Spring will come and - in the immortal words of the French TV gardening show - SSHH - ça pousse...
JOYEUSES FÊTES
Friday, 12 December 2014
WATCH THESE SPACES!
After such a long gestation, at long last things are starting to take shape in the two gardens - the builders will finish in the near future.
Spring will come and - in the immortal words of the French TV gardening show - SSHH - ça pousse...
Spring will come and - in the immortal words of the French TV gardening show - SSHH - ça pousse...
TWO GARDENS ON THE AMALFI COAST
Gardens of the Villa Cimbrone in Ravello (Italy)
There is a charming story behind the creation of this garden. At the end of the 19th century, Ernest William Beckett, Lord Grimethorpe visited the Amalfi Coast as part of the Grand Tour. He was grieving for the loss of his wife. He came across an 11th century villa and small estate in poor repair an determined to crate a beautiful garden there and at the same time heal his broken heart.
The result as we see it today should be charm itself. Lord G had a vision of a fusion between the then fashionable English style of Gertrude Jekyll and an Italian Classical landscape, and he engaged a local designer, Nicola Mansi to realise it. They laid out extensive areas of planting with specimen trees and blocks of similar plants - roses, shrubs, lavenders, palms, lawns, falling away to indigenous local forest. Along walks and at corners, they placed grottos, pillars and statues representing Classical personages.
This quirky combination has found favour with many and has meant that the garden makes a contribution to the UNESCO recognition of Ravello. For me, though, it fell rather heavily on the eye. I can’t see the glories of a Jekyll garden or the elegance of a true Italian Classical garden here. And time has not been kind to the concrete structures that hold it together. Sorry, Lord G. I hope it brought you happiness at a sad time in your life, but, on a sunny day in late October, it didn’t say much to me.
I have missed one very important aspect. At the far end of the garden, the walk takes a turn which runs above a sheer drop above terraces of lemon trees, and gives onto the most stunning view of the coast and the shining sea. A true sight for sore eyes and a wonder that touches the heart now as it has every generation since the 11th century.
Villa Rufulo
The other garden in Ravello is quite different. By 11:00 at the very end of the season, it is full of people, with coach-loads queuing up behind. It’s only a small garden, but so charming that it has pulling power. The revenues gleaned from the visitors have been put to good use, and everywhere is very well kept.
Let’s start from the point at which we left Villa Cimbrone - the view of the sea and the Amalfi coast. It’s still here, shining today, but ever-changing, always with a new take on this wonderful view. We pull back through smallish shapes of garden, planted with successful selections of bedding plants, to the buildings, and without these, the garden would be ordinary, just a place to wander and to take shade from the heat or respite from the cares of the day.
The buildings are largely in ruins, the remnants of a once-grand palazzo. They have been recently skilfully renovated to provide a backdrop to the Ravello Festival, a summer-long affair of music and visual art, which inhabits the nooks and corners, inside and in the open air.
It is this combination of the formal and the informal, the soft and the hard structures, the light and shade that created the atmosphere. The insouciant charm of these spaces enriches the spirit.
TWO MANNERIST ITALIAN GARDENS
Pliny said that the purpose of a garden was otium - seclusion, serenity, relaxation.
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.
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.
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)