When in Rome, Part II

 

Ancient Rome! My tutor wrote that 'the Empire was marked by extravagant excess with intervals of reform, brilliance, chaos, madness and terror.' The Roman Empire was fabulous for absorbing elements of other cultures and making them Roman. Etruscans, Greeks, Egyptians and all sorts lent their cultures to the Romans. Anything goes, as they say. The Doctor described it as being like Soho, only bigger. At its height the Empire spread across most of modern day Europe, Northern Africa, and the Middle East.

This map shows the greatest extent of the Roman empire c117 AD
(attrib)

As they went forth and conquered, so they also revered, and the religious traditions and figures of other cultures were added to the Roman melting pot. Greek gods were given new Roman names and just as Egyptian pharaohs were viewed as deities, Caesars likewise became gods. There appeared to be a god for every occasion, necessitating the building of temples and shrines, which festooned the Roman cities, towns, even the roads. Suburban homes had household gods, a resident spirit (genius) associated with a particular place (loci). Mixing the original Latin with English, 'the genius of the place' becomes a familiar term to students of landscape design but rather than invoking the ancient Roman philosophy, modern practitioners are most likely quoting 18th century poet Alexander Pope who admonished designers to "consult the genius of the place in all"*.

The Getty Villa does a fine job of honoring the genius loci in its design. Nestled in a narrow coastal valley, with a climate very much like that enjoyed in the Gulf of Naples, it combines elements of Roman villa and town gardens that look and feel as much at home in Southern California as they would on the Neapolitan coast.

Plan of the Getty Villa 1. Atrium; 2. Inner Peristyle Garden; 3. East Garden; 4. Outer Peristyle Garden; 5. Herb Garden; 6. Amphitheatre (sunset.com)

Roman villas were essentially country retreats for the wealthy elite. Thanks to Pliny the Younger's letters, we have a good idea how these villas were used and decorated. Getty did such a splendid job of siting and designing his Villa that Pliny's description of his own could very well apply to both:

You are surprised that I am so fond of my Laurentine...but you will cease to wonder when I acquaint you with the beauty of the villa, the advantages of its situation, and the extensive view of the sea-coast...The courtyard in front is plain, but not mean, through which you enter porticoes...enclosing a small but cheerful area between...The gestatio [an avenue for exercise either on horseback or in a horse-drawn vehicle] is bordered round with box, and, where that is decayed, with rosemary." (Letter XXII to Gallus)



The Outer Peristyle Garden looking out to the Pacific Ocean (2013)

Dwellings in towns such as Pompeii and Herculaneum were walled and generally without windows for privacy, security, and to keep out the stench from the streets. Practically all houses had gardens, even the most humble. If you were rich, you had several. Upon entering the home of a Roman town dweller you would find an atrium, a family space in which the central portion of the roof is open to the sky for ventilation. There might also be a corresponding basin formed in the floor beneath to catch rain water.

 

 

The Atrium at Getty Villa. The floor basin is covered by this sculpture. (2013)

Beyond the atrium is the peristyle, a paved enclosure surrounded by columns. The open space permitted fresh air into the house and illuminated the rooms surrounding the peristyle court. At Getty's Villa plants, flowers, and fountains decorate the court just as they did in the original at Herculaneum. The playing fountains and birdsong soothe the senses, imitating nature in an artfully contrived setting. The cool shade of the marble corridors give relief from the midday sun and make this a place one would want to spend a day in repose, away from the noise of the city. 

View of the Inner Peristyle Garden from within the Atrium (2013)
 

These corner fountains are replicas of those found in ancient Roman ruins (2013)

In the first century B.C., the Roman architect and writer Vitruvius dedicated his treatise on architecture and design to the Roman Emperor Augustus. He put forth the idea that design must incorporate the qualities of firmitas, utilitas, and venustas – firmness (technology), utility (function), and delight (aesthetic beauty). His prescription for a peristyle was quite specific:

Peristyles, lying athwart, should be one third longer than they are deep, and their columns as high as the colonnades are wide. Intercolumnations of peristyles should be not less than three nor more than four times the thickness of the columns. (Vitruvius, The Ten Books on Architecture).

 

Romans were nothing if not big on regularity.

If your station in life prohibited such columned extravagance, you could paint a fresco on one or more walls to give the illusion of a much larger and grander garden. Even the columns could be painted on.

A garden fresco decorating the wall of a home in Pompeii (British Museum)

Restored fresco at the Getty Villa, Outer Peristyle Garden (2013)

Another space for growing flowers, vegetables, and medicinal plants was called a xystus. Like the peristyle courts, the xystus might be decorated with statues, water features, or a pavilion. The East Garden at the Getty Villa is what I would consider to be the xystus, and features two fountains: one central font, raised high, and a niche fountain, replicated from one found at Pompeii decorated in a mosaic of shells and tiles. 

East Garden at Getty Villa (2013)

Pompeii niche fountain replica with masks of Leonidas and Pericles (2013) 

 

Mosaic detail (2013)

The Outer Peristyle Garden is the Villa's grandest peristyle court, with a 200-foot long pool, surrounding covered peristyle walk providing shelter from the elements, and a splendid view to the sea. The Roman love of orderliness is seen in the symmetricality of the garden and use of repeated shapes - the upright columns, rounded tree canopies echoed in shorn box balls, the placement of statues and busts on plinths, even the rectangular arches formed by the peristyle repeat, drawing the eye around the site. The dominant color here is green with a few accents making this a calming, soothing space where the villa owner can escape hectic Roman city life.

