252 Xan&5cape Brcbitccture 



the table of Lucullus hard by in one of the porticoes 

 and to stretch myself on his purple triclinium, but 

 waiting in vain for a summons till on the approach 

 of night I returned delighted with a ramble that had 

 led my imagination so far into antiquity." 



Arthur Symons in his book on "Cities" has given an 

 excellent description of the Italian garden at its best. 

 Considering the Villa Mattel he writes : 



"Around are broken walls rising brown and jagged 

 against the sky, the walls of the baths of Caracalla; 

 a desolate strip of country on the edge of the city; 

 and beyond, seen from the terraces lined with the 

 dead bluish green of cactus, the Alban Hills. All 

 the garden walks, where not even the cypresses are 

 funereal nor the sunlight itself gay, breathe an ex- 

 quisite melancholy, the most delicate and seductive 

 breath of decay. There are wandering terraces, 

 slim vistas, an entanglement of green and wayward 

 life, winding in and out of brown defaced walls 

 fringed with ivy, and about white and broken statues 

 shining from under this green coat of leaves ; every- 

 where surprising turns of ways among the trees curv- 

 ing out here and there, as if instinctively, into a circle 

 about a fountain where broad leaves shadow the 

 heads of gods or emperors in stone. And everywhere 

 there is the cool sound of water which rises in the 

 fountains, and drips under water plants in a grotto; 

 and everywhere as one follows the winding paths, a 

 white hand stretches out from among the darkness of 



