The Flowering of the Strange

Orchid

by Herbert George (H.G.) Wells, 1866-1946

Published: 1894

JJJJJ IIIII

The buying of orchids always has in it a certain speculative flavour. You have
before you the brown shrivelled lump of tissue, and for the rest you must trust
your judgment, or the auctioneer, or your good-luck, as your taste may incline.
The plant may be moribund or dead, or it may be just a respectable purchase,
fair value for your money, or perhaps—for the thing has happened again and
again—there slowly unfolds before the delighted eyes of the happy purchaser,
day after day, some new variety, some novel richness, a strange twist of the
labellum, or some subtler coloration or unexpected mimicry.
Pride, beauty, and profit blossom together on one delicate green spike, and it
may be, even immortality. For the new miracle of Nature may stand in need of a
new specific name, and what so convenient as that of its discoverer?
„Johnsmithia!“ There have been worse names.
It was perhaps the hope of some such happy discovery that made Winter-
Wedderburn such a frequent attendant at these sales—that hope, and also,
maybe, the fact that he had nothing else of the slightest interest to do in the
world. He was a shy, lonely, rather ineffectual man, provided with just enough
income to keep off the spur of necessity, and not enough nervous energy to
make him seek any exacting employments. He might have collected stamps or
coins, or translated Horace, or bound books, or invented new species of
diatoms. But, as it happened, he grew orchids, and had one ambitious little
hothouse.
„I have a fancy,“ he said over his coffee, „that something is going to happen to
me today.“
He spoke—as he moved and thought—slowly.
„Oh, don‘t say THAT!“ said his housekeeper, who was also his remote cousin.
For „something happening“ was a euphemism that meant only one thing to her.
„You misunderstand me. I mean nothing unpleasant… though what I do
mean I scarcely know.“
„Today,“ he continued, after a pause, „Peters‘ are going to sell a batch of
plants from the Andamans and the Indies. I shall go up and see what they
have. It may be I shall buy something good, unawares. That may be it.“
He passed his cup for his second cupful of coffee.
„Are these the things collected by that poor young fellow you told me of the
other day?“ asked his cousin as she filled his cup.
„Yes,“ he said, and became meditative over a piece of toast.
„Nothing ever does happen to me,“ he remarked presently, beginning to think
aloud. „I wonder why? Things enough happen to other people. There is Harvey.
Only the other week, on Monday he picked up sixpence, on Wednesday his
chicks all had the staggers, on Friday his cousin came home from Australia,
and on Saturday he broke his ankle. What a whirl of excitement—compared to
me.“
„I think I would rather be without so much excitement,“ said his
housekeeper. „It can‘t be good for you.“
„I suppose it‘s troublesome. Still… you see, nothing ever happens to me.
When I was a little boy I never had accidents. I never fell in love as I grew up.
Never married… I wonder how it feels to have something happen to you,
something really remarkable.
„That orchid-collector was only thirty-six-twenty years younger than myself
when he died. And he had been married twice, and divorced once; he had had
malarial fever four times, and once he broke his thigh. He killed a Malay once,
and once he was wounded by a poisoned dart. And in the end he was killed by
jungle-leeches. It must have all been very troublesome, but then it must have
been very interesting, you know, except, perhaps, the leeches.“
„I am sure it was not good for him,“ said the lady, with conviction.
„Perhaps not.“ And then Wedderburn looked at his watch. „Twenty-three
minutes past eight. I am going up by the quarter to twelve train, so that there is
plenty of time. I think I shall wear my alpaca jacket—it is quite warm enough—
and my grey felt hat and brown shoes. I suppose—“
He glanced out of the window at the serene sky and sunlit garden, and then
nervously at his cousin‘s face.
„I think you had better take an umbrella if you are going to London,“ she
said, in a voice that admitted of no denial. „There‘s all between here and the
station coming back.“
 When he returned he was in a state of mild excitement. He had made a
purchase. It was rarely that he could make up his mind quickly enough to buy,
but this time he had done so.
„There are Vandas,“ he said, „and a Dendrobe and some Palaeonophis.“ He
surveyed his purchases lovingly as he consumed his soup. They were laid out
on the spotless tablecloth before him, and he was telling his cousin all about
them as he slowly meandered through his dinner. It was his custom to live all
his visits to London over again in the evening for her and his own
entertainment.
„I knew something would happen today. And I have bought all these. Some of
them—some of them—I feel sure, do you know, that some of them will be
remarkable. I don‘t know how it is, but I feel just as sure as if someone had told
me that some of these will turn out remarkable.“
„That one“—he pointed to a shrivelled rhizome—„was not identified. It may be
a Palaeonophis—or it may not. It may be a new species, or even a new genus.
And it was the last that poor Batten ever collected.“
„I don‘t like the look of it,“ said his housekeeper. „It‘s such an ugly shape.“
„To me it scarcely seems to have a shape.“
„I don‘t like those things that stick out,“ said his housekeeper.
„It shall be put away in a pot tomorrow.“
„It looks,“ said the housekeeper, „like a spider shamming dead.“
Wedderburn smiled and surveyed the root with his head on one side. „It is
certainly not a pretty lump of stuff. But you can never judge of these things
from their dry appearance. It may turn out to be a very beautiful orchid indeed.
How busy I shall be tomorrow! I must see tonight just exactly what to do with
these things, and tomorrow I shall set to work.
„They found poor Batten lying dead, or dying, in a mangrove swamp—I forget
which,“ he began again presently, „with one of these very orchids crushed up
under his body. He had been unwell for some days with some kind of native
fever, and I suppose he fainted. These mangrove swamps are very
unwholesome. Every drop of blood, they say, was taken out of him by the
jungle-leeches. It may be that very plant that cost him his life to obtain.“
„I think none the better of it for that.“
„Men must work though women may weep,“ said Wedderburn, with profound
gravity.
„Fancy dying away from every comfort in a nasty swamp! Fancy being ill of
fever with nothing to take but chlorodyne and quinine—if men were left to
themselves they would live on chlorodyne and quinine—and no one round you
but horrible natives! They say the Andaman islanders are most disgusting
wretches—and, anyhow, they can scarcely make good nurses, not having the
necessary training. And just for people in England to have orchids!“
„I don‘t suppose it was comfortable, but some men seem to enjoy that kind of
thing,“ said Wedderburn. „Anyhow, the natives of his party were sufficiently
civilized to take care of all his collection until his colleague, who was an
ornithologist, came back again from the interior; though they could not tell the
species of the orchid and had let it wither. And it makes these things more
interesting.“
„It makes them disgusting. I should be afraid of some of the malaria clinging
to them. And just think, there has been a dead body lying across that ugly
thing! I never thought of that before. There! I declare I cannot eat another
mouthful of dinner!“
„I will take them off the table if you like, and put them in the windowseat. I
can see them just as well there.“

