APDL Eductation Resources/APDL Eductation Resources.iso/text/authors/poe/landscape/LANDSCAPE

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                               1850
                       THE LANDSCAPE GARDEN
                        by Edgar Allan Poe

        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. He
was remarkable in the entire and continuous profusion of good gifts ever
lavished upon him by fortune. From his cradle to his grave, a gale of
the blandest prosperity bore him along. Nor do I use the word Prosperity
in its mere wordly or external sense. I mean it as synonymous with
happiness. The person of whom I speak, seemed born for the purpose of
foreshadowing the wild doctrines of Turgot, Price, Priestley, and
Condorcet- of exemplifying, by individual instance, what has been deemed
the mere chimera of the perfectionists. In the brief existence of
Ellison, I fancy, that I have seen refuted the dogma- that in man's
physical and spiritual nature, lies some hidden principle, the
antagonist of Bliss. An intimate and anxious examination of his career,
has taught me to understand that, in general, from the violation of a
few simple laws of Humanity, arises the Wretchedness of mankind; that,
as a species, we have in our possession the as yet unwrought elements of
Content,- and that even now, in the present blindness and darkness of
all idea on the great question of the Social Condition, it is not
impossible that Man, the individual, under certain unusual and highly
fortuitous conditions, may be happy.

With opinions such as these was my young friend fully imbued; and thus
is it especially worthy of observation that the uninterrupted enjoyment
which distinguished his life was in great part the result of preconcert.
It is, indeed evident, that with less of the instinctive philosophy
which, now and then, stands so well in the stead of experience, Mr.
Ellison would have found himself precipitated, by the very extraordinary
successes of his life, into the common vortex of Unhappiness which yawns
for those of preeminent endowments. But it is by no means my present
object to pen an essay on Happiness. The ideas of my friend may be
summed up in a few words. He admitted but four unvarying laws, or rather
elementary principles, of Bliss. That which he considered chief, was
(strange to say!) the simple and purely physical one of free exercise in
the open air. "The health," he said, "attainable by other means than
this is scarcely worth the name." He pointed to the tillers of the
earth- the only people who, as a class, are proverbially more happy than
others- and then he instanced the high ecstasies of the fox-hunter. His
second principle was the love of woman. His third was the contempt of
ambition. His fourth was an object of unceasing pursuit; and he held
that, other things being equal, the extent of happiness was proportioned
to the spirituality of this object.

I have said that Ellison was remarkable in the continuous profusion of
good gifts lavished upon him by Fortune. In personal grace and beauty he
exceeded all men. His intellect was of that order to which the
attainment of knowledge is less a labor than a necessity and an
intuition. His family was one of the most illustrious of the empire. His
bride was the loveliest and most devoted of women. His possessions had
been always ample; but, upon the attainment of his one and twentieth
year, it was discovered that one of those extraordinary freaks of Fate
had been played in his behalf which startle the whole social world amid
which they occur, and seldom fail radically to alter the entire moral
constitution of those who are their objects. It appears that about one
hundred years prior to Mr. Ellison's attainment of his majority, there
had died, in a remote province, one Mr. Seabright Ellison. This
gentlemen had amassed a princely fortune, and, having no very immediate
connexions, conceived the whim of suffering his wealth to accumulate for
a century after his decease. Minutely and sagaciously directing the
various modes of investment, he bequeathed the aggregate amount to the
nearest of blood, bearing the name Ellison, who should be alive at the
end of the hundred years. Many futile attempts had been made to set
aside this singular bequest; their ex post facto character rendered them
abortive; but the attention of a jealous government was aroused, and a
decree finally obtained, forbidding all similar accumulations. This act
did not prevent young Ellison, upon his twenty-first birth-day, from
entering into possession, as the heir of his ancestor, Seabright, of a
fortune of four hundred and fifty millions of dollars.*


* An incident similar in outline to the one here imagined, occurred, not
very long ago, in England. The name of the fortunate heir (who still
lives,) is Thelluson. I first saw an account of this matter in the
"Tour" of Prince Puckler Muskau. He makes the sum received ninety
millions of pounds, and observes, with much force, that, "in the
contemplation of so vast a sum, and of the services, to which it might
be applied, there is something even of the sublime." To suit the views
of this article, I have followed the Prince's statement- a grossly
exaggerated one, no doubt.


