Part 52

Time and patience, said Mr. Wolmar, have worked this miracle. These are expedients which the rich scarce ever think of in their pleasures. Always in haste for enjoyment, force and money are the only instruments they know how to employ; they have birds in cage, and friends at so much a mouth. If the servants ever came near this place, you would soon see the birds disappear, and if you perceive vast numbers of them at present, the reason is that this spot has always, in some degree, been a refuge for them. There is no bringing them together where there are none to invite them, but where there are some already, it is easy to increase their numbers by anticipating all their wants, by not frightening them, by suffering them to hatch with security, and by never disturbing the young ones in their nest; for by these means, such as are there, abide there, and those which come after them continue. This grove was already in being, though it was divided from the orchard; Eloisa has only inclosed it by a quick-set hedge, removed that which parted it, and enlarged and adorned it with new designs. You see to the right and left of the walk which leads to it, two spaces filled with a confused mixture of grass, straw, and all sorts of plants. She orders them every year to be sown with corn, millet, turnsol, hemp-seed, vetch; and in general all sorts of grain which birds are fond of, and nothing is ever reaped. Besides this, almost every day she or I bring them something to eat, and when we neglect, Fanny supplies our place. They are supplied with water, as you see, very easily. Mrs. Wolmar carries her attention so far as to provide for them, every spring, little heaps of hair straw, wool, moss, and other materials proper to build their nests. Thus by their having materials at hand, provisions in abundance, and by the great care we take to secure them from their enemies, [56] the uninterrupted tranquility they enjoy induces them to lay their eggs in this convenient place, where they want for nothing, and where nobody disturbs them. Thus the habitation of the fathers becomes the abode of the children, and the colony thrives and multiplies.

Ah! said Eloisa, do you see nothing more? No one thinks beyond himself; but the affection of a constant pair, the zeal of their domestic concerns, paternal and maternal fondness, all this is lost upon you. Had you been here two months ago, you might have feasted your eyes with the most lovely sight, and have gratified your feelings with the most tender sensations in nature. Madam, said I, somewhat gravely, you are a wife and a mother; there are pleasures of which it becomes you to be susceptible. Mr. Wolmar then taking me cordially by the hand, said, You have friends, and those friends have children; how can you be a stranger to paternal affection? I looked at him, I looked at Eloisa, they looked at each other, and cast such an affecting eye upon me, that embracing them alternately, I said with tender emotion, They are as dear to me as to yourself. I do not know by what strange effect a single word can make such an alteration in our minds, but since that moment, Mr. Wolmar appears to me quite another man, and I consider him less in the light of a husband to her whom I have so long adored, as in that of the father of two children for whom I would lay down my life.

I was going to walk round the bason, in order to draw nearer to this delightful asylum, and its little inhabitants, but Mrs. Wolmar checked me. Nobody, says she, goes to disturb them in their dwelling, and you are the first of our guests whom I ever brought so far. There are four keys to this orchard, of which my father and we have each of us one: Fanny has the fourth, as superintendent, and to bring the children here now and then; the value of which favour is greatly enhanced by the extreme circumspection which is required of them while they are here. Even Gustin never comes hither without one of the four: when the two spring months are over in which his labours are useful, he scarce ever comes hither afterwards, and all the rest we do ourselves. Thus, said I, for fear of making our birds slaves to you, you make yourselves slaves to your birds. This, she replied, is exactly the sentiment of a tyrant, who never thinks that he enjoys liberty, but while he is disturbing the freedom of others.

As we were coming back, Mr. Wolmar threw a handful of barley into the bason, and on looking into it, I perceived some little fish. Ah, ah, said I immediately, here are some prisoners nevertheless. Yes, said he, they are prisoners of war, who have had their lives spared. Without doubt, added his wife. Some time since Fanny stole two perch out of the kitchen, and brought them hither without my knowledge. I leave them here, for fear of offending her if I sent them to the lake; for it is better to confine the fish in too narrow a compass, than to disoblige a worthy creature. You are in the right, said I, and the fish are not much to be pitied for having escaped from the frying-pan into the water.

Well, how does it appear to you? said she, as we were coming back; are you got to the end of the world yet? No, I replied, I am quite out of the world, and you have in truth transported me into elysium. The pompous name she has given this orchard, said Mr. Wolmar, very well deserves that raillery. Be modest in your commendation of childish amusements, and be assured that they have never intrenched on the concerns of the mistress of a family. I know it, I am sure of it, I replied, and childish amusements please me more in this way than the labours of men.

