HANDBOOKS OF PRACTICAL GARDENING—XVIII
EDITED BY HARRY ROBERTS
THE BOOK OF TOPIARY
[Illustration:
VIEW IN LEVENS GARDENS
SHOWING GARDENER’S HOUSE
]
THE BOOK OF TOPIARY
BY
CHARLES H. CURTIS, F.R.H.S.
ASSISTANT EDITOR OF THE “GARDENERS’ MAGAZINE”; PREVIOUSLY ASSISTANT
SUPERINTENDENT OF THE ROYAL HORTICULTURAL SOCIETY’S GARDENS, CHISWICK;
AND FORMERLY AT THE ROYAL GARDENS, KEW
AND
W. GIBSON
HEAD GARDENER AT LEVENS HALL, WESTMORELAND
“The man who sneers at me for admiring,
as I do, a well cut peacock, may take my
assurance in advance that I will neither
kick him nor abuse him; but pity him I
must.”
SHIRLEY HIBBERD.
JOHN LANE: THE BODLEY HEAD
LONDON AND NEW YORK. MCMIV
_Turnbull & Spears, Printers, Edinburgh_
------------------------------------------------------------------------
CONTENTS
PAGE
INTRODUCTION 1
TOPIARY 4
EARLY HISTORY 6
GOLDEN AGE OF TOPIARY 12
CRUSADE AGAINST TOPIARY 21
ADDISON AND POPE 24
REVIVAL OF THE ART 32
THE FORMATION OF A TOPIARY GARDEN 37
PLANTING AND MANURING 44
MANAGEMENT OF OLD TREES 50
THE MANAGEMENT AND TRAINING OF YOUNG TREES 58
THE GENERAL MANAGEMENT OF A TOPIARY GARDEN 70
INDEX 79
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
VIEW IN LEVENS GARDENS: SHOWING GARDENER’S HOUSE _Frontispiece_
BOX TREE COTTAGE, RUSTINGTON _To face page_ 2
(_From a drawing by Mr W. Graham Robertson_)
A PIG IN BOX AT COMPTON WYNYATES 〃 〃 4
(_Photo. by Mr F. Goode_)
A FARM-YARD FOWL AT COMPTON WYNYATES 〃 〃 6
(_Photo. by Mr F. Goode_)
A LEATHERN BOTTEL IN BOX AT COMPTON WYNYATES 〃 〃 6
(_Photo. by Mr F. Goode_)
LEVENS GARDENS: THE BROAD WALK 〃 〃 8
BOATS, PYRAMIDS, AND PEACOCKS 〃 〃 10
(_By courtesy of Messrs Cheal_)
THE HARLINGTON YEW 〃 〃 12
(_By courtesy of “The Gardener’s Magazine”_)
PEACOCKS, TABLES, SPIRALS, AND BOATS IN YEW AND BOX 〃 〃 14
(_By courtesy of Messrs Cheal_)
BEECH HEDGE AND BOWLING-GREEN AT LEVENS 〃 〃 16
EARLY EIGHTEENTH CENTURY VIEW OF LORD HAMILTON’S
GROUNDS NEAR THE THAMES 〃 〃 18
(_By courtesy of “The Agricultural Economist”_)
MUNTHAM COURT, SUSSEX 〃 〃 22
(_By courtesy of “The Agricultural Economist”_)
YEW TREE WITH BIRD 〃 〃 24
(_By courtesy of Messrs Cutbush_)
CROWN GARDEN, MUNTHAM COURT, SUSSEX 〃 〃 28
(_By courtesy of “The Agricultural Economist”_)
QUEEN ELIZABETH’S CROWN AND JUG, ELVASTON CASTLE 〃 〃 30
(_By courtesy of “The Gardener’s Magazine”_)
HENS, DUCKS, AND PEACOCKS IN BOX AND YEW 〃 〃 32
(_By courtesy of Messrs Cheal_)
YEW TREE WITH BIRD—ANOTHER FORM 〃 〃 34
(_By courtesy of Messrs Cutbush_)
CLIPPED YEWS AT A COTTAGE ENTRANCE 〃 〃 36
(_From Jekyll’s “Old West Survey.” By courtesy of Messrs Longmans,
Green & Co._)
CROSSES AND JUGS IN YEW 〃 〃 38
(_By courtesy of Messrs Cheal_)
VARIOUSLY SHAPED YEW TREES 〃 〃 40
(_By courtesy of Messrs Cutbush_)
A PEACOCK CUT IN YEW AT COMPTON WYNYATES 〃 〃 41
(_Photo. by Mr F. Goode_)
OLD-FASHIONED BOX GARDEN, CHASTLETON HOUSE 〃 〃 42
(_By courtesy of Miss Whitmore Jones_)
COTTAGE AT DITCHEAT, SOMERSET 〃 〃 44
(_Photo. by Mr Hulbert_)
CROSS IN YEW IN ST BONIFACE CHURCHYARD, BONCHURCH,
ISLE OF WIGHT 〃 〃 48
YEWS AT MONTACUTE, SOMERSET 〃 〃 50
(_Photo, by Mr F. Goode_)
THE POST OFFICE, DITCHEAT 〃 〃 52
(_Photo, by Mr Hulbert_)
OLD EXAMPLE OF TOPIARY IN BOX AT COMPTON WYNYATES 〃 〃 54
(_Photo, by Mr F. Goode_)
LEVENS GARDENS: GENERAL VIEW 〃 〃 56
A VERDANT PEACOCK 〃 〃 60
(_Photo, by Mr Charles Thonger_)
SEAT AT THE PRIORY, GLASTONBURY 〃 〃 62
(_Photo, by Mr Hulbert_)
LEVENS GARDENS: UMBRELLA, INDIAN WIGWAM, AND EAST
WALK 〃 〃 66
ARM-CHAIR IN BOX AT COMPTON WYNYATES 〃 〃 68
(_Photo. by Mr F. Goode_)
THE COTTAGER’S PRIDE 〃 〃 70
(_Photo. by Mr F. Goode_)
A SWAN IN BOX AT COMPTON WYNYATES 〃 〃 72
(_Photo. by Mr F. Goode_)
COTTAGE TOPIARY AT NORTH WEALD, ESSEX 〃 〃 72
LEVENS GARDENS: SHOWING LETTER B AND LION 〃 〃 76
NOTE.—_The Publisher will be glad if readers will send him, at Vigo
Street, W., photographs or notes of any remarkable specimens of
Topiary, for inclusion in a new edition._
INTRODUCTION
It is extremely fortunate that the Editor made no limitations, beyond
that of space, when giving me the invitation to contribute a historical
account of the Art of Topiary, as a sort of preface to the practical
advice given in later chapters by Mr Gibson, who has charge of the
wonderful collection of clipped trees at Levens Hall. This is fortunate,
because it would have been difficult either to wholly praise or wholly
blame an art that for at least a century and a half provided English
