In a few steps after leaving the Savanna, the Botanic Gardens are gained. At the time of my first visit the road outside was lined with cadets from the French training ship “Flore,” who were sketching a handsome Traveller’s Tree—Ravenala speciosa—which grew near the entrance. A crowd of little urchins hovered about them, and it was very amusing to hear their outspoken opinions on the efforts of the different artists, who worked away with perfect composure. Several times afterwards I met the young scholars eagerly acquiring, under able tuition, that most desirable accomplishment—sketching from nature.
The Botanical Gardens are delightfully situated in a wide ravine through which a stream flows. Terraces have been cut out of the sides, and winding walks and avenues lead to pretty scenes and charming outlooks. Art here has done much in laying out the grounds and forming the various rills, fountains, and waterfalls, but nature has supplied a very beautiful site. Particularly beautiful is one avenue of “Palmistes Royals,”[13] whose perfectly straight grey stems, ending in a light green shaft and crowned with a leafy diadem of dark green spreading leaves, form an aisle of living Corinthian pillars, seventy or eighty feet in height. This magnificent species of palm reminds me of an article which appeared in the June number of “Belgravia,” 1878, entitled “The Great Tropical Fallacy.” In it the writer declares that “waving sugar-cane, graceful bamboos, spreading tree ferns, magnificent palms, &c., may be found at Kew, but not in the tropics.” He also says “a true fern can scarcely be seen through the foul mouldering fronds that cling around its musty stem.”
The amusing article certainly would dispel “The Great Tropical Fallacy,” if it was true, but it can only have been written as a joke, as the writer adds that he has “lived for years in the tropics, but never yet beheld an alligator, an iguana, a toucan, or an antelope in their wild state. Scorpions do not occur.” It is an undoubted fact that these creatures—with the exception of scorpions—do not frequent the streets of towns or villages, nor are they much addicted to highway travelling, but had the writer ever visited “the bush,” or walked in the “country,” I think he would have hesitated before making such a statement, that is, supposing he has the full use of his eyesight and has lived where these animals exist.
As regards the palm, it is true that cocoa-nut trees, especially when blighted, are not very imposing; but there are many other splendid species, and to depreciate the mountain cabbage-palms is to be guilty of high treason against the princes of the forest. They are simply wonderful. To admire them it is not necessary to be a pantheist, or one of those to whom a forest is a cathedral, each tree a missionary, and every flying creature a sacred spirit; one who bows down at the sight of a daisy or buttercup, and kneels before an oak as the wild Indian does before his ceiba. For these palms are so matchless in grace, so simple and yet so stately, that they lend an indescribable air of dignity to any spot where they may chance to grow.
To return to the garden. Leaving the palm avenue one comes suddenly upon a beautiful waterfall rushing down a steep rock amidst a mass of hanging grasses, ferns, and waving cannas. A little way below it runs into the heart of a garden-wilderness rich with bamboos, plantains, thickets of tangled vines, and fragrant coffee trees. Here shrubs and trees are more cultivated than flowers, but the former with their brilliant blossoms save the place from the monotonous effect of a too prevailing green. Gloxinias and primulas are scattered over the sloping banks, and overhead are interlaced the branches of various trees. The bright flowers of the “Flamboyant,”[14] form a red canopy which vies in richness with the large crimson blossoms of the mountain rose.[15] Here may be seen South Sea Island bread-fruit, cinnamon from Ceylon, and sandal-wood from the Marquesas. That tree with bunches of wax-like and pear-shaped fruit is a Eugenia;[16] its trunk is a perfect fernery, and its branches are hung with parasites. Next to a stilted pandanus rises a tall “poui” with saffron flowers, and beyond are the long white trumpets of a datura. Close at hand is the much prized persimmon of Japan, having a wood like ebony, and a reddish-yellow fruit. The ground is everywhere strewn with the red beads of an erythrina, and occasionally the large uneatable fruit of a species of inga comes down with a thump, that a passer by, if hit, would not soon forget.
Perhaps the prettiest spot in the garden is a small lake fed by a slender fall, whose water trickles down a moss-covered rock through ferns and drooping grasses. The three tiny islets are fringed with arums, heliconias, and bamboos, amongst which are scattered dark glossy green and gold-marbled crotons, purple dracœnas, and crimson hybiscus blossoms. In the centre of each stands a “Traveller’s Tree,” like a gigantic fan, surrounded with a few flowering shrubs and graceful plantains. But here as elsewhere, there is an air of neglect, the shady walks are full of weeds, the stone seats under the trees are damp and green, a broken canoe half full of water lies on the yielding bank, the few remaining tree labels are illegible, and, in a word, the gardens are not tended as they deserve. Their charm seems to have vanished with their novelty, as they are seldom visited by the inhabitants, and the funds granted for their maintenance are insufficient.
Within the grounds there is a building which contains a small natural history museum, and the native products form a very interesting collection. There is also an interior nursery-garden, where some delicate orchids and rare exotics are reared.
A primitive people these French Creoles must be, as a printed notice strictly prohibits bathing in the small fountains in this inside garden. Unhappily the people appear disinclined even to walk in the pleasant grounds, and the casual visitor feels that a time may come when the few labourers will be withdrawn and a “Forsaken Garden” realised:
“Not a flower to be prest of the foot that falls not;
As the heart of a dead man the seed plots are dry;