THE LANDSCAPE GARDEN
The garden like a lady fair was cut That lay as if she slumbered in delight, And to the open skies her eyes did shut; The azure fields of heaven were 'sembled right In a large round set with flow'rs of light: The flowers de luce and the round sparks of dew That hung upon their azure leaves, did show Like twinkling stars that sparkle in the ev'ning blue. --GILES FLETCHER
NO MORE remarkable man ever lived than my friend, the young Ellison. Hewas remarkable in the entire and continuous profusion of good gifts everlavished upon him by fortune. From his cradle to his grave, a gale ofthe blandest prosperity bore him along. Nor do I use the word Prosperityin its mere wordly or external sense. I mean it as synonymous withhappiness. The person of whom I speak, seemed born for the purposeof foreshadowing the wild doctrines of Turgot, Price, Priestley, andCondorcet--of exemplifying, by individual instance, what has beendeemed the mere chimera of the perfectionists. In the brief existenceof Ellison, I fancy, that I have seen refuted the dogma--that inman's physical and spiritual nature, lies some hidden principle, theantagonist of Bliss. An intimate and anxious examination of his career,has taught me to understand that, in general, from the violation of afew simple laws of Humanity, arises the Wretchedness of mankind; that,as a species, we have in our possession the as yet unwrought elementsof Content,--and that even now, in the present blindness and darknessof all idea on the great question of the Social Condition, it is notimpossible that Man, the individual, under certain unusual and highlyfortuitous conditions, may be happy.
With opinions such as these was my young friend fully imbued; and thusis it especially worthy of observation that the uninterrupted enjoymentwhich distinguished his life was in great part the result of preconcert.It is, indeed evident, that with less of the instinctive philosophywhich, now and then, stands so well in the stead of experience, Mr.Ellison would have found himself precipitated, by the very extraordinarysuccesses of his life, into the common vortex of Unhappiness which yawnsfor those of preeminent endowments. But it is by no means my presentobject to pen an essay on Happiness. The ideas of my friend may besummed up in a few words. He admitted but four unvarying laws, or ratherelementary principles, of Bliss. That which he considered chief, was(strange to say!) the simple and purely physical one of free exercisein the open air. "The health," he said, "attainable by other meansthan this is scarcely worth the name." He pointed to the tillers of theearth--the only people who, as a class, are proverbially more happy thanothers--and then he instanced the high ecstasies of the fox-hunter. Hissecond principle was the love of woman. His third was the contempt ofambition. His fourth was an object of unceasing pursuit; and he heldthat, other things being equal, the extent of happiness was proportionedto the spirituality of this object.
I have said that Ellison was remarkable in the continuous profusion ofgood gifts lavished upon him by Fortune. In personal grace and beautyhe exceeded all men. His intellect was of that order to which theattainment of knowledge is less a labor than a necessity and anintuition. His family was one of the most illustrious of the empire. Hisbride was the loveliest and most devoted of women. His possessions hadbeen always ample; but, upon the attainment of his one and twentiethyear, it was discovered that one of those extraordinary freaks of Fatehad been played in his behalf which startle the whole social world amidwhich they occur, and seldom fail radically to alter the entire moralconstitution of those who are their objects. It appears that about onehundred years prior to Mr. Ellison's attainment of his majority,there had died, in a remote province, one Mr. Seabright Ellison. Thisgentlemen had amassed a princely fortune, and, having no very immediateconnexions, conceived the whim of suffering his wealth to accumulatefor a century after his decease. Minutely and sagaciously directing thevarious modes of investment, he bequeathed the aggregate amount to thenearest of blood, bearing the name Ellison, who should be alive at theend of the hundred years. Many futile attempts had been made to setaside this singular bequest; their ex post facto character rendered themabortive; but the attention of a jealous government was aroused, and adecree finally obtained, forbidding all similar accumulations. This actdid not prevent young Ellison, upon his twenty-first birth-day, fromentering into possession, as the heir of his ancestor, Seabright, of afortune of four hundred and fifty millions of dollars. {*1}