gardens with their outstanding feature. It were easy for us to dismiss
the whole subject of Topiary by affecting a great superiority and
referring to it only as a monument of perverted taste, but that would
neither provide interest nor give instruction, and it is hoped that both
these ends may be served so far as the space at disposal will permit.
As it is an undoubted fact that for about one hundred and fifty years
Topiary was both fashionable and popular, it follows that, whatever our
taste may be, a consideration of the subject cannot be lacking in
interest. Never did a horticultural fashion retain its hold upon a
gardening public so long as Topiary, but as fashions rarely come
spontaneously but are rather arrived at by a kind of evolutionary
process, so the art of Verdant Sculpture must have had its Early
History, followed by a development of design limited only by the
ingenuity of the gardener. Then came what one may call the Golden Age of
Topiary, when every garden having any pretensions whatever to importance
was more or less notable according to the degree of formality found in
its design and furnishing. The inevitable reaction followed next, and
had its beginning in a Crusade which found able supporters in those two
brilliant essayists and satirists, Addison and Pope. The old order
changed, and considering its age, it changed with a rapidity for which
there seems to be no parallel in horticulture. No doubt many trees were
permitted to grow naturally after years of close cropping and carving,
but doubtless also many thousands were uprooted and destroyed by the
landscape gardeners who were practising—notably Bridgeman and Kent—when
the decline of Topiary set in. And not only were clipped trees
destroyed, but many a splendid close trimmed hedge of box and yew was
swept away, leaving the garden unsheltered and unsecluded. Extremes met,
as was but natural, when once the tide of fashion turned, and it has
been left for the present times to properly adjust the balance between
extreme formality on the one hand and too close a copy of nature on the
other.
We can appreciate the shelter and beauty of a well trimmed hedge in the
garden, and, in its proper place, we find no fault with a straight
terrace walk. Still further, we are collecting old sundials or
fashioning new ones on old models, and in some of the best gardens of
the day the garden seats have a comfortable old-time appearance.
The principle of associating like with like is gaining ground, and in
numerous fine establishments the interest of the place is wonderfully
increased and extended by gardens devoted to certain subjects. We have
Rose Gardens, Rhododendron Gardens, Bamboo Gardens, Michaelmas Daisy
Gardens, etc., and lastly, we have Topiary Gardens. These latter do not
now as heretofore overpower everything else; they are simply part of a
whole scheme for providing a continuation of pleasure, beauty and
interest; they serve as a reminder of a quaint stage in the progress of
horticulture, and show what a wonderful vitality is possessed by yew,
box, and some few other evergreen shrubs.
[Illustration:
BOX TREE COTTAGE RUSTINGTON
]
This little book, then, is not placed before the public with any fervent
hope that it will incite garden lovers to at once sally forth with
shears and scissors to attack the nearest yew tree; nor is it issued
with a desire that garden makers may be induced to plant clipped trees
extensively. Further, the “Book of Topiary” can hardly be said to
“supply a long felt want” in the general sense in which that very
hackneyed phrase is used. Why comes it, then? What are its claims to
popular consideration? It comes to provide an hour’s reading upon one of
the most distinct and interesting branches of horticulture that the art
has ever produced. Its claims to consideration are, chiefly, that in it
are gathered together the main incidents that go to make up the history
of Topiary, and it presents to readers the cultural experience of one
whose opportunities for gaining such experience are unequalled.
Topiarian history is somewhat difficult to piece together, and, so far
as the writer is aware, no attempt has hitherto been made to place such
a history before the gardening public. It is, therefore, modestly
suggested that this work is somewhat unique among books dealing with
horticultural subjects, and it is hoped it may be found to deserve a
position in every garden library.
