Dendrobium Brymerianum.
Reduced To One Fourth
Everybody knows Dendrobium nobile so well that it is not to be discussed in prose; something might be done in poetry, perhaps, by young gentlemen who sing of buttercups and daisies, but the rhyme would be difficult. D. nobile nobilius, however, is by no means so common—would it were! This glorified form turned up among an importation made by Messrs. Rollisson. They propagated it, and sold four small pieces, which are still in cultivation. But the troubles of that renowned firm, to which we owe so great a debt, had already begun. The mother-plant was neglected. It had fallen into such a desperate condition when Messrs. Rollisson's plants were sold, under a decree in bankruptcy, that the great dealers refused to bid for what should have been a little gold-mine. A casual market-gardener hazarded thirty shillings, brought it round so far that he could establish a number of young plants, and sold the parent for forty pounds at last. There are, however, several fine varieties of D. nobile more valuable than nobilius. D. n. Sanderianum resembles that form, but it is smaller and darker. Albinos have been found; Baron Schroeder has a beautiful example. One appeared at Stevens' Rooms, announced as the single instance in cultivation—which is not quite the fact, but near enough for the auction-room, perhaps. It also was imported originally by Mr. Sander, with D. n. Sanderianum. Biddings reached forty-three pounds, but the owner would not deal at the price. Albinos are rare among the Dendrobes.
D. nobile Cooksoni was the fons et origo of an unpleasant misunderstanding. It turned up in the collection of Mr. Lange, distinguished by a reversal of the ordinary scheme of colour. There is actually no end to the delightful vagaries of these plants. If people only knew what interest and pleasing excitement attends the inflorescence of an imported orchid—one, that is, which has not bloomed before in Europe—they would crowd the auction-rooms in which every strange face is marked now. There are books enough to inform them, certainly; but who reads an Orchid Book? Even the enthusiast only consults it.
Dendrobium nobile Cooksoni, then, has white tips to petal and sepal; the crimson spot keeps its place; and the inside of the flower is deep red—an inversion of the usual colouring. Mr. Lange could scarcely fail to observe this peculiarity, but he seems to have thought little of it. Mr. Cookson, paying him a visit, was struck, however—as well he might be—and expressed a wish to have the plant. So the two distinguished amateurs made an exchange. Mr. Cookson sent a flower at once to Professor Reichenbach, who, delighted and enthusiastic, registered it upon the spot under the name of the gentleman from whom he received it. Mr. Lange protested warmly, demanding that his discovery should be called, after his residence, Heathfieldsayeanum. But Professor Reichenbach drily refused to consider personal questions; and really, seeing how short is life, and how long Dendrobium nobile Heathfield, &c., true philanthropists will hold him justified.
We may expect wondrous Dendrobes from New Guinea. Some fine species have already arrived, and others have been sent in the dried inflorescence. Of D. phalœnopsis Schroederi I have spoken elsewhere. There is D. Goldiei; a variety of D. superbiens—but much larger. There is D. Albertesii, snow-white; D. Broomfieldianum, curiously like Lœlia anceps alba in its flower—which is to say that it must be the loveliest of all Dendrobes. But this species has a further charm, almost incredible. The lip in some varieties is washed with lavender blue, in some with crimson! Another is nearly related to D. bigibbum, but much larger, with sepals more acute. Its hue is a glorious rosy-purple, deepening on the lip, the side lobes of which curl over and meet, forming a cylindrical tube, while the middle lobe, prolonged, stands out at right angles, veined with very dark purple; this has just been named D. Statterianum. It has upon the disc an elevated, hairy crest, like D. bigibbum, but instead of being white as always, more or less, in that instance, the crest of the new species is dark purple. I have been particular in describing this noble flower, because very, very few have beheld it. Those who live will see marvels when the Dutch and German portions of New Guinea are explored.
Recently I have been privileged to see another, the most impressive to my taste, of all the lovely genus. It is called D. atro-violaceum. The stately flowers hang down their heads, reflexed like a "Turban Lily," ten or a dozen on a spike. The colour is ivory-white, with a faintest tinge of green, and green spots are dotted all over. The lobes of the lip curl in, making half the circumference of a funnel, the outside of which is dark violet-blue; with that fine colour the lip itself is boldly striped. They tell me that the public is not expected to "catch on" to this marvel. It hangs its head too low, and the contrast of hues is too startling. If that be so, we multiply schools of art and County Council lectures perambulate the realm, in vain. The artistic sense is denied us.
