Manual of Gardening (Second Edition) / A Practical Guide to the Making of Home Grounds and the Growing of Flowers, Fruits, and Vegetables for Home Use

by L. H. Bailey

The other plan (Fig. 6) is a picture. The eye catches its meaning at once. The central idea is the residence, with a free and open greensward in front of it The same trees and bushes that were scattered haphazard over Fig. 5 are massed into a framework to give effectiveness to the picture of home and comfort. This style of planting makes a landscape, even though the area be no larger than a parlor. The other style is only a collection of curious plants. The one has an instant and abiding pictorial effect, which is restful and satisfying: the observer exclaims, “What a beautiful home this is!” The other piques one’s curiosity, obscures the residence, divides and distracts the attention: the observer exclaims, “What excellent lilac bushes are these!”

An inquiry into the causes of the unlike impressions that one receives from a given landscape and from a painting of it explains the subject admirably. One reason why the picture appeals to us more than the landscape is because the picture is condensed, and the mind becomes acquainted with its entire purpose at once, while the landscape is so broad that the individual objects at first fix the attention, and it is only by a process of synthesis that the unity of the landscape finally becomes apparent. This is admirably illustrated in photographs. One of the first surprises that the novice experiences in the use of the camera is the discovery that very tame scenes become interesting and often even spirited in the photograph. But there is something more than mere condensation in this vitalizing and beautifying effect of the photograph or the painting: individual objects are so much reduced that they no longer appeal to us as distinct subjects, and however uncouth they may be in the reality, they make no impression in the picture; the thin and sere sward may appear rather like a closely shaven lawn or a new-mown meadow. And again, the picture sets a limit to the scene; it frames it, and thereby cuts off all extraneous and confusing or irrelevant landscapes.

These remarks are illustrated in the aesthetics of landscape gardening. It is the artist’s one desire to make pictures in the landscape. This is done in two ways: by the form of plantations, and by the use of vistas. He will throw his plantations into such positions that open and yet more or less confined areas of greensward are presented to the observer at various points. This picture-like opening is nearly or quite devoid of small or individual objects, which usually destroy the unity of such areas and are meaningless in themselves. A vista is a narrow opening or view between plantations to a distant landscape. It cuts up the broad horizon into portions that are readily cognizable. It frames parts of the country-side. The verdurous sides of the planting are the sides of the frame; the foreground is the bottom, and the sky is the top. It is of the utmost importance that good views be left or secured from the best windows of the house (not forgetting the kitchen window); in fact, the placing of the house may often be determined by the views that may be appropriated.

If a landscape is a picture, it must have a canvas. This canvas is the greensward. Upon this, the artist paints with tree and bush and flower as the painter does upon his canvas with brush and pigments. The opportunity for artistic composition and design is nowhere so great as in the landscape garden, because no other art has such a limitless field for the expression of its emotions. It is not strange, if this be true, that there have been few great landscape gardeners, and that, falling short of art, the landscape gardener too often works in the sphere of the artisan. There can be no rules for landscape gardening, any more than there can be for painting or sculpture. The operator may be taught how to hold the brush or strike the chisel or plant the tree, but he remains an operator; the art is intellectual and emotional and will not confine itself in precepts.

The making of a good and spacious lawn, then, is the very first practical consideration in a landscape garden.

The lawn provided, the gardener conceives what is the dominant and central feature in the place, and then throws the entire premises into subordination to this feature. In home grounds this central feature is the house. To scatter trees and bushes over the area defeats the fundamental purpose of the place,—the purpose to make every part of the grounds lead up to the home and to accentuate its homelikeness.

A house must have a background if it is to become a home. A house that stands on a bare plain or hill is a part of the universe, not a part of a home. Recall the cozy little farm-house that is backed by a wood or an orchard; then compare some pretentious structure that stands apart from all planting. Yet how many are the farm-houses that stand as stark and cold against the sky as if they were competing with the moon! We would not believe it possible for a man to live in a house twenty-five years and not, by accident, allow some tree to grow, were it not that it is so!

Of course these remarks about the lawn are meant for those countries where greensward is the natural ground cover. In the South and in arid countries, greensward is not the prevailing feature of the landscape, and in these regions the landscape design may take on a wholly different character, if the work is to be nature-like. We have not yet developed other conceptions of landscape work to any perfect extent, and we inject the English greensward treatment even into deserts. We may look for the time when a brown landscape garden may be made in a brown country, and it may be good art not to attempt a broad open center in regions in which undergrowth rather than sod is the natural ground cover. In parts of the United States we are developing a good Spanish-American architecture, perhaps we may develop a recognized comparable landscape treatment as an artistic expression.