CHAPTER II 
THE FORMAL GARDEN 
It is a curious fact that gardening, an art as ancient as that of dress, 
should be subject to changes equally extreme. The conflict has 
ever been between the “ formal ” and the “ natural ” schools. The 
French have generally shown an extraordinary predilection for the 
first, even carried to extravagant lengths. Yet even in France, in the 
pre-Revolutionary days, Marie Antoinette made her “ English Garden ” 
at Petit Trianon — a place of winding walks and informally-grouped 
trees. The “ English Garden ” of that date was exemplified by the 
Richmond Garden of Queen Caroline and Bridgman, but by the time 
Kew had become a public institution the general taste in England 
was changing. Then, and for two or three subsequent decades, the 
prevailing fashion was for formal design. 
The vogue, if it had not been set by Sir Joseph Paxton, was 
encouraged by him. His work in connection with Chats worth, the 
Exhibition of 1851, the Crystal Palace, and many private gardens 
had given him a commanding position in horticulture. 
The craze for formality — “ balance ” and “ proportion ” were 
the proper terms — inaugurated an era of clipped shrubs, box-edging, 
geometrical beds, and excessive masonry, which ulti- 
Antagomstic ma ^- e jy b ecame ridiculous when it ended in carpet- 
bedding and beds made of variously-coloured stones. 
The inevitable reaction against this school set in, and then salvation 
was only to be obtained by making Nature the fetish. Nature was 
to be copied wherever possible, bedding was to be tabooed, trees 
and shrubs were to be left untouched by the pruner, the making of 
straight walks was to be avoided, “ geometric ” beds were things 
accurst, whilst statues, vases, or any form of bricks and stones 
and mortar in the garden were only to be tolerated in strictly 
limited quantities. Every budding author on gardening and every 
young woman with a message chirped their condemnation of the 
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