Still there is one thing here, I continued, which I cannot conceive: which is, that though a place: so different from what it was, can never have been altered to its present state; but by great care and culture; yet I can no where discover the least trace of cultivation. Every thing is verdant, fresh, and vigorous, and the hand of the gardener is no where to be discerned: nothing contradicts the idea of a desert island, which struck me at the first entrance, and I cannot perceive any footsteps of men. Oh, said Mr. Wolmar, it is because they have taken great pains to efface them. I have frequently been witness to, and sometimes an accomplice in this roguery. They sow all the cultivated spots with grass, which presently hides all appearance of culture. In the winter, they cover all the dry and barren spots with some lays of manure, the manure eats up the moss, revives the grass and the plants; the trees themselves do not fare the worse, and in the summer there is nothing of it to be seen. With regard to the moss which covers some of the walks, Lord B---- sent us the secret of making it grow from England. These two sides, he continued, were inclosed with walls; the walls have been covered not with hedges, but with thick trees, which make the boundaries of the place appear like the beginning of a wood. The two other sides are secured by strong thickset hedges well stocked with maple, hawthorn, holy-oak, privet, and other small trees, which destroy the appearance of the hedges, and make them look more like coppice-woods. You see nothing here in an exact row, nothing level; the line never entered this place; nature plants nothing by the line; the affective irregularity of the winding walks are managed with art, in order to prolong the walk, to hide the boundaries of the island, and to enlarge its extent in appearance, without making inconvenient and too frequent turnings. [57]

Upon considering the whole, I thought it somewhat extraordinary that they should take so much pains to conceal the labour they had been at; would it not have been better to have taken no such pains? Notwithstanding all we have told you, replied Eloisa, you judge of the labour from its effect, and you deceive yourself. All that you see are wild and vigorous plants which need only to be put into the earth, and which afterwards spring up of themselves. Besides, nature seems desirous of hiding her real charms from the sight of men, because they are too little sensible of them, and disfigure them when they are within their reach; she flies from public places; it is on the tops of mountains, in the midst of forests, in desert islands, that she displays her most affecting charms. They who are in love with her and cannot go so far in pursuit of her, are forced to do her violence, by obliging her, in some measure, to come and dwell with them, and all this cannot be effected without some degree of illusion.

At these words, I was struck with an idea which made them laugh. I am supposing to myself, said I, some rich man to be master of this house, and to bring an architect who is paid an extravagant price for spoiling nature. With what disdain would he enter this plain and simple spot! With what contempt would he order these ragged plants to be torn up! What fine lines he would draw! What fine walks he would cut! What fine geese-feet, what fine trees in the shape of umbrellas and fans he would make! What fine arbor work----nicely cut out! What beautiful grass-plats of fine English turf, round, square, sloping, oval! What fine yew-trees cut in the shape of dragons, pagods, marmosets, and all sorts of monsters! With what fine vases of brass, with what fine fruit in stone he would decorate his garden! [58] ... When he had done all this, said Mr. Wolmar, he would have made a very fine place, which would scarce ever be frequented, and from whence one should always go with eagerness to enjoy the country; a dismal place where nobody would walk, but only use it as a thoroughfare when they were setting out to walk; whereas in my rural rambles, I often make haste to return that I may walk here.

I see nothing in those extensive grounds so lavishly ornamented, but the vanity of the proprietor and of the artist, who being eager to display, one his riches and the other his talents, only contribute, at a vast expense, to tire those who would enjoy their works. A false taste of grandeur, which was never designed for man, poisons all his pleasures. An air of greatness has always something melancholy in it; it leads us to consider the wretchedness of those who affect it. In the midst of these grass-plats and fine walks, the little individual does not grow greater; a tree twenty feet high will shelter him as well as one of sixty, [59] he never occupies a space of more than three feet, and in the midst of his immense possessions he is lost like a poor worm.