When it had become definitely known that such was the enormous wealth
inherited, there were, of course, many speculations as to the mode of
its disposal. The gigantic magnitude and the immediately available
nature of the sum, dazzled and bewildered all who thought upon the
topic. The possessor of any appreciable amount of money might have been
imagined to perform any one of a thousand things. With riches merely
surpassing those of any citizen, it would have been easy to suppose him
engaging to supreme excess in the fashionable extravagances of his time;
or busying himself with political intrigues; or aiming at ministerial
power, or purchasing increase of nobility, or devising gorgeous
architectural piles; or collecting large specimens of Virtu; or playing
the munificent patron of Letters and Art; or endowing and bestowing his
name upon extensive institutions of charity. But, for the inconceivable
wealth in the actual possession of the young heir, these objects and all
ordinary objects were felt to be inadequate. Recourse was had to
figures; and figures but sufficed to confound. It was seen, that even at
three per cent, the annual income of the inheritance amounted to no less
than thirteen millions and five hundred thousand dollars; which was one
million and one hundred and twenty-five thousand per month; or
thirty-six thousand, nine hundred and eighty-six per day, or one
thousand five hundred and forty-one per hour, or six and twenty dollars
for every minute that flew. Thus the usual track of supposition was
thoroughly broken up. Men knew not what to imagine. There were some who
even conceived that Mr. Ellison would divest himself forthwith of at
least two-thirds of his fortune as of utterly superfluous opulence;
enriching whole troops of his relatives by division of his
superabundance.

I was not surprised, however, to perceive that he had long made up his
mind upon a topic which had occasioned so much of discussion to his
friends. Nor was I greatly astonished at the nature of his decision. In
the widest and noblest sense, he was a poet. He comprehended, moreover,
the true character, the august aims, the supreme majesty and dignity of
the poetic sentiment. The proper gratification of the sentiment he
instinctively felt to lie in the creation of novel forms of Beauty. Some
peculiarities, either in his early education, or in the nature of his
intellect, had tinged with what is termed materialism the whole cast of
his ethical speculations; and it was this bias, perhaps, which
imperceptibly led him to perceive that the most advantageous, if not the
sole legitimate field for the exercise of the poetic sentiment, was to
be found in the creation of novel moods of purely physical loveliness.
Thus it happened that he became neither musician nor poet; if we use
this latter term in its every- day acceptation. Or it might have been
that he became neither the one nor the other, in pursuance of an idea of
his which I have already mentioned- the idea, that in the contempt of
ambition lay one of the essential principles of happiness on earth. Is
it not, indeed, possible that while a high order of genius is
necessarily ambitious, the highest is invariably above that which is
termed ambition? And may it not thus happen that many far greater than
Milton, have contentedly remained "mute and inglorious?" I believe the
world has never yet seen, and that, unless through some series of
accidents 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 is
absolutely capable.

Mr. Ellison became neither musician nor poet; although no man lived more
profoundly enamored both of Music and the Muse. Under other
circumstances than those which invested him, it is not impossible that
he would have become a painter. The field of sculpture, although in its
nature rigidly poetical, was too limited in its extent and in its
consequences, to have occupied, at any time, much of his attention. And
I have now mentioned all the provinces in which even the most liberal
understanding of the poetic sentiment has declared this sentiment
capable of expatiating. I mean the most liberal public or recognized
conception of the idea involved in the phrase "poetic sentiment." But
Mr. Ellison imagined that the richest, and altogether the most natural
and most suitable province, had been blindly neglected. No definition
had spoken of the Landscape-Gardener, as of the poet; yet my friend
could not fail to perceive that the creation of the Landscape-Garden
offered to the true muse the most magnificent of opportunities. Here
was, indeed, the fairest field for the display of invention, or
imagination, in the endless combining of forms of novel Beauty; the
elements which should enter into combination being, at all times, and by
a vast superiority, the most glorious which the earth could afford. In
the multiform of the tree, and in the multicolor of the flower, he
recognized the most direct and the most energetic efforts of Nature at
physical loveliness. And in the direction or concentration of this
effort, or, still more properly, in its adaption to the eyes which were
to behold it upon earth, he perceived that he should be employing the
best means- laboring to the greatest advantage- in the fulfilment of his
destiny as Poet.