C. H. CURTIS.
TOPIARY
“If I do not defend the taste through thick and thin, I am prepared
to admit that much may be said in its favour, and it is far from my
intention to denounce it as either extravagant or foolish. It may be
true, as I believe it is, that the natural form of a tree is the
most beautiful possible for that particular tree, but it may happen
that we do not always want the most beautiful form, but one of our
own designing, and expressive of our ingenuity.”—_Shirley Hibberd._
Modern horticultural works, and especially those that are of the
Dictionary type, do not as a rule take any notice whatever of Topiary,
and those in which it is noticed deal with the subject with a brevity
that is provoking, inasmuch as the student is little or none the wiser
for the information given. “Johnson’s Gardeners’ Dictionary” is silent
on the subject, and “Cassell’s Popular Gardening” may be searched in
vain for any reference to it.
Mr G. Nicholson, F.L.S., V.M.H., in his celebrated “Dictionary of
Gardening,” writes, under Topiary, “Although the absurd fashion of
cutting and torturing trees into all sorts of fantastic shapes has,
happily, almost passed away, yet, as the art of the Topiarist was for a
considerable period regarded as the perfection of gardening, some
mention of it is desirable here. When the fashion first became general
in Britain, it is probably impossible to ascertain; but it reached its
highest point in the sixteenth century, and held its ground until driven
out of the field in the last (eighteenth) century by the natural or
picturesque style. From an archæological point of view, it is not to be
regretted that examples of Topiary work on a large scale still exist in
several British gardens.” Turning to the very recent “Cassell’s
Dictionary of Gardening” an all too concise account is found, but Mr W.
P. Wright admits therein that Topiary “finds favour in many quarters
to-day, although it only differs in degree and not in principle from the
best examples of the Topiary art of the sixteenth century.”
[Illustration:
A PIG CUT IN BOX AT COMPTON WYNYATES
]
Encyclopædias tell us very little of Topiary, and even that monumental
work the “Encyclopædia Britannica” contains within its portly tomes no
reference to so historically interesting a subject, unless it be
curiously hidden away. And even that very useful work “Chambers’s
Encyclopædia” passes over Topiary as though such an art never existed.
To students of Etymology the word Topiary itself is of considerable
interest. For the present work it must suffice to say that it is derived
from the Latin _topiarius_, pertaining to ornamental gardening. One
dictionary definition or meaning of the word is “shaped by cutting or
clipping” and horticulturists will agree that this definition is both
clever and descriptive, for Topiary work consists in giving all kinds of
more or less fanciful forms to trees, hedges, and arbours.
An interesting reference is made in the “History of Oxfordshire” to the
use of the phrase “Topiary Work.” It is stated therein that “at Hampton
Court, which was laid out about the middle of the reign of Henry VIII.
by Cardinal Wolsey, there was a labyrinth, which still exists, covering
only the quarter of an Acre of ground, yet its walks extending by their
volutions over nearly half a mile. The walls also were covered with
Rosemary. It was also long celebrated for its trees cut into grotesque
forms, which Dr Plot admired and dignified with the name of Topiary
Works.”
EARLY HISTORY
“Little low hedges, round like welts, with some pyramids, I like
well; and in some places fair columns, upon frames of carpenters’
work.”—_Bacon._
Just how far back in the history of gardens and gardening the art of
Topiary was first practised there is no means of telling, but we know
that gardening was first practised as a source of food supply, and that
pleasure gardening did not occupy a very prominent position among the
arts and sciences until civilisation had made considerable advances.
Architecture had progressed in a wonderful manner and reached a high
state of perfection long before horticulture assumed any great
importance. To use Lord Bacon’s elegant words, “when ages grow to
civility and elegancy, men come to build stately, sooner than to garden
finely, as if gardening were the greater perfection.” This being so, it
does not seem so very unreasonable to presume that the ancient builders
of stately edifices would not in designing the surrounding gardens,
plant trees and shrubs likely to mask, soften, or detract in any way
from the architectural features created at so great an expenditure of
time and money. They would the rather be likely to plant the more formal
trees near the mansion, keeping the more graceful at a distance. The
love of the formal among the Greeks may be evidenced from the writings
of Theocritus, the pastoral poet of Greece, who compares the beauty of
Helen to that of a Cypress. Following up this idea, a reason for keeping
evergreen and other trees closely clipped is apparent. From the mere
clipping of these subjects so as to keep them in harmony with the
architecture, to the cutting of evergreens into fantastic shapes, is not
a very wide transition, but whether the latter style was first adopted
by the Grecian or the Roman gardeners does not appear.
[Illustration:
A FARM-YARD FOWL AT COMPTON WYNYATES
]
[Illustration:
A “LEATHERN BOTTEL” CUT IN BOX AT COMPTON WYNYATES
]
We do know, however, that the Romans practised Topiary freely and that
they were also fine architects and builders. Even in the formation of
sheltering groves of forest trees to provide welcome shade from the
bright sunshine, the Romans adopted the formal quincunx method of
disposing the trees. How much more, then, would they have been ready in
that age of undeveloped taste in the design and planting of gardens to
welcome a method of training and culture that enabled them not only to
bring the garden up to the mansion without any resultant loss of
architectural effect, but also permitted them to carry architecture into
the garden and apply it in a more or less fantastic manner to the trees
themselves.
On the authority of Martial we learn that the art of Topiary was first
introduced to the Romans by Cneus Matius. Matius was the friend of
Julius Cæsar and a particular favourite of Augustus, but whether he
originated or borrowed the idea we know not. As a court favourite,
however, he must have had ample opportunity for propagating this
particular method of gardening, and doubtless then, as now, a fashion
set at court was quickly followed by all who wished to be up-to-date.
