GARDEN STRUCTURES 



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Pergolas have no roof other than the leafmess of the vines 

 that overrun them. And even the cross-pieces that uphold 

 these vines those members which are familiar to us as rather 

 heavy rafters, sometimes elaborately shaped at their overhanging 

 ends are more or less temporary and fragile things. 



Nowhere probably is there a truer example of the pergola in 

 its honest simplicity, than in the gardens of the old Capuchin 

 monastery at Amalfi. Along the mountain side these arbors 

 ranged, tier after tier, in the old monkish days true vine arbors 

 and nothing else. Approaching the monastery buildings the 

 upright supports became architectural, and a part of the retain- 

 ing wall which runs along the steepest part of the slope; but the 

 long, thin saplings forming the overhead framework remained, 

 the same. 



Thus the sense of permanence and stability prevails in the 

 upright work, while overhead repairs may easily be made. The 

 stone columns are hollowed transversely at the top, to receive 

 the saplings, which are simply laid across from side to side. 

 Now there is a wretched little railing running from column to 

 column, to keep the hotel's guests from tumbling off and down 

 the mountain side, but this is a latter-day "improvement." 

 The monks grew flowers in this space. It is worth noting, by 

 the way, that the vines are, in some places, planted inside the 

 columns. 



So the good old monks built just as good sense would prompt 

 anyone to build. Their "pergolas" are simply permanent, 

 convenient, and easily repaired grape arbors carried along the 

 hillside architectural only where they approach the dwelling. 

 Elsewhere they are of the crudest, though at the same time 

 most picturesque, construction, easily managed and made of the 

 most primitive materials. With their outspread vines they 