When it had become definitely known that such was the enormous wealthinherited, there were, of course, many speculations as to the modeof its disposal. The gigantic magnitude and the immediately availablenature of the sum, dazzled and bewildered all who thought upon thetopic. The possessor of any appreciable amount of money might have beenimagined to perform any one of a thousand things. With riches merelysurpassing those of any citizen, it would have been easy to suppose himengaging to supreme excess in the fashionable extravagances of his time;or busying himself with political intrigues; or aiming at ministerialpower, or purchasing increase of nobility, or devising gorgeousarchitectural piles; or collecting large specimens of Virtu; or playingthe munificent patron of Letters and Art; or endowing and bestowing hisname upon extensive institutions of charity. But, for the inconceivablewealth in the actual possession of the young heir, these objects andall ordinary objects were felt to be inadequate. Recourse was had tofigures; and figures but sufficed to confound. It was seen, that even atthree per cent, the annual income of the inheritance amounted to no lessthan thirteen millions and five hundred thousand dollars; which wasone million and one hundred and twenty-five thousand per month; orthirty-six thousand, nine hundred and eighty-six per day, or onethousand five hundred and forty-one per hour, or six and twenty dollarsfor every minute that flew. Thus the usual track of supposition wasthoroughly broken up. Men knew not what to imagine. There were some whoeven conceived that Mr. Ellison would divest himself forthwith of atleast two-thirds of his fortune as of utterly superfluous opulence;enriching whole troops of his relatives by division of hissuperabundance.
I was not surprised, however, to perceive that he had long made up hismind upon a topic which had occasioned so much of discussion to hisfriends. Nor was I greatly astonished at the nature of his decision. Inthe widest and noblest sense, he was a poet. He comprehended, moreover,the true character, the august aims, the supreme majesty and dignityof the poetic sentiment. The proper gratification of the sentiment heinstinctively felt to lie in the creation of novel forms of Beauty. Somepeculiarities, either in his early education, or in the nature of hisintellect, had tinged with what is termed materialism the whole castof his ethical speculations; and it was this bias, perhaps, whichimperceptibly led him to perceive that the most advantageous, if not thesole legitimate field for the exercise of the poetic sentiment, was tobe found in the creation of novel moods of purely physical loveliness.Thus it happened that he became neither musician nor poet; if we usethis latter term in its every--day acceptation. Or it might have beenthat he became neither the one nor the other, in pursuance of an ideaof his which I have already mentioned--the idea, that in the contempt ofambition lay one of the essential principles of happiness on earth.Is it not, indeed, possible that while a high order of genius isnecessarily ambitious, the highest is invariably above that which istermed ambition? And may it not thus happen that many far greater thanMilton, have contentedly remained "mute and inglorious?" I believethe world has never yet seen, and that, unless through some series ofaccidents goading the noblest order of mind into distasteful exertion,the world will never behold, that full extent of triumphant execution,in the richer productions of Art, of which the human nature isabsolutely capable.
Mr. Ellison became neither musician nor poet; although no man livedmore profoundly enamored both of Music and the Muse. Under othercircumstances than those which invested him, it is not impossible thathe would have become a painter. The field of sculpture, although inits nature rigidly poetical, was too limited in its extent and in itsconsequences, to have occupied, at any time, much of his attention. AndI have now mentioned all the provinces in which
even the most liberalunderstanding of the poetic sentiment has declared this sentimentcapable of expatiating. I mean the most liberal public or recognizedconception of the idea involved in the phrase "poetic sentiment." ButMr. Ellison imagined that the richest, and altogether the most naturaland most suitable province, had been blindly neglected. No definitionhad spoken of the Landscape-Gardener, as of the poet; yet my friendcould not fail to perceive that the creation of the Landscape-Gardenoffered to the true muse the most magnificent of opportunities.Here was, indeed, the fairest field for the display of invention, orimagination, in the endless combining of forms of novel Beauty; theelements which should enter into combination being, at all times, and bya vast superiority, the most glorious which the earth could afford.In the multiform of the tree, and in the multicolor of the flower, herecognized the most direct and the most energetic efforts of Natureat physical loveliness. And in the direction or concentration of thiseffort, or, still more properly, in its adaption to the eyes which wereto behold it upon earth, he perceived that he should be employing thebest means--laboring to the greatest advantage--in the fulfilment of hisdestiny as Poet.