There is another taste directly opposite to this, and still more ridiculous, because it does not allow us the pleasure of walking, for which gardens were intended. I understand you, said I; you allude to those petty virtuosi, who die away at the sight of a ranunculus, and fall prostrate before a tulip. Hereupon, my Lord, I gave them an account of what happened to me formerly at London in the flower-garden into which we were introduced with so much ceremony, and where we saw all the treasures of Holland displayed with so much lustre upon four beds of dung. I did not forget the ceremony of the umbrella and the little rod with which they honoured me, unworthy as I was, as well as the rest of the spectators. I modestly acknowledged how, by endeavouring to appear a virtuoso in my turn, and venturing to fall in ecstasies at the sight of a tulip which seemed to be of a fine shape and of a lively colour, I was mocked, hooted at, and hissed by all the connoisseurs, and how the florist who despised the flower despised its panegyrist likewise to that degree, that he did not even deign to look at me all the time we were together. I added, that I supposed he highly regretted having prostituted his rod and umbrello on one so unworthy.

This taste, said Mr. Wolmar, when it degenerates into a passion, has something idle and little in it, which renders it puerile and ridiculously expensive. The other, at least, is noble, grand, and has something real in it. But what is the value of a curious root which an insect gnaws or spoils perhaps as soon as it is purchased, or of a flower which is beautiful at noon day, and fades before sun-set; what signifies a conventional beauty, which is only obvious to the eyes of virtuosi, and which is a beauty only because they will have it to be so? The time will come when they will require different kinds of beauty in flowers, from that which they seek after at present, and with as good reason; then you will be the connoisseur in your turn, and your virtuoso will appear ignorant. All these trifling attentions, which degenerate into a kind of study, are unbecoming a rational being, who, would keep his body in moderate exercise, or relieve his mind by amusing himself in a walk with his friends. Flowers were made to delight our eyes as we pass along, and not to be so curiously anatomized. [60] See the queen of them shine in every part of the orchard. It perfumes the air; it ravishes the eyes, and costs neither care nor culture. It is for this reason that florists despise it; nature has made it so lovely, that they cannot add to it any borrowed beauty, and as they cannot plague themselves with cultivating it, they find nothing in it which flatters their fancy. The mistake of your pretenders to taste is, that they are desirous of introducing art in every thing, and are never satisfied unless the art appears; whereas true taste consists in concealing it, especially when it concerns any of the works of nature. To what purpose are those strait gravelled walks which we meet with continually; and those stars which are so far from making a park appear more extensive to the view, as is commonly supposed, that they only contribute awkwardly to discover its boundaries? Do you ever see fine gravel in woods, or is that kind of gravel softer to the feet than moss or down? Does nature constantly make use of the square or rule? Are they afraid lest she be visible in some spot notwithstanding all their care to disfigure her? Upon the whole, it is droll enough to see them affect to walk in a strait line that they may sooner reach the end, as if they were tired of walking, before they have well begun? Would not one imagine, by their taking the shortest cut, that they were going a journey instead of a walk, and that they were in a hurry to get out as soon they come in?

How will a man of taste act, who lives to relish life, who knows how to enjoy himself, who pursues real and simple pleasures, and who is inclined to make a walk before his house? He will make it so convenient and agreeable that he may enjoy it every hour of the day, and yet so natural and simple, that it will seem as if he had done nothing. He will introduce water, and will make the walk verdant, cool, and shady; for nature herself unites these properties. He will bestow no attention on symmetry, which is the bane of nature and variety, and the walks of gardens in general are so like each other, that we always fancy ourselves in the same. He will make the ground smooth, in order to walk more conveniently; but the two sides of his walks will not be exactly parallel; their direction will not always be recti-lineal, they will be somewhat irregular like the steps of an indolent man, who saunters in his walk: he will not be anxious about opening distant perspectives. The taste for perspective and distant views proceeds from the disposition of men in general, who are never satisfied with the place where they are. They are always desirous of what is distant from them, and the artist who cannot make them contented with the objects around them, flies to this resource to amuse them; but such a man as I speak of, is under no such inquietudes, and when he is agreeably fixed, he does not desire to be elsewhere. Here, for example, we have no prospect, and we are very well satisfied without any. We are willing to think that all the charms of nature are inclosed here, and I should be very much afraid lest a distant view should take off a good deal of the beauty from this walk. [61] Certainly he who would not chuse to pass his days in this simple and pleasant place, is not master of true taste or of a vigorous mind. I confess that one ought not to make a parade of bringing strangers hither; but then we can enjoy it ourselves, without shewing it to any one.