Good or bad, the taste spread, and even such a man of taste and letters
as Pliny the Roman Consul considered it quite the proper thing to use
Topiary work extensively in his famous Tuscan Villa. In a letter written
by Pliny the Younger to his friend Apollinaris (Ep. v. 6) is a fine
description of this garden. Melmoth’s translation pictures the front of
the Portico as opening on to a sort of Terrace “embellished with various
figures, and bounded with a Box Hedge, from which you descend by an easy
slope, adorned with the representation of divers animals in Box,
answering alternately to each other: this is surrounded by a walk
enclosed with tonsile evergreens, shaped into a variety of forms. Behind
it is the Gestatio, laid out in the form of a Circus, ornamented in the
middle with Box, cut into numberless different figures, together with a
plantation of shrubs prevented by the shears from running too high: the
whole is fenced in by a Wall, covered with Box, rising in different
ranges to the top.” After dealing with trees, roses, etc., he continues:
“Having passed through these winding alleys, you enter a straight walk,
which breaks out into a variety of others divided off by Box hedges. In
one place you have a little meadow; in another the Box is cut into a
thousand different forms; sometimes into letters expressing the name of
the master; sometimes that of the artificer; whilst here and there
little Obelisks rise intermixed alternately with fruit trees, when on a
sudden you are surprised with an imitation of the negligent beauties of
rural Nature, in the centre of which lies a spot surrounded with a knot
of dwarf Plane Trees.”
It must not, however, be assumed that the Romans were entirely without
appreciation of natural beauty and scenery. Far from it. But they loved
lavish displays of art, and this also led them to use the gardens
immediately surrounding their dwellings as a gallery in which to arrange
their collections of sculptured trees. Roman poets and philosophers
alike have left in their writings ample evidence that the beauties of
nature were greatly admired by their countrymen, but at that period,
when Rome was the mistress of the world, Italy was well supplied with
natural sylvan scenery, and consequently, where it was not at all
necessary to cultivate this particular form of gardening, the desire for
contrast and display led to a very widespread adoption of the art of
Topiary.
[Illustration:
LEVENS GARDENS
THE BROAD WALK
]
From the gardens of the wealthy Romans the taste for clipped trees and
general formality of design was carried throughout the Empire. Doubtless
the monks who carried the arts of gardening throughout the European
continent took with them and put into practice a taste for Topiary. In
their wall-encircled monastic gardens dense hedges would rise both for
the provision of shelter and to afford additional seclusion, and in a
modest way these would in all probability be embellished by verdant
sculptures.
But it was much later than this that Topiary commenced to be one of the
chief features of garden design, for with the corruption of the ruling
powers came the decline of the Roman Empire, and then followed the Dark
Ages wherein the clash of arms, coupled with deep superstition, put
gardening, as a pleasure, out of the question, so that except in some
few cases it was only conducted at all because of the necessity of
providing a meagre food supply. For long, long years war-like
occupations were, either from choice or necessity, in the ascendant. But
there presently came a time when peace again reigned and arts and
commerce flourished; gardening revived, and in Italy where still
remained many examples of the grandeur of Ancient Rome, it soon
flourished in the establishments of the wealthy princes.
Although Charlemagne revived the art of gardening in France in the
eighth century, he was not the kind of man to care much for garden
display; he rather introduced useful fruits and encouraged the
cultivation of herbs and fruits wholly from an economic point of view.
So we are compelled by the lack of historical information to pass on to
much later times ere we can again take up the tale of Topiary.
Loudon points out that the Roman style of gardening was lost in England
when the Romans abandoned this country at the beginning of the fifth
century, but he surmises that, following the revival of gardening in
France by Charlemagne, William the Conqueror would probably re-introduce
it at the end of the eleventh century. Some little progress was made in
the reigns of Henry I. and Henry II., and it was the former who formed
the Park at Woodstock (1123), probably the first of which there is any
record. In accord with the prevailing taste, it contained a labyrinth,
which appears to have chiefly constituted the Bower so intimately
associated with the fate of Rosamund.
But during the twelfth century there was very little of either design or
taste in the arrangement of gardens. These latter were of limited extent
and, because of the feudal broils that enlivened the monotony of
existence, they were for the most part attached only to the larger
establishments, and in them were confined within the Glacis, or first
line of defence, which was a necessity of the times. Beyond the
inevitable moat, orchards arose, wherein the horticulturally inclined
among the baron’s retainers could indulge their taste for ornamental
gardening; a taste which consisted then, according to Johnson, and
continued to a much later age, “in having plants cut into monstrous
figures, labyrinths, etc.”
[Illustration:
BOATS, PYRAMIDS AND PEACOCK
]
So common a part of garden design did labyrinths and mazes become at
this period and during the thirteenth century, that we find scarcely a
plan among the many given by De Cerceau in his “Architecture,” issued
about 1250, in which either a round or a square one does not appear.
This brings us into the thirteenth century, an age wherein the taste for
architecture and gardening spread northwards and especially took a firm
hold in Holland, where then, and later, the wealthy merchant princes
liberally encouraged almost all branches of horticulture. Thus
encouraged the florists entered heartily into the business of supplying
their patrons, and, aided by a suitable climate and the various
inventions born of necessity, they made Holland famous throughout the
world for its commercial horticulture. So careful, however, were the
Dutch of every inch of land, much of it reclaimed, that they laid out
their gardens with mathematical precision and consequent primness,
carrying this principle into the very trees and plants themselves.
