The Charm of Gardens

by Dion Clayton Calthrop

It would appear, judging from the specimens one sees, that the building of garden apartments, or summer-houses, is a lost art. But then leisure, as an art, has also been lost; and no man unless he understand leisure can possibly build an apartment to be entirely devoted to it.

Imagine the man of the day who could write of his summer-house as the younger Pliny wrote: “At the end of the terrace, adjoining to the gallery, is a little garden-apartment, which I own is my delight. In truth it is my mistress: I built it.” The younger Pliny, of to-day, is scouring the countryside in a motorcar, his eyes half-blinded by dust, his nose offended by the stink of petrol; his thoughts, like his toys, purely mechanical.

There are still a few quiet people, and some scholars, whom the Socialist in his eager desire to benefit mankind at reckless speed, and at ruthless expense of humanity, would like to blot out, who can enjoy their gardens with that curious remoteness which is the privilege of the person of leisure.

The art of leisure lies, to me, in the power of absorbing without effort the spirit of one’s surroundings; to look, without speculation, at the sky and the sea; to become part of a green plain; to rejoice, with a tranquil mind, in the feast of colour in a bed of flowers. To this end is the good gardener born. The man, who, from a sudden love, stops in his walk to look at a field of Buttercups has no idea of the spiritual advancement he has made.

All this ambles away from the main topic, but so closely does the peace of gardens cling, that thoughts fly over the hedges like bees on the wing and bring back honey from wider pastures and dreams from larger tracts than those the garden itself covers. A man might write a romance of Spain from looking at an Orange.

The Romans, who left an indelible mark on England in their roadways and by their laws, built in this country many villas whose pavements and foundations remain to show us what manner of habitations they were. Besides this we have ample records of the shapes and purposes of these villas, with long accounts of baths, furniture and the like, such as enable us to picture very completely the life of a Roman gentleman exiled to these shores.

Houses, parks, and fields now cover all traces of any gardens there were attached to these Roman villas. Many a man lives over the spot where the hedges and alleys, the flower beds and walks, once delighted those gentlemen who sat drinking Falernian wine poured from old amphoræ dated by the year of the consul. Where sheep now browse gentlemen have sat after a feast of delicacies—Syrian Plums stewed with Pomegranate seeds; roasted field-fares, fresh Asparagus; Dates sent from Thebes—and, having eaten, have enjoyed the work of their topiarius, whose skill has cut hedges of Laurel, Box, and Yew into the forms of ships, bears, beasts and birds.

Differing from the Greeks, who were not good gardeners, the Romans, with a skill learnt partly from Oriental countries, made much of their gardens, and laid them out with infinite care and arrangement. They raised their flower-beds in terraces, and edged them with neat box borders; they made walks for shade, and walks for sun; planted thickets, alleys of fruit trees, orchards, and Vine pergolas. They had, as a rule, in larger gardens, a gestatio, a broad pathway in which they were carried about in litters. They had the hippodromus, a circus for exercise, which had several entrances with paths leading to different parts of the garden.

It is not too much to presume that the Romans, who spent their lives in our country, and build magnificent villas for themselves, and brought over all the arts of their country, brought, also, their methods of gardening, and planted here as they planted in their villas outside Rome, all the flowers, fruits and vegetables that the country would produce.

Tacitus was of the opinion that “the soil and climate of England was very fit for all kinds of fruit trees, except Vine and Olive; and for all kinds of edible vegetables.” In this he was right but for the Vine, which was planted here in the Third Century, and we know of vineyards and wine made from them in the Eighth Century.