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The ‘Charles E.’ clone of P. rothschildianum is certainly a very influential plant in paph circles, and the ‘Borneo’ clone equally so. Both received FCCs and produced many progeny which themselves won numerous AOS awards. All well and good.

Every year, though, I get inquiries about these plants from excited collectors new to slipper orchids. New “pouch people” getting into roths are often dazzled by the awards given to ‘Charles E.’ and ‘Borneo’. What they don’t realize is how outdated those awards are, having been given thirty years ago. Now, I am not knocking the plants themselves — they are fine rothschildianums (and I’m proud to own both). But it’s sort of like flipping through old Playboy magazines from the 60’s — if you grew up in a era of silicone “perfection,” you’re astonished at how times and tastes have changed.

So where is a collector (of rothschildianums, not Playboys) to start?

I believe the current standard in roths is still ‘Rex’ FCC/AOS x ‘Mont Millais’ FCC/AOS produced by the Orchid Zone. One can easily and fairly argue, however, that the ‘Val’ FCC/AOS x ‘Mont Millais’ FCC/AOS cross from the Tokyo Orchid Nursery is the best. Well, as always, beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and when it comes to orchids, in the hands of the grower.

Progeny from both of these crosses has been the foundation of much of the current breeding in roths. The Orchid Zone has been continuing to push roth breeding by selecting the best of their ‘Rex’ x ‘MM’ plants, and crossing with progeny from ‘Nan Chou’ (a very dark roth) x ‘MM’ and other crosses. I have been fortunate to acquire a number of seedlings of this cutting edge breeding; if you are interested, please email me.

Many of the crosses coming from Asia these days actually bring both (Rex x MM) and (Val x MM) progeny together. (Actually, ‘Val’ FCC/AOS was one of the progeny of the ‘Charles E.’ x ‘Borneo’ cross.) In other cases, select plants have been outcrossed to plants originally wild-collected.

All of this genetic mixing and matching should produce some really spectacular stuff. So the future looks very exciting for roth nuts.

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I am very pleased to have recently obtained from the Orchid Zone a division of P. spicerianum ‘St. Albans’. The flower is quite modest compared to some of the latest breeding of this species from OZ (let me know if you’re interested in getting some), but it is definitely a valuable piece of orchid history. The “St. Alban’s” name comes from the location of Frederick Sander’s nursery. Sander and Sons was one of the most famous orchid dealers in the world, and was responsible for the discovery of numerous new plant species. Sander’s collectors ranged throughout Southeast Asia, the Pacific, and South America in the quest for new orchids, and some of them were named after him: P. sanderianum and Vanda sanderiana, to name just two. In fact, the commonplace “lucky bamboo” Dracaena sanderiana was named after him!

Anyways, here’s P. spicerianum ‘St. Albans’:

I love spicerianum as its flower is unique and distinctive, it grows quickly, and it tolerates a wide range of conditions. In fact, I’ve read that the first spicerianum plant known in England arrived as not much more than a root in a shipment of other orchids from India. (Hmm, recovering a valuable plant from just a piece of rhizome and root is something I’ve had to try all too many times.) The hardy plant fluourished in Mrs. Spicer’s greenhouse, and eventually set off a massive hunt for this rare species.

If you are interested in obtaining a division of this plant, please email me at orchids@paphinessorchids.com.

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P. spicerianums are very much in bloom now. It is one of my favorite species, being easy to grow, and charming to look at. The story of its discovery is fascinating as well. The following is an excerpt from About Orchids (1893) by Frederick Boyle:

It [P. spicerianum] turned up among a quantity of Cypripedium insigne in the greenhouse of Mrs. Spicer, a lady residing at Twickenham. Astonished at the appearance of this swan among her ducks, she asked Mr. Veitch to look at it. He was delighted to pay seventy guineas down for such a prize. Cypripediums propagate easily, no more examples came into the market, and for some years this lovely species was a treasure for dukes and millionaires. It was no secret that the precious novelty came from Mrs. Spicer’s greenhouse; but to call on a strange lady and demand how she became possessed of a certain plant is not a course of action that commends itself to respectable business men. The circumstances gave no clue. Messrs. Spicer were and are large manufacturers of paper; there is no visible connection betwixt paper and Indian orchids. By discreet inquiries, however, it was ascertained that one of the lady’s sons had a tea-plantation in Assam. No more was needed.