It was in the early part of the fourteenth century that Pierre de
Crescent, of Bologna, wrote his work on Agriculture, wherein he
describes the kinds of pleasure gardens suitable for various classes of
the community, and a suggestion of formality of design and the use of
Topiary is made in his observation that a royal garden should contain a
menagerie, and also an aviary placed among thickets, arbors and vines.
GOLDEN AGE OF TOPIARY
“I confess that I should never care to adorn my garden with
topiary or with carpet bedding; but I hope always to be cautious
in making declarations in respect of such matters, that I may not
appear to despise another man’s pleasures, or vainly desire to set
up a standard of my own in opposition to the delightful variety
that is ensured by the free exercise of individual taste and
fancy.”—_Shirley Hibberd._
“While perhaps not admiring these birds and beasts, we must, I
think, in a measure agree with Loudon, that many old-fashioned
gardens have suffered in losing the quaint forms of cropped yews,
which added a certain charm to them.”—_John Lowe, M.D._, in “Yew
Trees of Great Britain and Ireland.”
The dawn of the sixteenth century saw the commencement of what may be
called the Golden Age of Topiary. It was also the beginning of an age of
romance, of stirring deeds, of great discoveries; an age when men of
genius were numerous, when history was being rapidly made, and when the
art of gardening began to flourish freely. Though the times were
stirring ones and there was not always “peace within our borders,”
commerce grew and wealth increased, so that gardening became more and
more popular and steadily grew more and more elaborate in design. To the
existing style were added the extravagances of the French and the
formalities of the Dutch schools, but these things did not all come to
pass at once.
[Illustration:
THE HARLINGTON YEW
(_As clipped 1729–1790_)
]
It is most probable that the Old and Formal English Gardens as we know
or imagine them, were the development of at least two hundred years, and
probably the type had not been reached until the reign of Charles II.,
notwithstanding such gardens are frequently alluded to as Elizabethan.
This idea seems the more reasonable after a perusal of Withington’s
“Elizabethan England,” for though the Editor gives us Harrison’s
description of Gardens and Orchards, Woods and Marshes, Parks and
Warrens, there is never a word that can be construed into a reference to
Topiary, not even in his account of “the palaces belonging to the
prince.”
Nevertheless, quaint gardens were formed before the time of Elizabeth,
Shakespeare, Drake, Raleigh, and Gerard. A curious conceit in these
old-time gardens was the formation of a mound in the pleasure grounds,
where none previously existed, and this seems to have been quite the
correct thing in the way of garden design even as late as Evelyn’s day,
for we learn that he arranged for a “mountaine” in the family gardens at
Wotton, in Surry. Leland, in his “Itinerary” (1540), refers to this
feature in garden design in connection with the garden at Wrexhill
Castle, near Howden, in Yorkshire. He says: “The Gardens within the
mote, and the Orchards without were exceeding fair. And yn the Orchardes
were mounts, opere topiorii, writhen about with degrees like the
turnings in cokil shelles, to come to the top without payn.”
That Topiary had already a considerable hold upon the garden-loving
public at this early date cannot be doubted. Very few of these ancient
gardens remain unaltered at the present time, but in that most
interesting book, “A history of Gardening in England,” the Hon. Alicia
Amherst gives the plans of Sir Henry Dryden’s gardens at Canons Ashby,
Northamptonshire, which show that clipped yews are prominent features,
as two rows of four trees each line one of the approaches, and these
trees have a diameter of about ten feet. The author states that this
garden, originally made in 1550, was altered in 1708, “and has defied
the changes of fashion for nearly two centuries.”
Gerard (1545–1607), the famous old Herbalist who was gardener to Lord
Burghley in the reign of Elizabeth, does not enlighten us as to the use
of clipped trees, but Parkinson, another and equally famous Herbalist,
who was born in 1567 and died about 1640, does give us a little
information on the subject. Parkinson was Apothecary to James I., and
Charles II. made him Botanicus Regius Primarius; he therefore had the
advantage of exceptional opportunities for studying the plants of his
time and their uses. Indeed some of the quaintest things ever printed
are the accounts of the “Virtues” of the several parts of the plants
described by Parkinson and by Gerard. Pointing out that the yew was
largely used both for “shadow and an ornament,” Parkinson seems to
regret that the privet had not received proper attention at the hands of
Topiarists simply because of its widespread use as a hedge plant, and he
advocates its further employment by remarking that “to make hedges or
arbours in gardens ... it is so apt that no other can be like unto it,
to be cut, lead, and drawn into what forme one will, either of beasts,
birds, or men armed or otherwise.”
Because of its comparatively slow rate of growth the yew has been the
subject usually employed by topiarists, while box is a good second in
point of popularity. Both these trees or shrubs have the additional
merit of longevity. Wordsworth points out both the slow growth and
longevity of the yew in his lines:—
“There is a yew-tree, pride of Lorton Vale,
Which to this day stands single, in the midst
Of its own darkness, as it stood of yore,
Not loth to furnish weapons for the bands
Of Umfraville or Percy ere they marched
To Scotland’s heaths; or those that crossed the sea
And drew their sounding bows at Azincour,
Perhaps at earlier Crecy, or Poictiers.
Of vast circumference and gloom profound
This solitary tree!—a living thing
Produced too slowly ever to decay;
Of form and aspect too magnificent
To be destroyed.”
