orchids
About Orchids, 1893
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