Writing the Garden. Elizabeth Barlow Rogers
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but by now the reader will have perceived why her representation of the gardener as artist set so many subsequent English and American gardeners on the path toward making their own garden pictures. It is hard to think of the woman whom Edwin Lutyens called “Aunt Bumps” as being a revolutionary figure in landscape history. When, however, we meet other garden writers in this essay, we will see how many times she is referred to by them and the degree to which they are indebted to her for “a good flower-eye.”
Sketch of Gertrude Jekyll digging a sunflower
by Edwin Lutyens, 6 August, 1897.
Warriors in the Garden
GARDENING is nothing less than warfare with nature. With no respect for the cabbage or the rose, nature sends in her legions of hungry insects and foraging animals to wreak havoc. But there is another kind of warfare in the garden, one that is waged against fellow gardeners rather than garden pests. In this kind of warfare garden theory is often presented as a polemical diatribe against previous practices or contrary philosophies. For the reader, it is both instructive and amusing to argue or agree with certain opinionated writers and to refight the horticultural battles of yesteryear as they promulgate their passionate beliefs and ideas.
William Robinson
If Jekyll was the authoritative mother of a more naturalistic English garden style, her friend William Robinson (1838–1935) was its highly influential father. He also serves as the prime exemplar of a didactic and sometimes colorfully caustic genre of garden writing. In Robinson’s view, the architect was the enemy of good landscape design, which he held to be the exclusive province of the gardener—that is, the enlightened gardener who agreed with him that mowing be forsaken in some parts of the garden so that cut lawns would transform themselves into wildflower meadows. His further ideal was to allow climbing plants to entwine themselves on trunks and branches, and he dogmatically declared that fallen leaves should be left on the ground as natural mulch in woodlands.
A trained professional gardener, Robinson had a botanist’s as well as a horticulturist’s thorough knowledge of plant species and their growth habits. He was adamantly opposed to greenhouse-grown annuals planted in regimental rows or showy ornamental beds. He also detested the display of trees and shrubs in Loudon’s Gardenesque style as individual specimens, and he vigorously proselytized the overthrow of late Victorian gardening in favor of one in which bulbs were planted in drifts, herbaceous beds were composed of mixed perennials, and horticultural species appeared to merge at the garden’s perimeter with the native vegetation of meadows and woodlands. Together he and Jekyll redirected garden design in a way that gave the world what is now thought of as the prototypical English garden—a blending of wild and artificial nature; the grouping of trees and shrubs to form pleasing landscape vistas; the use of hedges to create more intimately scaled garden “rooms”; and the laying out of beds in which casually composed yet sophisticated plant combinations—based on a thorough knowledge of floral and leaf colors, blooming times, and growth characteristics—made gardens interesting throughout the entire year.
Two years after the publication of The English Flower Garden (1883)—a volume that eventually ran to fifteen editions and remained in print for fifty years—Robinson purchased the Elizabethan manor of Gravetye in Sussex along with its adjoining two hundred acres. He subsequently acquired additional land so that his property totaled a thousand acres, more than sufficient in size for rural nature and naturalistic garden to be melded into a unified landscape with unobstructed views of the horizon. Here, with occasional advice from his friend Jekyll, he created broad scenic effects as well as herbaceous gardens closer to the manor. The landscape theories he put into practice at Gravetye, however, had been articulated long before in The Wild Garden (1870).
“Siberian columbine in a rocky place,” engraving by Alfred Parsons from The Wild Garden, William Robinson, 1895 edition.
It would be a mistake, as Robinson is at pains to point out, to assume that the wild garden is the same thing as the native-plant garden. It should, to the contrary, be considered an opportunity to naturalize the flora of other countries, for as he tells us:
Naturally our woods and wilds have no little loveliness in spring; we have here and there the Lily of the Valley and the Snowdrop, and everywhere the Primrose and Cowslip; the Bluebell and the Foxglove take possession of whole woods; but, with all our treasures in this way, we have no attractions in or near our gardens compared with what it is within our power to create. There are many countries, with winters colder than our own, that have a rich flora; and by choosing the hardiest exotics and planting them without the garden, we may form garden pictures.
Here it is important to pause a moment and consider again the term “garden pictures,” since it is so frequently found in the writing of both Robinson and Gertrude Jekyll. For these writers, garden pictures did not imply the same thing as the Picturesque, the term commonly used to describe the earlier garden style in which designed landscapes were created in accordance with the principles of landscape painting. The garden pictures they had in mind are perhaps better characterized as vignettes, small scenes of beauty that the eye takes in as discrete discoveries rather than as panoramic scenery. Jekyll’s carefully positioned camera framed many charming, seasonal vignettes within Munstead Wood, and in The Wild Garden, Alfred Parsons’s engravings give graphic expression to Robinson’s words, which are never themselves lacking in descriptive power. This does not mean, however, that such garden pictures, whether verbal or illustrational, should be considered as so many floral incidents independent of the overall landscape composition. Rather, the term is intended to imply that gardening is fundamentally an art form in which composition, color, line, and texture are as important as botanical knowledege and horticultural expertise.
Marshaling his arguments in favor of wild gardening, Robinson points out:
Hundreds of the finest flowers will thrive much better in rough places than ever they did in the old-fashioned border; . . . look infinitely better than they ever did in formal beds; . . . [have] no disagreeable effects resulting from decay; . . . enable us to grow many plants that have never yet obtained a place in our ‘trim gardens’; [and] settle the question of the spring flower garden [since] we may cease the dreadful practice of tearing up the flower-beds and leaving them like new-dug graves twice a year. As a final point in its favor, the wild garden can be seen as a kind of paradisiacal reunion of nature’s bounty, for from almost every interesting region the traveler may bring seeds or plants, and establish near his home living souvenirs of the various countries he has visited.
Robinson’s luxuriously produced Gravetye Manor, or Twenty Years’ Work Round an Old Manor House (1911), is both a diary and a narrative of the successive stages of Gravetye’s creation from 1885 through 1908. He tells the reader how he went about felling trees to open up views, removing iron trellises and the kitchen garden abutting the house, eliminating “a mass of rock-work (so-called) of ghastly order,” and destroying other offensive elements left by the previous owners. The book’s beautiful engravings evince the principles put forth in The Wild Garden as Robinson demonstrates Gravetye to be the paradigm in which house, garden, fields, and forest are united in a pastoral work of art as quintessentially English as a painting by Constable.
As attractive as all this may sound, there were some who felt that Robinson’s garden ideal lacked cohesive structure. His peppery personality made it inevitable that he would be attacked by those who disagreed with him, most notably the architect Reginald Blomfield, whose ideas about what a garden should be were quite different.
Reginald Blomfield
The Formal Garden in England (1892) by the country-house architect Reginald Blomfield (1856–1942), with its attractive engravings by F. Inigo Thomas,