"Its adaptation to the eyes which were to behold it upon earth." In his
explanation of this phraseology, Mr. Ellison did much towards solving
what has always seemed to me an enigma. I mean the fact (which none but
the ignorant dispute,) that no such combinations of scenery exist in
Nature as the painter of genius has in his power to produce. No such
Paradises are to be found in reality as have glowed upon the canvass of
Claude. In the most enchanting of natural landscapes, there will always
be found a defect or an excess- many excesses and defects. While the
component parts may exceed, individually, the highest skill of the
artist, the arrangement of the parts will always be susceptible of
improvement. In short, no position can be attained, from which an
artistical eye, looking steadily, will not find matter of offence, in
what is technically termed the composition of a natural landscape. And
yet how unintelligible is this! In all other matters we are justly
instructed to regard Nature as supreme. With her details we shrink from
competition. Who shall presume to imitate the colors of the tulip, or to
improve the proportions of the lily of the valley? The criticism which
says, of sculpture or of portraiture, that "Nature is to be exalted
rather than imitated," is in error. No pictorial or sculptural
combinations of points of human loveliness, do more than approach the
living and breathing human beauty as it gladdens our daily path. Byron,
who often erred, erred not in saying,

      I've seen more living beauty, ripe and real,
      Than all the nonsense of their stone ideal.

In landscape alone is the principle of the critic true; and, having felt
its truth here, it is but the headlong spirit of generalization which
has induced him to pronounce it true throughout all the domains of Art.
Having, I say, felt its truth here. For the feeling is no affectation or
chimera. The mathematics afford no more absolute demonstrations, than
the sentiment of his Art yields to the artist. He not only believes, but
positively knows, that such and such apparently arbitrary arrangements
of matter, or form, constitute, and alone constitute, the true Beauty.
Yet his reasons have not yet been matured into expression. It remains
for a more profound analysis than the world has yet seen, fully to
investigate and express 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 this emendation be submitted to every artist in
the world; by each will its necessity be admitted. And even far more
than this, in remedy of the defective composition, each insulated member
of the fraternity will suggest the identical emendation.

I repeat that in landscape arrangements, or collocations alone, is the
physical Nature susceptible of "exaltation" and that, therefore, her
susceptibility of improvement at this one point, was a mystery which,
hitherto I had been unable to solve. It was Mr. Ellison who first
suggested the idea that what we regarded as improvement or exaltation of
the natural beauty, was really such, as respected only the mortal or
human point of view; that each alteration or disturbance of the
primitive scenery might possibly effect a blemish in the picture, if we
could suppose this picture viewed at large from some remote point in the
heavens. "It is easily understood," says Mr. Ellison, "that what might
improve a closely scrutinized detail, might, at the same time, injure a
general and more distantly- observed effect." He spoke upon this topic
with warmth: regarding not so much its immediate or obvious importance,
(which is little,) as the character of the conclusions to which it might
lead, or of the collateral propositions which it might serve to
corroborate or sustain. There might be a class of beings, human once,
but now to humanity invisible, for whose scrutiny and for whose refined
appreciation of the beautiful, more especially than for our own, had
been 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 quote
some passages from a writer who has been supposed to have well treated
this theme.