[Illustration:
PEACOCKS, TABLES, SPIRALS AND BOATS IN YEW AND BOX AT J. CHEAL AND
SONS, CRAWLEY
]
Heslington, near York, still boasts an ancient Topiary garden, where all
the clipped trees are of yew. This, as well as the clipped hedges of
Rockingham, and the hedges and clipped trees at Erbistock, date,
according to the Hon. Alicia Amherst, from about 1560. Other trees and
shrubs were also used by the tonsile artists, and even Rosemary was not
omitted. Barnaby Googe (about 1578) observed that the women folk planted
it and trimmed it into shapes “as in the fashion of a cart, a peacock,
or such things as they fancy.”
William Harrison, Rector of Radwinter, and Canon of Windsor, who wrote
“A Description of England” contained in “Holinshed’s Chronicles,” has
already been referred to. He was a most observant man and one who in his
own picturesque language “had an especiall eye unto the truth of
things”; from 1586 to 1593 he was Canon of Windsor, and therefore
anything he has to say about gardens is of unusual interest. His keen
patriotism shines brightly through all his writings, and his high
opinion of his own land is not in any way reduced when he comes to
discourse upon gardens, for he writes: “I am persuaded that, albeit the
gardens of the Hesperides were in times past so greatly accounted of,
because of their delicacy, yet, if it were possible to have such an
equal judge as by certain knowledge of both were able to pronounce upon
them, I doubt not but he would give the prize unto the gardens of our
days, and generally over all Europe, in comparison of those times
wherein the old exceeded.”
Early in the succeeding century, however, we come upon some more
positive evidence of the use of Topiary work. Lawson, in 1618, shows
more clearly that Topiary had become an important branch of the art of
gardening, and that the designs carried out by some of the artists were,
to say the least of it, remarkable. As indicative of the progress
already made, he states: “Your gardener can frame your lesser wood to
the shape of men armed in the field, ready to give battell: or
swift-running Grey Hounds to chase the Deere, or hunt the Hare. This
kind of hunting shall not waste your corne, nor much your coyne.”
In the reign of Charles II. (1669–1685), garden design and garden
ornamentation reached a degree of extravagance not previously attempted
and not subsequently repeated. This was the time when Le Notre rose to
be the most famous gardener in Europe, a time when Louis XI. was King of
France (1643–1715). During this period there was a great striving after
effect on the part of all possessed of ample means, while both
aristocrat and plebeian desired and loved to be dazzled by brilliance or
enchanted by the novel and singular. From Johnson we learn that during a
residence at the court of France, Charles II. became enamoured of the
French style of ornamental gardening introduced by Le Notre. This style
differed chiefly from that already in vogue in its magnificence;
everything was carried out more elaborately and regardless of expense.
“The alleys were lengthened, but still there were alleys, jets d’eau,
mazes, parterres and statues, clipt trees and mathematically formed
borders as of yore.” It is said that the extravagance in garden
ornamentation at Versailles was designed and carried into effect by Le
Notre at a cost of two hundred million francs, or over £8,250,000. The
great features were huge marble-edged water-basins, elaborate fountains,
an abundance of masonry for the terraces, and clipped yew and box,
making a sum total described at a much later date by Mr Wm. Robinson, in
his “Parks and Gardens of Paris” as “the deadly formalism of
Versailles.”
[Illustration:
BEECH HEDGE AND BOWLING-GREEN AT LEVENS
]
Charles II. encouraged elaborate garden design, and, with it, Topiary;
it was under his orders that Le Notre himself laid out the semi-circular
garden at Hampton Court. Gibson, who made a tour of London gardens in
the reign of the “Merry Monarch,” shows by his writings that the chief
features of these establishments were the terrace walks, evergreen
hedges, “shorn shrubs in boxes,” and orange and myrtle trees.
In the earlier part of the seventeenth century the gardens of Bilton and
Chilham were designed, with an accompaniment of clipped trees, while
later in the century Sir William Temple, who negotiated the triple
alliance between England, Sweden, and the Netherlands, laid out a Dutch
garden at Moor Park. He had a large affection for the Dutch style of
gardening, but was nevertheless quick to see that big formal gardens and
their elaborate designs and masonry cost more to maintain in prim order
than many who possessed them could well afford. It was also about this
time that the now famous Topiary garden at Levens Hall, in Westmoreland,
was laid out by Beaumont, one of Le Notre’s disciples. According to the
inscription under his portrait at Levens Hall, Beaumont was “Gardener to
James II. and Colonel James Grahme. He laid out the gardens at Hampton
Court and at Levens.” It was probably in some alteration of the Hampton
Court gardens that Beaumont took part.
Topiary gardening reached its height during the reign of William and
Mary (1689–1702). William III., Prince of Orange, brought with him a
taste for clipped yews, and also for elaborately designed iron gates and
railings. He accentuated the prevailing taste. Turning again to Johnson,
we find garden design “was now rendered still more opposed to nature by
the heavy additions of crowded hedges of Box, Yew, etc., which, however,
by rendering the style still more ridiculous, perhaps hastened the
introduction of a more natural taste which burst forth later.” Some
further idea of the prevalence of clipped trees is obtained from Celia
Fiennes, who, in her chronicles of a journey “Through England on a Side
Saddle in the time of William and Mary,” makes frequent reference to
alleys of clipped trees and to yew and cypress cut into “severall
forms.” William III. commenced the Kensington Gardens, and to alter a
disfiguring gravel pit he employed the services of those famous Brompton
nurserymen, London and Wise. In our time such a spot would in all
probability be converted into a dell, with water and rock gardens, but
London and Wise erected a mimic fortification, making the bastions and
counterscarps of clipped yew and variegated holly. That this production
was “long an object of wonder” can be easily understood, though whether
it was one for “admiration” is open to question, notwithstanding that it
had many admirers and was known as the “Siege of Troy.”