"Its adaptation to the eyes which were to behold it upon earth." In hisexplanation of this phraseology, Mr. Ellison did much towards solvingwhat has always seemed to me an enigma. I mean the fact (which none butthe ignorant dispute,) that no such combinations of scenery exist inNature as the painter of genius has in his power to produce. No suchParadises are to be found in reality as have glowed upon the canvass ofClaude. In the most enchanting of natural landscapes, there will alwaysbe found a defect or an excess--many excesses and defects. While thecomponent parts may exceed, individually, the highest skill of theartist, the arrangement of the parts will always be susceptible ofimprovement. In short, no position can be attained, from which anartistical eye, looking steadily, will not find matter of offence, inwhat is technically termed the composition of a natural landscape.And yet how unintelligible is this! In all other matters we are justlyinstructed to regard Nature as supreme. With her details we shrink fromcompetition. Who shall presume to imitate the colors of the tulip, or toimprove the proportions of the lily of the valley? The criticism whichsays, of sculpture or of portraiture, that "Nature is to be exaltedrather than imitated," is in error. No pictorial or sculpturalcombinations of points of human loveliness, do more than approach theliving and breathing human beauty as it gladdens our daily path. Byron,who often erred, erred not in saying, I've seen more living beauty, ripeand real, than all the nonsense of their stone ideal. In landscape aloneis the principle of the critic true; and, having felt its truth here,it is but the headlong spirit of generalization which has induced him topronounce it true throughout all the domains of Art. Having, I say,felt its truth here. For the feeling is no affectation or chimera. Themathematics afford no more absolute demonstrations, than the sentimentof his Art yields to the artist. He not only believes, but positivelyknows, that such and such apparently arbitrary arrangements of matter,or form, constitute, and alone constitute, the true Beauty. Yet hisreasons have not yet been matured into expression. It remains for a moreprofound analysis than the world has yet seen, fully to investigate andexpress them. Nevertheless is he confirmed in his instinctive opinions,by the concurrence of all his compeers. Let a composition be defective,let an emendation be wrought in its mere arrangement of form; let thisemendation be submitted to every artist in the world; by each will itsnecessity be admitted. And even far more than this, in remedy of thedefective composition, each insulated member of the fraternity willsuggest the identical emendation.
I repeat that in landscape arrangements, or collocations alone, is thephysical Nature susceptible of "exaltation" and that, therefore, hersusceptibility of improvement at this one point, was a mystery which,hitherto I had been unable to solve. It was Mr. Ellison who firstsuggested the idea that what we regarded as improvement or exaltationof the natural beauty, was really such, as respected only the mortalor human point of view; that each alteration or disturbance of theprimitive scenery might possibly effect a blemish in the picture, if wecould suppose this picture viewed at large from some remote point in theheavens. "It is easily understood," says Mr. Ellison, "that what mightimprove a closely scrutinized detail, might, at the same time, injure ageneral and more distantly--observed effect." He spoke upon this topicwith warmth: regarding not so much its immediate or obvious importance,(which is little,) as the character of the conclusions to which itmight lead, or of the collateral propositions which it might serve tocorroborate or sustain. There might be a class of beings, human once,but now to humanity invisible, for whose scrutiny and for whose refinedappreciation of the beautiful, more especially than for our own, hadbeen set in order by God the great landscape-garden of the whole earth.
In the course of our discussion, my young friend took occasion to quotesome passages from a writer who has been supposed to have well treatedthis theme.
"There are, properly," he writes, "but two styles oflandscape-gardening, the natural and the artificial. One seeks torecall the original beauty of the country, by adapting its means tothe surrounding scenery; cultivating trees in harmony with the hillsor plain of the neighboring land; detecting and bringing into practicethose nice relations of size, proportion and color which, hid from thecommon observer, are revealed everywhere to the experienced student ofnature. The result of the natural style of gardening, is seen ratherin the absence of all defects and incongruities--in the prevalence of abeautiful harmony and order, than in the creation of any special wondersor miracles. The artificial style has as many varieties as there aredifferent tastes to gratify. It has a certain general relation tothe various styles of building. There are the stately avenues andretirements of Versailles; Italian terraces; and a various mixed oldEnglish style, which bears some relation to the domestic Gothic orEnglish Elizabethan architecture. Whatever may be said against theabuses of the artificial landscape-gardening, a mixture of pure art in agarden scene, adds to it a great beauty. This is partly pleasing to theeye, by the show of order and design, and partly moral. A terrace, withan old moss-covered balustrade, calls up at once to the eye, the fairforms that have passed there in other days. The slightest exhibition ofart is an evidence of care and human interest."
