Although as its title indicates, the text of this book is largely devoted to the history of the houses described, yet as its illustrations inevitably raise questions as to the right relation, in design, of houses and their gardens, a brief reference to some of the fundamental principles that ought to govern those relations may be in order here. These principles, although axiomatic, are so frequently neglected as to justify their restatement in the introduction to any book dealing with houses and gardens.
The first of these principles is well suggested by Mr. Havell in his article on "Indian Gardens," when he says that gardening, in an artistic sense, is almost a lost art in India, and that, though horticulture still flourishes, the art of planning and planting a garden in harmonious relation to the house to which it belongs is no longer practiced. By speaking of such an harmonious relation he indicates that we may well make inquiry whether any house and its garden are one, one in impulse, one in expression. If they are we find a measure of artistic satisfaction in them, though they be but commonplace or in a style that gives little pleasure.
Now this harmony is by no means alone a question of architectural style, still less is it solely an affair of horticulture. It is far more a matter of the blending of the house and garden by terraces and such devices, of the relation of levels, of the maintenance of a suitable scale of parts, of just proportions and of well-contrasted light and shade. In the gardens of the Moguls splendid examples of this harmony are to be found. What could be in more perfect unison than the buildings at Srinagar and their surroundings? They are all compact of beauty. The life of the house is the life of the garden and we pass from one to the other without the slightest shock, getting the same quality of pleasure from both. In an entirely different way there is a delightful harmony between the Iris garden at Horikiri and the slender structures that adorn it.
Let us for a moment look at another example within these covers. Whether one finds at Levens Hall a curious charm in the strange forms of the clipped yews and in the formal informality of their grouping or whether he deems them mere topiary puerilities, he can scarcely feel that they bear such an intimate artistic relation to the house as do the gardens at Srinagar. Pained as any one of taste and sentiment would be to see them swept away, he might, nevertheless, easily imagine them replaced by something, which though lacking their historic interest, might, by its very harmony with the Hall, afford a higher pleasure. Now this is not conceivable of the Indian example nor of any works that reach the highest level of the art. In them there is an inevitableness that defies replacement by some more fortunate design.
The second of the principles is that the garden should be in effect an extension of the house so that just as the rooms serve their several purposes as enclosed spaces, so the parts of the garden should serve theirs as partly unenclosed spaces. Nowhere can we find this principle applied with finer understanding than in the gardens of Italy. The broad walks for both winter sunshine and summer shade, the well-trimmed bowling green, the parterre with its show of flowers, the orchard, the bit of woodland, the splash of dancing water or the cool mirror of the pool, each plays its part for use or delight, each has its definite character giving an individuality to its part of the garden. A score of examples might be cited. If we turn to Mr. Dawson's description of the Villa Lante, this separation into well-marked purposeful parts cannot escape us. It may be seen almost equally well in many an English garden, for even among the smaller of them, with their peculiar charm of intimateness, such a division is evident.
The Villa Lante illustrates the third principle, an excellence possessed by all masterpieces of the garden art, the perfect relation of the house and its garden to the surrounding landscape. There, though the gardens be rich in their own beauty, the charm of the landscape is never lost; the garden and the landscape do but enhance each other's beauty. The Italians were singularly fortunate, or more truly, they were singularly skillful in bringing about this kind of harmony. Caprarola, vast and grandiose, has a largeness of parts, a simplicity of conception quite justified by and fully at one with its surrounding landscape of rolling hills and broad horizons. Even the Villa d'Este, in spite of the triviality of much of its detail, has in its splendid terraces, its deeply shaded pools and its solemn cypress groves elements that bring it into a fine harmony with the "august Roman landscape." In extensive gardens with flat surroundings, this relation cannot be expressed, and therefore classic French examples, such as Versailles, create their own landscape within their own limits.
The three principles here stated are by no means a complete code, but they lie at the root of the matter. Without their observance entire satisfaction is not to be found. With them in mind it may not be difficult to test the artistic value of the "Historic Houses and their Gardens," to which these pages are dedicated.
Frank Miles Day