Sir, said I, these rich people who have such fine gardens, have very good reasons for not choosing to walk alone, or to be in company with themselves only; therefore they are in the right to lay them out for the pleasure of others. Besides, I have seen gardens in China, made after your taste, and laid out with so much art that the art was not seen, but in such a costly manner, and kept up at such a vast expense, that that single idea destroyed all the pleasure I had in viewing them. There were rocks, grottos, and artificial cascades in level and sandy places, where there was nothing but spring-water; there were flowers and curious plants of all the climates in China and Tartary, collected and cultivated in the same soil. It is true, there were no fine walks or regular compartments; but you might see curiosities heaped together with profusion, which in nature are only to be found separate and scattered. Nature was there represented under a thousand various forms, and yet the whole taken together was not natural. Here neither earth nor stones are transplanted, you have neither pumps nor reservoirs, you have no occasion for green-houses or stoves, of bell glasses or straw-beds. A plain spot of ground has been improved by a few simple ornaments. A few common herbs and trees, and a few purling streams which flow without pomp or constraint, have contributed to embellish it. It is an amusement, which has cost little trouble, and the simplicity of it is an additional pleasure to the beholder. I can conceive that this place might be made still more agreeable, and yet be infinitely less pleasing to me. Such, for example, is Lord Cobham’s celebrated park at Stow. It consists of places extremely beautiful and picturesque, modelled after the fashion of different countries, and in which every thing appears natural except their conjunction, as in the gardens of China, which I just now mentioned. The proprietor who made this stately solitude, has even erected ruins, temples, old buildings, and different ages as well as different places are collected with more than mortal magnificence. This is the very thing I dislike. I would have the amusements of mankind carry an air of ease with them which does not put one in mind of their weakness, and that while we admire these curiosities our imagination may not be disturbed by reflecting on the vast sums of money and labour they have cost. Are we not destined to trouble enough, without making our amusements a fatigue?

I have but one objection, I added, looking at Eloisa, to make to your elysium, but which you will probably think of some weight, which is, that it is a superfluous amusement. To what purpose was it to make a new walk, when you have such beautiful groves on the other side of the house which you neglect? That’s true, said she, somewhat disconcerted, but I like this better. If you had thoroughly reflected on the propriety of your question before you had made it, said Mr. Wolmar, interrupting us, it might be imputed to you as more than an indiscretion. My wife has never set her foot in those groves since she has been married. I know the reason though she has always kept it a secret from me. You who are no stranger to it, learn to respect the spot where you are; it has been planted by the hands of virtue.

I had scarce received this just reprimand, but the little family led by Fanny, came in as we were going out. These three lovely children threw themselves round Mr. and Mrs. Wolmar’s necks. I likewise shared their little caresses. Eloisa and I returned into elysium to take a little turn with them; afterwards we went to join Mr. Wolmar who was talking to some workmen. In our way, she told me, that she no sooner became a mother, than an idea struck into her mind, with respect to that walk, which increased her zeal for embellishing it. I had an eye, said she, to the health and amusement of my children as they grew older. It requires more care than labour to keep up this place; it is more essential to give a certain turn to the branches of the plants, than to dig and cultivate the ground; I intend one day to make gardeners of my little ones: they shall have sufficient exercise to strengthen their constitution, and not enough to enfeeble it. Besides, what is too much for their age, shall be done by others, and they shall confine themselves to such little works as may amuse them. I cannot describe, she added, what pleasure I enjoy in imagining my infants busy in returning those little attentions which I now bestow on them with such satisfaction, and the joy of which their tender hearts will be susceptible, when they see their mother walking with delight under the shades, which have been formed by their own hands. In truth, my friend, said she, with an affecting tone, time thus spent is an emblem of the felicity of the next world, and it was not without reason that, reflecting on these scenes, I christened this place before hand by the name of elysium. My Lord, this incomparable woman is as amiable in the character of a mother as in that of a wife, a friend, a daughter, and to the eternal punishment of my soul, she was thus lovely when my mistress.

Transported with this delightful place, I intreated them in the evening to consent that, during my stay, Fanny should entrust me with her key, and consign to me the office of feeding the birds. Eloisa immediately sent a sack of grain to my chamber, and gave me her own key. I cannot tell for what reason, but I accepted it with a kind of concern, and it seemed as if Mr. Wolmar’s would have been more acceptable to me.