| sons had a tea-plantation in Assam. No
more was needed. By the next mail Mr. Forstermann started for that
vague destination, and in process of time reached Mr. Spicer's
bungalow. There he asked for "a job." None could be found for him;
but tea-planters are
hospitable, and the stranger was invited to stop a
day or two. But he could not lead the conversation towards
orchids—perhaps because his efforts were too clever, perhaps because
his host took no interest in the subject. One day, however, Mr.
Spicer's manager invited him to go shooting, and casually remarked
"we shall pass the spot where I found those orchids they're making
such a fuss about at home." Be sure Mr. Forstermann was alert that
morning! Thus put upon the track, he discovered quantities of it,
bade the tea-planter adieu, and went to work; but in the very moment
of triumph a tiger barred the way, his coolies bolted, and nothing
would persuade them to go further. Mr. Forstermann was no shikari,
but he felt himself called upon to uphold the cause of science and
the honour of England at this juncture. In great agitation he went
for that feline, and, in short, its skin still adorns Mrs. Sander's
drawing-room. Thus it happened that on a certain Thursday a small
pot of C. Spicerianum was sold, as usual, for sixty guineas at
Stevens's; on the Thursday following all the world could buy fine
plants at a guinea.
Cypripedium is the favourite orchid of the day. It has every
advantage, except, to my perverse mind—brilliancy of colour. None
show a whole tone; even the lovely C. niveum is not pure white. My
views, however, find no backing. At all other points the genus
deserves to be a favourite. In the first place, it is the most
interesting of all orchids to science.3
Then its endless variations of form, its astonishing oddities, its
wide range of hues, its easy culture, its readiness to hybridize and
to ripen seed, the certainty, by comparison, of rearing the
proceeds, each of these merits appeals to one or other of
orchid-growers. Many of the species which come from torrid lands,
indeed, are troublesome, but with such we are not concerned. The
cool varieties will do well anywhere, provided they receive water
enough in summer, and not too little in winter. I do not speak of
the American and Siberian classes, which are nearly hopeless for the
amateur, nor of the Hong-Kong Cypripedium purpuratum, a very
puzzling example.
On the roll of martyrs to orchidology, Mr. Pearce stands high. To
him we owe, among many fine things, the hybrid Begonias which are
becoming such favourites for bedding and other purposes. He
discovered the three original types, parents of the innumerable
"garden flowers" now on sale—Begonia Pearcii, B. Veitchii, and B.
Boliviensis. It was his great luck, and great honour, to find Masdevallia Veitchii—so long, so often, so laboriously
searched for from that day to this, but never even heard of. To
collect another shipment of that glorious orchid, Mr. Pearce sailed
for Peru, in the service, I think, of Mr. Bull. Unhappily—for us all
as well as for himself—he was detained at Panama. Somewhere in those
parts there is a magnificent Cypripedium with which we are
acquainted only by the dried inflorescence, named planifolium. The
poor fellow could not resist this temptation. They told him at
Panama that no white man had returned from the spot, but he went on.
The Indians brought him back, some days or weeks later, without the
prize; and he died on arrival.
Oncidiums also are a product of the New World exclusively; in fact,
of the four classes most useful to amateurs, three belong wholly to
America, and the fourth in great part. I resist the temptation to
include Masdevallia, because that genus is not so perfectly easy as
the rest; but if it be added, nine-tenths, assuredly, of the plants
in our cool house come from the West. Among the special merits of
the Oncidium is its colour. I have heard thoughtless persons
complain that they are "all yellow;" which, as a statement of fact,
is near enough to the truth, for about three-fourths may be so
described roughly. But this dispensation is another proof of
Nature's kindly regard for the interests of our science. A clear,
strong, golden yellow is the colour that would have been wanting in
our cool houses had not the Oncidium supplied it. Shades of lemon
and buff are frequent among Odontoglossums, but, in a rough, general
way of speaking, they have a white ground. Masdevallias give us
scarlet and orange and purple; Lycastes, green and dull yellow;
Sophronitis, crimson; Mesospinidium, rose, and so forth. Blue must
not be looked for. Even counting the new Utricularia for an orchid,
as most people do, there are, I think, but five species that will
live among us at present, in all the prodigious family, showing this
colour; and every one of them is very "hot." Thus it appears that
the Oncidium fills a gap—and how gloriously! There is no such pure
gold in the scheme of the universe as it displays under fifty shapes
wondrously varied. Thus—Oncidium macranthum! one is continually
tempted to exclaim, as one or other glory of the orchid world recurs
to mind, that it is the supreme triumph of floral beauty. I have
sinned thus, and I know it. Therefore, let the reader seek an
opportunity to behold O. macranthum, and judge for himself. But it
seems to me that Nature gives us a hint. As though proudly conscious
what a marvel it will unfold, this superb flower often demands nine
months to perfect itself. Dr. Wallace told me of an instance in his
collection where eighteen months elapsed from the appearance of the
spike until the opening of the first bloom. But it lasts a time
proportionate. Nature forestalled the dreams of
æsthetic colourists when she designed Oncidium macranthum. Thus, and
not otherwise, would the thoughtful of them arrange a "harmony" in
gold and bronze; but Nature, with characteristic indifference to the
fancies of mankind, hid her chef-d'œuvre in the wilds of Ecuador.