The next few days he was indeed singularly busy in his steamy little hot-
house, fussing about with charcoal, lumps of teak, moss, and all the other
mysteries of the orchid cultivator. He considered he was having a wonderfully
eventful time. In the evening he would talk about these new orchids to his
friends, and over and over again he reverted to his expectation of something
strange.
Several of the Vandas and the Dendrobium died under his care, but
presently the strange orchid began to show signs of life. He was delighted and
took his housekeeper right away from jam-making to see it at once, directly he
made the discovery.
„That is a bud,“ he said, „and presently there will be a lot of leaves there, and
those little things coming out here are aerial rootlets.“
„They look to me like little white fingers poking out of the brown,“ said his
housekeeper. „I don‘t like them.“
„Why not?“
„I don‘t know. They look like fingers trying to get at you. I can‘t help my likes
and dislikes.“
„I don‘t know for certain, but I don‘t THINK there are any orchids I know that
have aerial rootlets quite like that. It may be my fancy, of course. You see they
are a little flattened at the ends.“
„I don‘t like ‘em,“ said his housekeeper, suddenly shivering and turning
away. „I know it‘s very silly of me—and I‘m very sorry, particularly as you like
the thing so much. But I can‘t help thinking of that corpse.“
„But it may not be that particular plant. That was merely a guess of mine.“
His housekeeper shrugged her shoulders. „Anyhow I don‘t like it,“ she said.
Wedderburn felt a little hurt at her dislike to the plant. But that did not
prevent his talking to her about orchids generally, and this orchid in particular,
whenever he felt inclined.