Here, like many tales of orchid discovery, things get a bit confused and muddled. The Mr. Veitch named above was one of the premier orchid and plant dealers in England (and hence the world), and his botanical legacy lives on to this day. Veitch was in competition with Frederick Sander (after whom P. sanderianum is named), whose orchid exploits earned him the moniker of “The Orchid King.” The confusion comes in the mention of Mr. Forstermann in the next sentence. Forstermann was the actual orchid hunter who ventured nto the wildest of places to find these rarest of plants. Forstermann didn’t work for Veitch, though — he worked for Sander.

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.

Hmm, exaggerations and orchid sales go hand in hand. The bit about science and England’s honor seems to omit the true motivation: the money. Rare orchids in those days, being the near-exclusive province of nobility and merchant princes, commanded astronomical prices. They still do (but more on that in another post.) Ultimately, many thousands of plants were sent to England, and eventually some made it to the US, where they could be obtained in 1889 for $5 each. What is that in today’s dollars? Probably somewhere between $113 to ~$500. (You can obtain an estimate at www.measuringworth.com, where you get a range of values depending on how you look at relative worth.) Today, in 2007 dollars, you can obtain a fine specimen of this once exceedingly valuable plant for $20 - $30. Interested parties should email orchids@paphinessorchids.com.

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I have a theory as to why orchids became so popular during Victorian England.

The stereotype of that era is one of sexual repression and prudishness bordering on the comical. For example, the word “leg” was considered too overtly sexual for public discussion, so the more clinical term “limb” was used. Women’s ankles were also considered sexually suggestive, so they were always kept covered under layers of clothing. In fact, I’ve heard it said that table legs were covered in pantaloons to smother over any potential impropriety or lewd thoughts.

So you can imagine the consternation, the titillation, the gasps, the blushing, and the fainting that must have come with the flowering of P. venustum, the first officially described Paphiopedilum orchid brought to Great Britain in 1820.

It probably didn’t help the situation that the mottled pattern on the leaves caused P. venustum to be known as the “snake skin” orchid.

The counts and dukes and earls and barons and the merchant princes — and their ladies — could gather around these exquisite, erotic, exotic flowers and discuss the finer points of botany, all in wonderful Latin euphemisms (but be thinking of something else entirely):

• glabrous (smooth, non-hairy)
• pubescent (covered with hairs)
• labellum (lip)
• sub-erect (nearly straight up)
• venae (veins)
• saccate (shaped like a pouch or sac)
• undulate (up and down)

No wonder the English developed such a lust for slipper orchids over the next century.

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Baron Ferdinand James von Rothschild (1839 - 1898) was a member of the famous Rothschild family, known for their financial empire stretching across Europe. Born into the Austrian branch of the family, he settled in England, where he married his first cousin, Evelina, who tragically died with their baby during childbirth. Baron Rothschild built a hospital in her memory.

Besides becoming a member of the British Parliament, he was an art collector, and, of course, a famous orchid collector. He built an estate called Waddeson Manor, where he kept a vast collection of plants. And, he had the great distinction of having the King of Slipper Orchids named for him. I read somewhere that a Baron Rothschild had a plant with 200 leaves and put up a dozen flower spikes! That would be a spectacular sight to see. (Better yet, I hope to grow a rothschildianum that big myself.)

It’s not clear to me yet which Baron Rothschild owned this massive roth, as I haven’t seen the original reference, and there have been a lot of Rothschilds, several associated with orchids. A Continental cousin of Ferdinand, Edmond, had a huge collection in Paris. Bulbophyllum (or is it Cirrhopetalum now?) rothschildianum appears to have been named for a Walter Rothschild. At least one of the wealthy modern day Rothschilds continues the tradition in France. Maybe collecting orchids runs in the family, along with great wealth and art collecting.

Or does it mean that collecting orchids will make you rich? You can find out for yourself by clicking here and choosing a nice plant to add to your collection.

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