Madagascar also will furnish some astonishing novelties; it has already begun, in fact—with a vengeance. Imagine a scarlet Cymbidium! That such a wonder existed has been known for some years, and three collectors have gone in search of it; two died, and the third has been terribly ill since his return to Europe—but he won the treasure, which we shall behold in good time. Those parts of Madagascar which especially attract botanists must be death-traps indeed! M. Léon Humblot tells how he dined at Tamatave with his brother and six compatriots, exploring the country with various scientific aims. Within twelve months he was the only survivor. One of these unfortunates, travelling on behalf of Mr. Cutler, the celebrated naturalist of Bloomsbury Street, to find butterflies and birds, shot at a native idol, as the report goes. The priests soaked him with paraffin, and burnt him on a table—perhaps their altar. M. Humblot himself has had awful experiences. He was attached to the geographical survey directed by the French Government, and ten years ago he found Phajus Humblotii and Phajus tuberculosus in the deadliest swamps of the interior. A few of the bulbs gathered lived through the passage home, and caused much excitement when offered for sale at Stevens' Auction Rooms. M. Humblot risked his life again, and secured a great quantity for Mr. Sander, but at a dreadful cost. He spent twelve months in the hospital at Mayotte, and on arrival at Marseilles with his plants the doctors gave him no hope of recovery. P. Humblotii is a marvel of beauty—rose-pink, with a great crimson labellum exquisitely frilled, and a bright green column.
Everybody who knows his "Darwin" is aware that Madagascar is the chosen home of the Angræcums. All, indeed, are natives of Africa, so far as I know, excepting the delightful A. falcatum, which comes, strangely enough, from Japan. One cannot but suspect, under the circumstances, that this species was brought from Africa ages ago, when the Japanese were enterprising seamen, and has been acclimatized by those skilful horticulturists. It is certainly odd that the only "cool" Aerides—the only one found, I believe, outside of India and the Eastern Tropics—also belongs to Japan, and a cool Dendrobe, A. arcuatum, is found in the Transvaal; and I have reason to hope that another or more will turn up when South Africa is thoroughly searched. A pink Angræcum, very rarely seen, dwells somewhere on the West Coast; the only species, so far as I know, which is not white. It bears the name of M. Du Chaillu, who found it—he has forgotten where, unhappily. I took that famous traveller to St. Albans in the hope of quickening his recollection, and I fear I bored him afterwards with categorical inquiries. But all was vain. M. Du Chaillu can only recall that once on a time, when just starting for Europe, it occurred to him to run into the bush and strip the trees indiscriminately. Mr. Sander was prepared to send a man expressly for this Angræcum. The exquisite A. Sanderianum is a native of the Comorro Islands. No flower could be prettier than this, nor more deliciously scented—when scented it is! It grows in a climate which travellers describe as Paradise, and, in truth, it becomes such a scene. Those who behold young plants with graceful garlands of snowy bloom twelve to twenty inches long are prone to fall into raptures; but imagine it as a long-established specimen appears just now at St Albans, with racemes drooping two and a half feet from each new growth, clothed on either side with flowers like a double train of white long-tailed butterflies hovering! A. Scottianum comes from Zanzibar, discovered, I believe, by Sir John Kirk; A. caudatum, from Sierra Leone. This latter species is the nearest rival of A. sesquipedale, showing "tails" ten inches long. Next in order for this characteristic detail rank A. Leonis and Kotschyi—the latter rarely grown—with seven-inch "tails;" Scottianum and Ellisii with six-inch; that is to say, they ought to show such dimensions respectively. Whether they fulfil their promise depends upon the grower.
With the exceptions named, this family belongs to Madagascar. It has a charming distinction, shared by no other genus which I recall, save, in less degree, Cattleya—every member is attractive. But I must concentrate myself on the most striking—that which fascinated Darwin. In the first place it should be pointed out that savants call this plant Æranthus sesquipedalis, not Angræcum—a fact useful to know, but unimportant to ordinary mortals. It was discovered by the Rev. Mr. Ellis, and sent home alive, nearly thirty years ago; but civilized mankind has not yet done wondering at it. The stately growth, the magnificent green-white flowers, command admiration at a glance, but the "tail," or spur, offers a problem of which the thoughtful never tire. It is commonly ten inches long, sometimes fourteen inches, and at home, I have been told, even longer; about the thickness of a goose-quill, hollow, of course, the last inch and a half filled with nectar. Studying this appendage by the light of the principles he had laid down, Darwin ventured on a prophecy which roused special mirth among the unbelievers. Not only the abnormal length of the nectary had to be considered; there was, besides, the fact that all its honey lay at the base, a foot or more from the orifice. Accepting it as a postulate that every detail of the apparatus must be equally essential for the purpose it had to serve, he made a series of experiments which demonstrated that some insect of Madagascar—doubtless a moth—must be equipped with a proboscis long enough to reach the nectar, and at the same time thick enough at the base to withdraw the pollinia—thus fertilizing the bloom. For, if the nectar had lain so close to the orifice that moths with a proboscis of reasonable length and thickness could get at it, they would drain the cup without touching the pollinia. Darwin never proved his special genius more admirably than in this case. He created an insect beyond belief, as one may say, by the force of logic; and such absolute confidence had he in his own syllogism that he declared, "If such great moths were to become extinct in Madagascar, assuredly this Angræcum would become extinct." I am not aware that Darwin's fine argument has yet been clinched by the discovery of that insect. But cavil has ceased. Long before his death a sphinx moth arrived from South Brazil which shows a proboscis between ten and eleven inches long—very nearly equal, therefore, to the task of probing the nectary of Angræcum sesquipidale. And we know enough of orchids at this time to be absolutely certain that the Madagascar species must exist.