„There are such queer things about orchids,“ he said one day; „such
possibilities of surprises. You know, Darwin studied their fertilisation, and
showed that the whole structure of an ordinary orchid flower was contrived in
order that moths might carry the pollen from plant to plant. Well, it seems that
there are lots of orchids known the flower of which cannot possibly be used for
fertilisation in that way. Some of the Cypripediums, for instance; there are no
insects known that can possibly fertilise them, and some of them have never
been found with seed.“
„But how do they form new plants?“
„By runners and tubers, and that kind of outgrowth. That is easily explained.
The puzzle is, what are the flowers for?“
„Very likely,“ he added, "MY orchid may be something extraordinary in that
way. If so, I shall study it. I have often thought of making researches as Darwin
did. But hitherto I have not found the time, or something else has happened to
prevent it. The leaves are beginning to unfold now. I do wish you would come
and see them!“
 But she said that the orchid-house was so hot it gave her the headache. She
had seen the plant once again, and the aerial rootlets, which were now some of
them more than a foot long, had unfortunately reminded her of tentacles
reaching out after something; and they got into her dreams, growing after her
with incredible rapidity. So that she had settled to her entire satisfaction that
she would not see that plant again, and Wedderburn had to admire its leaves
alone. They were of the ordinary broad form, and deep, glossy green, with
splashes and dots of deep red towards the base. He knew of no other leaves
quite like them.
The plant was placed on a low bench near the thermometer, and close by was
a simple arrangement by which a tap dripped on the hot-water pipes and kept
the air steamy. And he spent his afternoons now with some regularity
meditating on the approaching flowering of this strange plant.
And at last the great thing happened. Directly he entered the little glass
house he knew that the spike had burst out, although his great Palaeonophis
Lowii hid the corner where his new darling stood There was a new odour in the
air—a rich, intensely sweet scent, that overpowered every other in that
crowded, steaming little greenhouse.
Directly he noticed this he hurried down to the strange orchid. And, behold!
the trailing green spikes bore now three great splashes of blossom, from which
this overpowering sweetness proceeded. He stopped before them in an ecstasy
of admiration.
The flowers were white, with streaks of golden orange upon the petals; the
heavy labellum was coiled into an intricate projection, and a wonderful bluish
purple mingled there with the gold. He could see at once that the genus was
altogether a new one. And the insufferable scent! How hot the place was! The
blossoms swam before his eyes.
He would see if the temperature was right. He made a step towards the
thermometer. Suddenly everything appeared unsteady. The bricks on the floor
were dancing up and down. Then the white blossoms, the green leaves behind
them, the whole green house, seemed to sweep sideways, and then in a curve
upward thing.
At half-past four his cousin made the tea, according to their invariable
custom But Wedderburn did not come in for his tea.
„He is worshipping that horrid orchid,“ she told herself, and waited ten
minutes. „His watch must have stopped. I will go and call him.“
She went straight to the hothouse, and, opening the door, called his name.
There was no reply. She noticed that the air was very close, and loaded with an
intense perfume. Then she saw something lying on the bricks between the
hotwater pipes.
For a minute, perhaps, she stood motionless.
He was lying, face upward, at the foot of the strange orchid. The tentacle-like
aerial rootlets no longer swayed freely in the air, but were crowded together, a
tangle of grey ropes, and stretched tight, with their ends closely applied to his
chin and neck and hands.
She did not understand. Then she saw from one of the exultant tentacles
upon his cheek there trickled a little thread of blood.
With an inarticulate cry she ran towards him, and tried to pull him away
from the leech-like suckers. She snapped two of these tentacles, and their sap
dripped red.
 Then the overpowering scent of the blossom began to make her head reel.
How they clung to him! She tore at the tough ropes, and he and the white
inflorescence swam about her. She felt she was fainting, knew she must not.
She left him and hastily opened the nearest door, and, after she had panted for
a moment in the fresh air, she had a brilliant inspiration. She caught up a
flower-pot and smashed in the windows at the end of the greenhouse. Then she
re-entered. She tugged now with renewed strength at Wedderburn‘s motionless
body, and brought the strange orchid crashing to the floor. It still clung with
the grimmest tenacity to its victim. In a frenzy, she lugged it and him into the
open air.
Then she thought of tearing through the sucker rootlets one by one, and in
another minute she had released him and was dragging him away from the
horror.
He was white and bleeding from a dozen circular patches.
The odd-job man was coming up the garden, amazed at the smashing of
glass, and saw her emerge, hauling the inanimate body with red-stained hands.
For a moment he thought impossible things.
„Bring some water!“ she cried, and her voice dispelled his fancies. When, with
unnatural alacrity, he returned with the water, he found her weeping with
excitement, and with Wedderburn‘s head upon her knee, wiping the blood from
his face.
„What‘s the matter?“ said Wedderburn, opening his eyes feebly, and closing
them again at once.
„Go and tell Annie to come out here to me, and then go for Dr. Haddon at
once,“ she said to the odd-job man so soon as he had brought the water, and
added, seeing he hesitated: „I will tell you all about it when you come back.“
Presently, Wedderburn opened his eyes again, and, seeing that he was
troubled by the puzzle of his position, she explained to him: „You fainted in the
hothouse.“
„And the orchid?“
„I will see to that,“ she said.
Wedderburn had lost a good deal of blood, but beyond that he had suffered
no very great injury. They gave him brandy mixed with some pink extract of
meat, and carried him upstairs to bed. His housekeeper told her incredible
story in fragments to Dr. Haddon. „Come to the orchid-house and see,“ she
said.
The cold outer air was blowing in through the open door, and the sickly
perfume was almost dispelled. Most of the torn aerial rootlets lay already
withered amidst a number of dark stains upon the bricks. The stem of the
inflorescence was broken by the fall of the plant, and the flowers were growing
limp and brown at the edges of the petals. The doctor stooped towards it, then
saw that one of the aerial rootlets still stirred feebly, and hesitated.
The next morning the strange orchid still lay there, black now and
putrescent. The door banged intermittently in the morning breeze, and all the
array of Wedderburn‘s orchids was shrivelled and prostrate. But Wedderburn
himself was bright and garrulous upstairs in the glory of his strange adventure.