Villa Lante (near Rome), Italy
I have never been so surprised by any garden. That’s probably because it is the first Italian garden I have visited. It made me rethink what it is that makes a garden a garden.
On first impression there is no colour. There certainly are no flowers (except the single wild chicory that forces its way up to the light through a box hedge). Lemon trees in terracotta tubs inside terracotta tubs have bright lemons showing. (Looking at these, I wonder how I was able to let a lemon tree die by allowing it to get pot-bound.) Mostly one sees green and grey, because the whole construction is of stone and evergreen plants. But that is to miss the dashes of colour provided by reflections in the water. The water is absolutely central, and the watery symbol of the first proprietor, the crayfish, is to be found everywhere.
The Villa Lante gardens are based on philosophical and mathematical principles, and the idea of taming the elements of earth and water to the will of the designer and, more importantly, the owner. He was a cardinal who lavished thought, care and a great deal of money on this garden at the end of the sixteenth century. It falls into the style of the late Renaissance and early Baroque, and is described as being in the Mannerist style.
Our cardinal has arranged for a head of water to fall down a natural slope, creating fountains, trickles and pools, as it goes. First a grotto, then a fountain, then a very long water-bound stone picnic table, then an ornate pond in a great stone sink next to a box maze. The sound of water is everywhere, getting louder or softer as one walks from wonder to wonder.
The whole is at once beautiful and impressive. One can’t help feeling manipulated by the ancient cardinal, but refreshed and uplifted nevertheless.
Villa D’Este, Tivoli, Italy
First impression - wow, wow, wow. Second impression - how clever. Third impression - how beautiful. Fourth impression - after 32 fantastic fountains, can I enjoy a 33rd?
This is a UNESCO World Heritage Site, and a brief description of its marvels will explain why. Towards the end of the sixteenth century, this very sloping, curved site was transformed by Cardinal Ippolito, 2nd d’Este, into a garden in the late Renaissance Mannerist style. Elegant stone and evergreen walkways frame the most amazing troughs, pools, water jets and fountains and round every corner is a statue of stunning beauty.
Why? This cardinal was certainly out to impress. As the son of Duke Alfonso 1st d’Este and Lucrezia Borgia, he was no stranger to ostentatious luxury and power, and the ability to get what you want in life by taking it. Political and financial power and the palpable presence of God had gone to his head and he determined to be the architect of the most advanced engineering spectacular, the most aesthetically cultivated arrangement, the most enviable possession. He didn’t let such things as a need to respect the pristine nature of Roman historical sites get in his way, and plundered the nearby Hadrian’s Villa for carved columns, statues and building marble, leaving behind little of worth.
Having been bought by the Italian State after World War 1, it now belongs in a way to all of us. We benefit from the excesses of the privileged of an earlier age, and we love it. We can wonder at its beauty and ingenuity, and at the same time feel clean about not having been the instigators of something so outrageously pretentious.
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