Vegetable sculpture seems now to have reached its limit of popularity
and design. Hazlitt, in his “Gleanings in old Garden Literature,” hits
off the situation admirably when he writes: “But it was to the
Hollanders that London and his partner were indebted for that
preposterous plan of deforming Nature by making her statuesque, and
reducing her irregular and luxuriant lines to a dead and prosaic level
through the medium of the shears. Gods, animals, and other objects were
no longer carved out of stone; but the trees, shrubs and hedges were
made to do double service as a body of verdure and a sculpture gallery.”
[Illustration:
EARLY EIGHTEENTH CENTURY VIEW OF LORD HAMILTON’S GROUNDS NEAR THE
THAMES
]
Evelyn, the celebrated diarist, who lived throughout the greater part of
the seventeenth century, and just over five years of the eighteenth,
strongly censured the prevalent method of clipping fruit trees into
regular form, as well he might, but he claimed to be the first to bring
the yew into fashion for hedges, declaring it to be “as well for a
defence as for a succedaneum to cypress, whether in hedges or pyramids,
conic spires, bowls or what other shapes.” And further he adds, “I do
again name the yew, for hedges, preferably for beauty and a stiff
defence, to any plant I have ever seen.” Evelyn’s residence from 1652 to
1694 was Sayes Court, Deptford, a home made famous to students of
history because of its occupation by Peter the Great, of Russia, in
1698, to whom it was sub-let by Admiral Benbow. Peter the Great did not
take the same care of the garden as Evelyn had taken, and his
destruction, in part at least, of a famous holly hedge, caused the owner
to regard the Russian Czar as a “right nasty tenant.” An old writer
informs us, with reference to Sayes Court, that Evelyn had “a pleasant
villa at Deptford, a fine garden for walks and hedges, and a pretty
little greenhouse with an indifferent stock in it. He has four large
round philareas, smooth clipped, raised on a single stalk from the
ground, a fashion now much used. Part of his garden is very woody and
shady for walking; but not being walled, he has little of the best
fruits.”
The beginning of the end was not now far to seek. One of our greatest
modern landscape gardeners, Mr H. E. Milner, has written: “Precise
designs of clipped box and yew are not out of place, if the building has
a character that is consonant with such an accompaniment.” Not satisfied
with a few clipped trees in suitable positions, or with a part of the
garden devoted to examples of Topiary, owners and gardeners alike, in
the times I have briefly reviewed, seemed to have laboured to fill their
gardens with illustrations of geometric figures, in box or yew; with the
quaintest patterns and weirdest shapes, caricaturing birds and beasts,
and imitating architecture and things of common use. Distorted
vegetation met the eye everywhere, and there was little of the natural
and beautiful to relieve the general monotony. It was the excessive use
of Topiary that led to its own downfall and caused Batty Langley to ask,
“Is there anything more shocking than a stiff, regular garden?”
CRUSADE AGAINST TOPIARY
“The Dutch Garden in front of Hampton Court Palace is
unobjectionable, because it is in character with that part of the
building and as a royal garden it ought to remain as it is, were it
only to serve as an illustration of the style of gardening in the
time of William and Mary.”—_Charles M‘Intosh._
Whenever a fashion runs to extremes its end is not far to seek. On the
one hand, a fashion becomes too general for those who have a taste for
novelty, and especially for those who can afford at almost any cost to
have something not available to the general public.
On the other hand, a fashion carried to excess becomes inconvenient and
ridiculous, therefore it at once becomes offensive to those who are
regarded as having good taste. And so it came about that when Topiary
work had spread itself over all the gardens of the time and could hardly
go further either in extent or design, there came the inevitable
reaction. The same sort of thing has happened even in quite modern
times.
One need not be very old to have seen the famous trained specimen plants
that used to grace the highly successful exhibitions at the Royal
Botanic Society’s gardens, at the Crystal Palace, and elsewhere. Yet
these giants have passed away, and in their places we have larger stocks
of smaller and more easily grown subjects—in other words, the fashion
has changed. “Bedding-out” reached such a height of fashionable
popularity that it threatened to exclude the beautiful hardy perennial
flowers from many a garden; it taxed the patience and ingenuity of the
gardener and the purse of the employer almost to breaking point—it
passed from reasonableness to absurdity. Then came a new order of
things; perennials have been brought back and improved; hardy flowers
are the fashion.
When Topiary threatened to exclude all else from the garden there arose
several apostles of freedom, and these conducted a crusade against the
art. Among those whose writings are more or less regarded in these days
mention may be made of three—Bacon, Addison, and Pope.
The former early raised a protest, for in the times of Shakespeare and
Queen Elizabeth, when Topiary was the prevailing taste if not the
general fashion, he wrote, “I for my part do not like images cut in
juniper or other garden stuff; they be for children.” It was Bacon also
who said: “As for the making of knots or figures that they may lie under
the windows of the house on that side which the garden stands, they be
but toys; you may see as good sights many times in tarts.” But, alas,
Bacon was curiously inconsistent. He would away with Topiary, but he
puts forward as the best type of a garden one that is square, enclosed
in an arched hedge, “with a turret over every arch, and a cage of birds
in each turret, and over every space between the arches some other
little figure with broad plates of round coloured glass, gilt, for the
sun to play on.” Those who so aptly quote Bacon when they pour out the
vials of their wrath upon Topiary through the medium of the public
press, may also be further reminded that Bacon would have in his ideal
garden a fountain “embellished with coloured glass and such things of
lustre.”