"There are, properly," he writes, "but two styles of
landscape-gardening, the natural and the artificial. One seeks to recall
the original beauty of the country, by adapting its means to the
surrounding scenery; cultivating trees in harmony with the hills or
plain of the neighboring land; detecting and bringing into practice
those nice relations of size, proportion and color which, hid from the
common observer, are revealed everywhere to the experienced student of
nature. The result of the natural style of gardening, is seen rather in
the absence of all defects and incongruities- in the prevalence of a
beautiful harmony and order, than in the creation of any special wonders
or miracles. The artificial style has as many varieties as there are
different tastes to gratify. It has a certain general relation to the
various styles of building. There are the stately avenues and
retirements of Versailles; Italian terraces; and a various mixed old
English style, which bears some relation to the domestic Gothic or
English Elizabethan architecture. Whatever may be said against the
abuses of the artificial landscape-gardening, a mixture of pure art in a
garden scene, adds to it a great beauty. This is partly pleasing to the
eye, by the show of order and design, and partly moral. A terrace, with
an old moss-covered balustrade, calls up at once to the eye, the fair
forms that have passed there in other days. The slightest exhibition of
art is an evidence of care and human interest."

"From what I have already observed," said Mr. Ellison, "you will
understand that I reject the idea, here expressed, of 'recalling the
original beauty of the country.' The original beauty is never so great
as that which may be introduced. Of course, much depends upon the
selection 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 mean
much, or little, or nothing, and which guides in no degree. That the
true 'result of the natural style of gardening is seen rather in the
absence of all defects and incongruities, than in the creation of any
special wonders or miracles,' is a proposition better suited to the
grovelling apprehension of the herd, than to the fervid dreams of the
man of genius. The merit suggested is, at best, negative, and appertains
to that hobbling criticism which, in letters, would elevate Addison into
apotheosis. In truth, while that merit which consists in the mere
avoiding demerit, appeals directly to the understanding, and can thus be
foreshadowed in Rule, the loftier merit, which breathes and flames in
invention or creation, can be apprehended solely in its results. Rule
applies but to the excellences of avoidance- to the virtues which deny
or refrain. Beyond these the critical art can but suggest. We may be
instructed to build an Odyssey, but it is in vain that we are told how
to conceive a 'Tempest,' an 'Inferno,' a 'Prometheus Bound,' a
'Nightingale,' such as that of Keats, or the 'Sensitive Plant' of
Shelley. But, the thing done, the wonder accomplished, and the capacity
for apprehension becomes universal. The sophists of the negative school,
who, through inability to create, have scoffed at creation, are now
found the loudest in applause. What, in its chrysalis condition of
principle, affronted their demure reason, never fails, in its maturity
of accomplishment, to extort admiration from their instinct of the
beautiful or of the sublime.

"Our author's observations on the artificial style of gardening,"
continued Mr. Ellison, "are less objectionable. 'A mixture of pure art
in a garden scene, adds to it a great beauty.' This is just; and the
reference to the sense of human interest is equally so. I repeat that
the principle here expressed, is incontrovertible; but there may be
something even beyond it. There may be an object in full keeping with
the principle suggested- an object unattainable by the means ordinarily
in possession of mankind, yet which, if attained, would lend a charm to
the landscape-garden immeasurably surpassing that which a merely human
interest could bestow. The true poet possessed of very unusual pecuniary
resources, might possibly, while retaining the necessary idea of art or
interest or culture, so imbue his designs at once with extent and
novelty of Beauty, as to convey the sentiment of spiritual interference.
It will be seen that, in bringing about such result, he secures all the
advantages of interest or design, while relieving his work of all the
harshness and technicality of Art. In the most rugged of wildernesses-
in the most savage of the scenes of pure Nature- there is apparent the
art of a Creator; yet is this art apparent only to reflection; 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 a measurable degree, if
we suppose a landscape whose combined strangeness, vastness,
definitiveness, and magnificence, shall inspire the idea of culture, or
care, or superintendence, on the part of intelligences superior yet akin
to humanity- then the sentiment of interest is preserved, while the Art
is made to assume the air of an intermediate or 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 the angels that hover
between man and God."

It was in devoting his gigantic wealth to the practical embodiment of a
vision such as this- in the free exercise in the open air, which
resulted from personal direction of his plans- in the continuous and
unceasing object which these plans afford- in the contempt of ambition
which it enabled him more to feel than to affect- and, lastly, it was in
the companionship and sympathy of a devoted wife, that Ellison thought
to find, and found, an exemption from the ordinary cares of Humanity,
with a far greater amount of positive happiness than ever glowed in the
rapt day-dreams of De Stael.



                           THE END