STORY OF CYPRIPEDIUM PLATYTAENIUM
This is the rarest and costliest of all orchids—of all flowers that blow, indeed, and all green things, from the cedar of Lebanon to the hyssop upon the housetop. I think it no exaggeration to say that a strong specimen would be worth its weight in diamonds if a little one—for the most enthusiastic of millionaires seem to lose courage when biddings go beyond a certain sum. But it is long since any plants came into the market.
I suppress part of the name, as usual, fearing to daunt casual readers. Be it understood that this treasure is a variety of Cypripedium Stoneii; the specific title should be introduced in speaking of it. Doubtless platytaenium is a very handsome member of the family, impressive in size and shape, elegantly coloured. But one who regards the flower with eyes undazzled by fashion may pronounce that its value lies mostly in its renown.
But one plant has ever been discovered; and that came to Europe unannounced. Messrs. Low sold a quantity of a new Cypripedium from Borneo. Some pieces were bought by Mr. Day, of Tottenham, at an average of eight shillings each. They flowered successively, and Mr. Day named the species Stoneii, after his excellent gardener. In 1863, however, one appeared different to the rest—different, as it has proved, to all the myriads which have been discovered since. This was named platytaenium. But besides the merit of rarity, it is distinguished by a peculiar slowness of growth. Mr. Day multiplied the specimen as fast as he could, but between 1863 and 1881 he only succeeded in making four small plants from it. One of these was sold to Mrs. Morgan, of New York; it perished, doubtless, for when, at her death, a Cypriped was put up under that hallowed name, and bought at a long price, it proved to be the common Stoneii. Mr. Dorman, of Sydenham, was the victim. I may mention that two of the largest orchid-dealers in Europe sent an agent expressly to buy this ‘lot’ in New York. Mr. Day then had three left. One of them he divided, and gave a fragment to his sister, Mrs. Wolstenholme. The Tottenham collection was dispersed in 1881; Mr. Day kept one small plant, Baron Schröder bought one for £106; Mr. Lee, of Leatherhead, and Sir Trevor Lawrence, in partnership, one for £147. Three or four years afterwards this was divided, each partner taking his share. Baron Schröder afterwards bought Mr. Lee’s. Also he bought the one Mr. Day kept back, for £159:12s., at the death of that gentleman. Then Mrs. Wolstenholme’s executors put up her example—which had never flowered—and Baron Schröder secured it for £100. These prices do not seem to bear out my statement that platytaenium is the most valuable of all orchids. Infinitely greater sums have been paid. But it must be remembered that these were all tiny bits, weakened by division whenever they grew big enough to cut. At present Baron Schröder and Sir Trevor Lawrence have all the stock existing, to human knowledge. How much either would obtain at Protheroe’s for his little hoard makes a favourite theme for speculation in a gathering of orchidists. They have one significant hint to go upon. Two years ago Mr. Ames, of Boston, U.S.A., commissioned Mr. Sander to offer Sir Trevor Lawrence a cheque of 800 guineas for one plant. And Sir Trevor declined it.
Now for the legend. That consignment of Cyp. Stoneii in which platytaenium appeared was forwarded by Sir Hugh Low from Sarawak. He recalls the circumstances with peculiar distinctness, as is natural. The plants were collected on the very top of a limestone hill at Bidi, near Bau, famous afterwards in the annals of Sarawak as the spot whence the Chinese insurgents started to overthrow the government of Rajah Brooke. But the gold washings had not been discovered then. Such Chinamen as dwelt in the neighbourhood were mostly gardeners and small traders. A few sought nuggets in holes and fissures of the limestone, and found them, too, occasionally. Sir Hugh Low could never frame a satisfactory explanation of the presence of gold under such conditions, but it is frequent in Borneo. That auriferous strata should decompose, and that nuggets should be transferred to another formation during the process, is easily intelligible. But in many instances, as at Bau, the gold is found at a considerable height, and no trace remains of those loftier hills from which it must have fallen. Deposits of tin occur under just the same circumstances in the Malay Peninsula.
The top of this little hill was a basin, much like a shallow crater, encircled by jagged peaks as by a wall. Each of these was clothed in the glossy leaves of Cyp. Stoneii from top to bottom, as it would be with ivy in our latitude. So easy was orchid-collecting in those days. Sir Hugh had but to choose the finest, and pull off as many as his servants could carry. In the hollow of the basin other Cypripeds were growing—plants with spotted foliage—and he has not ceased to regret leaving these untouched, since wider knowledge inclines him to fancy that they belonged to species not yet introduced. At one spot, however, beneath the shadow of the little peaks, gold-seekers made a practice of camping. Ashes lay thick there, and bits of charcoal and dry bones. Here sprang a single tuft of Cyp. Stoneii, and in passing Sir Hugh was tempted to dig it up. He cherishes a suspicion—which he does not attempt to justify, of course—that this solitary plant, growing under conditions so different to the rest, was platytaenium.
Some years afterwards, a young clerk in the service of a German firm at Singapore, visited Sarawak on his holiday. Orchids made a standing topic for conversation in that early time. He heard much about Mr. Day’s priceless Cypriped at the capital, and he resolved to try his luck. I may call him Smidt for convenience; my informants are not sure of the name, after a lapse of forty years.
There is no trouble in reaching Bau. The village stands on the river Sarawak, and at any moment of the day a sampan can be hired to take one thither. Smidt did not travel in luxury. If he kept a ‘boy’ at Singapore, like a thrifty young Teuton he left him behind. Servants are as easily found in those countries as sampans, if one be not too particular. Smidt engaged a Chinaman who had good recommendations, though not of recent date, nor from persons living in Sarawak; he had come thither from Penang to ‘better himself,’ as he said, and had been working at the gold-fields. For convenience again we may give him a name—Ahtan.
The project of visiting Bau was not agreeable to this Chinaman. ‘I makee bad pigeon there one time,’ he said frankly. But the objection was not serious.
Bau had changed since Sir Hugh Low’s day. In the meantime the Dutch authorities at Sambas had irritated the gold-diggers of that region to the point that they massacred a body of troops—I do not mean to hint that the Dutch policy was unjustifiable. In consequence a great number of Chinamen fled across the frontier, found profitable washings at Bau, and invited their comrades. So many came, and they showed such a lawless spirit from the outset, that the Rajah’s government took alarm. But as yet all was quiet enough.