[Illustration:
MUNTHAM COURT, SUSSEX
]
But however much we may chuckle over the inconsistencies of Bacon it
must be remembered that the age in which he lived (1561–1626) was
remarkable rather for ostentatious display than for good taste,—as we
count good taste,—and consequently his horticultural purview was limited
and obscured. As the poet Mason puts it:—
“The age of tourney triumphs, and quaint masques,
Glar’d with fantastic pageantry, which dimm’d
The sober eye of truth, and dazzled ev’n
The sage himself; witness the high arch’d hedge,
In pillar’d state by carpentry upborne,
With coloured mirrors deck’d, and prison’d birds.”
Bacon was in many things far in advance of the Tudor times in which he
lived, so far indeed, in respect of our present subject, that no
outstanding protest against Topiary appears to have been made by those
who endeavoured to promote sound public taste, until nearly another
century had elapsed. Then the literary genius of Addison was directed
against the evils and extravagances of his age.
ADDISON AND POPE
“Addison,
Thou polished sage, or shall I call thee bard,
I see thee come: around thy temples play
The lambent flames of humour, bright’ning mild
Thy judgment into smiles; gracious thou com’st
With Satire at thy side, who checks her frown,
But not her secret sting.”—_Mason._
“With bolder rage
Pope next advances; his indignant arm
Waves the poetic brand o’er Timon’s shades,
And lights them to destruction; the fierce blaze
Sweeps through each kindred vista, groves to groves
Nod their fraternal farewell and expire.”—_Mason._
Although Addison and Pope were contemporaries it was the former who led
the crusade against formal gardening in general and the art of Topiary
in particular. Less satirical than his one-time friend, Addison
nevertheless pointed out with remarkable clearness that the gardens of
the early part of the eighteenth century were not nearly so beautiful as
they might have been, owing to the excessive use of clipped trees and
the extreme care which the gardeners of that time took to secure the
utmost regularity in their planting and uniformity in design.
[Illustration:
YEW TREE WITH BIRD
]
Addison was counted one of the most brilliant of the Essayists of his
time, and among the numerous contributions made by him to the
_Spectator_ is a lengthy one “On the Pleasures of the Imagination.” This
took the form of eleven Papers, or epistles, published in regular order
from June 21, to July 3, 1712. It is in the fourth paper that he deals
more particularly with gardens and therein he shows that the works of
nature are more pleasant to the imagination than are those of art, and
that the works of art are most pleasing the more closely they resemble
those of nature. He does not openly denounce Topiary and other formal
gardening, but with subtle skill contrasts it with a picture of a more
natural style, and does so in a manner that enforces the beauty of the
latter and indicates the origin of that taste in landscape gardening
which many a gardener of the nineteenth century thought was peculiarly
his own.
“We have observed,” says Addison, “that there is generally in nature
something more grand and august than what we meet with in the
curiosities of art. When, therefore, we see this imitated in any
measure, it gives us a nobler and more exalted kind of pleasure than
what we receive from the nicer and more accurate productions of art. On
this account our English gardens are not so entertaining to the fancy as
those in France and Italy, where we see a large extent of ground covered
over with an agreeable mixture of garden and forest, which represent
everywhere an artificial rudeness, much more charming than that neatness
and elegancy which we meet with in those of our own country. It might
indeed be of ill consequence to the public, as well as unprofitable to
private persons, to alienate so much ground from pasturage and the
plough, in many parts of a country that is so well peopled, and
cultivated to a far greater advantage. But why may not a whole estate be
thrown into a kind of garden by frequent plantations, that may turn as
much to the profit as the pleasure of the owner? A marsh overgrown with
willows, or a mountain shaded with oaks, are not only more beautiful,
but more beneficial, than when they lie bare and unadorned. Fields of
corn make a pleasant prospect; and if the walks were a little taken care
of that lie between them, if the natural embroidery of the meadows were
helped and improved by some small additions of art and the several rows
of edges set off by trees and flowers that the soil was capable of
receiving, a man might make a pretty landscape of his own possessions.”
Continuing, the Essayist adds: “Writers who have given us an account of
China tell us the inhabitants of that country laugh at the plantations
of our Europeans, which are laid out by the rule and line; because they
say, anyone may place trees in equal rows and uniform figures. They
choose rather to show a genius in works of this nature, and therefore
always conceal the art by which they direct themselves. They have a
word, it seems, in their language, by which they express the particular
beauty of a plantation that thus strikes the imagination at first sight,
without discovering what it is that has so agreeable an effect. Our
British gardeners, on the contrary, instead of humouring nature, love to
deviate from it as much as possible. Our trees rise in cones, globes,
and pyramids. We see the marks of the scissors upon every plant and
bush. I do not know whether I am singular in my opinion, but for my own
part, I would rather look upon a tree in all its luxuriancy and
diffusion of boughs and branches, than when it is thus cut and trimmed
into a mathematical figure; and cannot but fancy that an orchard in
flower looks infinitely more delightful than all the little labyrinths
of the most finished parterre. But, as our great modellers of gardens
have their magazines of plants to dispose of, it is very natural for
them to tear up all the beautiful plantations of fruit trees, and
contrive a plan that may most turn to their own profit, in taking off
their evergreens, and the like movable plants, with which their shops
are plentifully stocked.”