Introduction to the
Victorian Flower Garden (2)

From the 'Handy Book of the Flower-Garden' (1868) by David Thomson

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The elder brethren of our profession, who can look back, for instance, to the introduction of the Dahlia, give us but a poor idea of flower-gardening as it was practised in the first decades of the century. Flower-gardens had then seldom a separate locality devoted to them; and when they had that advantage, they were generally composed of unshapely figures cut out in turf, and arranged, as the designers fondly but erroneously imagined, after the principles of English gardening as inculcated by Wheatley and Uvedale Price. These figures were mostly filled with a miscellaneous assortment of Shrubs and Herbaceous Plants, many of which possessed only botanical interest. The Californian Annuals were then undiscovered in the Far West, and all the fine recent introductions were unknown and unthought of. Florist flowers, indeed, as they are distinctively called, were in some cases - if less formal and bright - not much less beautiful than they are now, and hence they received disproportionate attention. The consequence naturally was, that attention was almost exclusively directed to individual plants, instead of to general effect; and the progress of flower-gardening was very slow, till the improvement of existing species and the multiplication of beautiful varieties have rendered separate flower-gardens, suitable for the effects such flowers are capable of producing, if not absolutely necessary, at least highly desirable. Hence those highly artistic parterres that generally spring up close to every country seat. This, again, led to the well-recognised distinctions of the promiscuous (or mixed) and the grouping styles, and to the great change which has accordingly crept over the face of flower-gardens within the last thirty years.

In all that is of human contrivance, change is not invariably improvement. Whether this be the case, in the change that has taken place in decorative gardening, is regarded by some as questionable. In this, however, as in most other things, individuals have yielded to the current of general sentiment and usage, and fashion is as tyrannical in the court of flowers as in any other. Whatever can be said either for or against the modern style of grouping plants of one sort and colour together in quantities, so as to make each bed a distinct picture, and blend all into a harmonious whole, it must be admitted that the work of the gardener is now much more an art than it was a quarter of a century ago. The office of art is to educate the perception of beauty; and if detaching objects from unmeaning and embarrassing variety be one of the virtues of art, it will be allowed that the present style of flower-gardening has a higher claim to that virtue than any that has preceded it.

To decry mixed borders of flowers of various heights and colours, and say that no delight is derivable from them, is not a proof of good taste. The simple perception of natural forms is a delight, and all the works of God have a general grace diffused over them. And while it is assumed that if a gorgeous and imposing picture is to be attained, it must be by massing and blending distinct colours together, I have not, at the same time, any sympathy with those who cannot recommend the one system without condemning the other. He conceives meanly of our resources who thinks the best of flower-gardening is passed or accomplished in either the one system or the other.

The massing style, so much in the ascendant at present, can justly claim more impressiveness - an effect upon the mind so vividly illustrated by the effect produced upon the poet's mind by the ' dancing daffodils,' the remembrance of which, because seen in quantity, filled his heart with pleasure while he lay upon his couch. A single or a few daffodils would never have led him to immortalize them in verse, as did the 'dancing sea of daffodils' by the shore, which, as the poet puts it,'outdid the sparkling waves in glee.'

It is not, however, a primary object to balance the merits of the old mixed style of flower-gardening against the present popular style of massing. To do so would not only be a fruitless task, but a gross injustice to both systems - to set them up as rivals for popular favour. They are distinct in principle, and alike applicable to certain and distinct positions. There is, consequently, as little room or reason why both systems should not add their distinct charms to our gardens as there is for playing the one off against the other. The one should not, and cannot, entirely displace the other. Each should have its own niche; and when a fitting niche cannot be commanded for both, circumstances must decide which shall have the preference.

The requirements of my employers, and the adaptability of the gardens I have had to work upon, have devolved upon me a very considerable amount of thought and practice in the grouping system. This does not cause me to attempt shielding the favourite style from any faults with which it can be fairly and legitimately charged. At the same time, it is submitted that those who have most severely and sweepingly condemned it, have done so without sufficient thought. It cannot be denied that there is enough in a border of hardy herbaceous plants, with a few annuals and half-hardy plants mixed in, especially when the selection is judicious, to gratify the keenest sensibility to that which is both gay and interesting. But that is a very different thing from holding, that under all circumstances, and particularly in those geometrical and architectural groups of beds which compose so many of the flower-gardens in proximity to mansions, the promiscuous system is the best, or that, indeed, it would not be entirely out of place. Such is not the niche for mixtures of the olden sort. They must give place to a system of grouping in accordance with the surroundings.

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