Hardly less striking, however, though perhaps less beautiful, are
its sisters of the "small-lipped" species—Onc. serratum, O.
superbiens, and O. sculptum. This last is rarely seen. As with
others of its class, the spike grows very long, twelve feet perhaps,
if it were allowed to stretch. The flowers are small comparatively,
clear bronze-brown, highly polished, so closely and daintily frilled
round the edges that a fairy goffering-iron could not give more
regular effects, and outlined by a narrow band of gold. Onc.
serratum has a much larger bloom, but less compact, rather fly-away
indeed, its sepals widening gracefully from a narrow neck.
Excessively curious is the disposition of the petals, which close
their tips to form a circle of brown and gold around the column. The
purpose of this extraordinary arrangement—unique among orchids, I
believe—will be discovered one day, for purpose there is, no doubt;
to judge by analogy, it may be supposed that the insect upon which
Onc. serratum depends for fertilization likes to stand upon this
ring while thrusting its proboscis into the nectary. The fourth of
these fine species, Onc. superbiens, ranks among the grandest of
flowers—knowing its own value, it rarely consents to "oblige;" the
dusky green sepals are margined with yellow, petals white, clouded
with pale purple, lip very small, of course, purple, surmounted by a
great golden crest.
Most strange and curious is Onc. fuscatum, of which the shape defies
description. Seen from the back, it shows a floriated cross of equal
limbs; but in front the nethermost is hidden by a spreading lip,
very large proportionately. The prevailing tint is a dun-purple, but
each arm has a broad white tip. Dun-purple, also, is the centre of
the labellum, edged with a distinct band of lighter hue, which
again, towards the margin, becomes white. These changes of tone are
not gradual, but as clear as a brush could make them. Botanists must
long to dissect this extraordinary flower, but the opportunity
seldom occurs. It is desperately puzzling to understand how nature
has packed away the component parts of its inflorescence, so as to
resolve them into four narrow arms and a labellum. But the colouring
of this plant is not always dull. In the small Botanic Garden at
Florence, by Santa Maria Maggiore, I remarked with astonishment an
Onc. fuscatum, of which the lip was scarlet-crimson and the other
tints bright to match. That collection is admirably grown, but
orchids are still scarce in Italy. The Society did not know what a
prize it had secured by chance.
The genus Oncidium has, perhaps, more examples of a startling
combination in hues than any other—but one must speak thoughtfully
and cautiously upon such points.
I have not to deal with culture, but one hint may be given.
Gardeners who have a miscellaneous collection to look after, often
set themselves against an experiment in orchid-growing because these
plants suffer terribly from green-fly and other pests, and will not
bear "smoking." To keep them clean and healthy by washing demands
labour for which they have no time. This is a very reasonable
objection. But though the smoke of tobacco is actual ruination, no
plant whatever suffers from the steam thereof. An ingenious
Frenchman has invented and patented in England lately a machine
called the Thanatophore, which I confidently recommend. It can be
obtained from Messrs. B.S. Williams, of Upper Holloway. The
Thanatophore destroys every insect within reach of its vapour,
excepting, curiously enough, scaly-bug, which, however, does not
persecute cool orchids much. The machine may be obtained in
different sizes through any good ironmonger.
To sum up: these plants ask nothing in return for the measureless
enjoyment they give but light, shade from the summer sun, protection
from the winter frost, moisture—and brains. [3] Vide "Orchids and
Hybridizing," infra, p. 210.
About Orchids
About Orchids, 1893 |