"From what I have already observed," said Mr. Ellison, "you willunderstand that I reject the idea, here expressed, of 'recalling theoriginal beauty of the country.' The original beauty is never so greatas that which may be introduced. Of course, much depends upon theselection of a spot with capabilities. What is said in respect to the'detecting and bringing into practice those nice relations of size,proportion and color,' is a mere vagueness of speech, which may meanmuch, or little, or nothing, and which guides in no degree. That thetrue 'result of the natural style of gardening is seen rather in theabsence of all defects and incongruities, than in the creation of anyspecial wonders or miracles,' is a proposition better suited to thegrovelling apprehension of the herd, than to the fervid dreams of theman of genius. The merit suggested is, at best, negative, and appertainsto that hobbling criticism which, in letters, would elevate Addisoninto apotheosis. In truth, while that merit which consists in the mereavoiding demerit, appeals directly to the understanding, and can thusbe foreshadowed in Rule, the loftier merit, which breathes and flamesin invention or creation, can be apprehended solely in its results. Ruleapplies but to the excellences of avoidance--to the virtues which denyor refrain. Beyond these the critical art can but suggest. We may beinstructed to build an Odyssey, but it is in vain that we are toldhow to conceive a 'Tempest,' an 'Inferno,' a 'Prometheus Bound,' a'Nightingale,' such as that of Keats, or the 'Sensitive Plant' ofShelley. But, the thing done, the wonder accomplished, and the capacityfor apprehension becomes universal. The sophists of the negative school,who, through inability to create, have scoffed at creation, are nowfound the loudest in applause. What, in its chrysalis condition ofprinciple, affronted their demure reason, never fails, in its maturityof accomplishment, to extort admiration from their
instinct of thebeautiful or of the sublime.
"Our author's observations on the artificial style of gardening,"continued Mr. Ellison, "are less objectionable. 'A mixture of pure artin a garden scene, adds to it a great beauty.' This is just; and thereference to the sense of human interest is equally so. I repeat thatthe principle here expressed, is incontrovertible; but there may besomething even beyond it. There may be an object in full keeping withthe principle suggested--an object unattainable by the means ordinarilyin possession of mankind, yet which, if attained, would lend a charm tothe landscape-garden immeasurably surpassing that which a merely humaninterest could bestow. The true poet possessed of very unusual pecuniaryresources, might possibly, while retaining the necessary idea of artor interest or culture, so imbue his designs at once with extent andnovelty of Beauty, as to convey the sentiment of spiritual interference.It will be seen that, in bringing about such result, he secures all theadvantages of interest or design, while relieving his work of allthe harshness and technicality of Art. In the most rugged ofwildernesses--in the most savage of the scenes of pure Nature--thereis apparent the art of a Creator; yet is this art apparent only toreflection; in no respect has it the obvious force of a feeling. Now,if we imagine this sense of the Almighty Design to be harmonized in ameasurable degree, if we suppose a landscape whose combined strangeness,vastness, definitiveness, and magnificence, shall inspire the ideaof culture, or care, or superintendence, on the part of intelligencessuperior yet akin to humanity--then the sentiment of interest ispreserved, while the Art is made to assume the air of an intermediateor secondary Nature--a Nature which is not God, nor an emanation of God,but which still is Nature, in the sense that it is the handiwork of theangels that hover between man and God."
It was in devoting his gigantic wealth to the practical embodiment ofa vision such as this--in the free exercise in the open air, whichresulted from personal direction of his plans--in the continuous andunceasing object which these plans afford--in the contempt of ambitionwhich it enabled him more to feel than to affect--and, lastly, it was inthe companionship and sympathy of a devoted wife, that Ellison thoughtto find, and found, an exemption from the ordinary cares of Humanity,with a far greater amount of positive happiness than ever glowed in therapt day-dreams of De Stael.
The Works of Edgar Allan Poe — Volume 4 Page 17