The Outer Peristyle Garden, looking east (2013)

Hold on. I almost forgot - we're not in Ancient Rome, we're in 21st century Los Angeles. If you take away the tourists with their audio guides, mobile phones, and funky modern togas, not to mention the cafe and gift shop, wandering along the shaded corridors of the Getty Villa gives you a pretty good idea what being in a real Roman villa garden was like.

In Part 3 I'll tell you about the plants in these gardens and their significance in Roman times.

If you're in London between now and September, you can pop by the British Museum and check out their exhibit on Life and Death of Pompeii and Herculaneum featuring lectures, presentations, and objects from both cities. Preserved as they were by volcanic material, much of what we know about first century Roman life was found in these important cities. For tickets and visiting hours, go to the museum website.

The Getty Villa herb garden (2013)

Eighteenth century poet Alexander Pope wrote many epistles with his views on garden design. The following excerpt is from Epistle IV To Richard Boyle, Earl of Burlington c. 1738, and has been quoted in countless texts on landscape and garden design:

 

*Consult the genius of the place in all;
That tells the waters or to rise, or fall;
Or helps th’ ambitious hill the heav’ns to scale,
Or scoops in circling theatres the vale;
Calls in the country, catches opening glades,
Joins willing woods, and varies shades from shades,
Now breaks, or now directs, th’ intending lines;
Paints as you plant, and, as you work, designs.



When In Rome...Part I

...or, at least Los Angeles...

One of the frustrations of studying a subject like garden history is not being able to hop in a time machine and visit gardens created thousands of years ago which no longer exist. How I would have loved to have joined the Doctor and Donna* on their visit to Pompeii in 79 AD to see some of the gardens of the ancient Romans.

OK, well, maybe not, since they were there on Volcano Day.

Basically, run.

Among the villages destroyed by the eruption of Mt. Vesuvius on that fateful day was Herculaneum. It, along with four other villages, was destroyed when the mountain exploded, sending 'superheated pyroclastic material'** raining down upon it (Dr. Evil would incorrectly call it 'liquid hot mag-MA'. Yes, you just read that in his voice with your pinkie to your mouth, didn't you!). Buried beneath 20M (50-60 feet) of ash, the town was better preserved than its more famous neighbor. It was rediscovered in the early 1700's and later excavations revealed much of the city still in tact, including the lavish seaside villa belonging to Julius Caesar's father-in-law Lucius Calpurnius Piso Caesoninus. Since its rediscovery, it has been called Villa dei Papiri due to the number of carbonized papyrus scrolls found there.



Plan of the Villa dei Papiri, village of Herculaneum, destroyed by Mt. Vesuvius in 79 AD (attrib)

Fast forward several hundred years to the 20th century California seaside town of Pacific Palisades near Malibu. There, a one J. Paul Getty was amassing a fortune in oil and cultivating a keen interest in art and history. As he traveled throughout Europe, he began collecting art and artifacts from ancient Mediterranean civilizations, displaying them at his own lavish home overlooking the Pacific. Getty's collection continued to grow so in the early 1970's he decided to build a museum that would allow him to showcase it to the public in the perfect context.



The Outer Peristyle Garden at the Getty Villa (2013)

Getty consulted with architect Stephen Garrett on the design of his new museum, which he based on the plan of the Villa dei Papiri as published in Le Antichità di Ercolano (The Antiquities of Herculaneum). Nestled in a deep hillside valley, construction of Getty's Villa began in the early 1970's. Although Getty now lived in England, he eagerly oversaw every step of the process. Sadly, he died only two years after it opened, having never seen it.

The Getty Villa, as it's now called, opened in 1974, an exact replica of the peristyle garden from Villa dei Papiri. The overall campus combines architectural elements representing Roman homes from Pompeii, Herculaneum, and Aplontis, all destroyed by the volcano. Four distinct plant communities comprising about 300 varieties live at the Villa: native (to Italy), those from similar climates, So Cal and Mediterranean natives, and species that are historically accurate to ancient Rome. All give the Villa a feeling of authenticity that should characterize every historic garden recreation.

According to his architect, Getty 'had very clear views about what he wanted to achieve here. He wanted a person that came here to get some idea of what a villa way back 2,000 years ago would actually have felt like'.

Well, it seems we can travel back in time after all.

The central pool of the Outer Peristyle Garden (2013)

Stay tuned for Part II where I'll talk more about the individual gardens and how they represent the suburban gardens found in ancient Roman cities. In the meantime, enjoy this video about the History of the Getty Villa.




Admission to the Getty Villa is free but timed tickets must be reserved in advance. There is a fee for parking. For more information and a calendar of events, visit The Getty Villa website.

*Leave it to me to include a Doctor Who reference in a piece about Roman gardens! (Doctor Who, series 4, episode 2: The Fires of Pompeii)

** A pyroclastic flow is described by the US Geological Survey as ‘A ground-hugging avalanche of hot ash, pumice, rock fragments, and volcanic gas that rushes down the side of a volcano as fast as 100 km/hour or more. The temperature within a pyroclastic flow may be greater than 500° C, sufficient to burn and carbonize wood. Once deposited, the ash, pumice, and rock fragments may deform (flatten) and weld together because of the intense heat and the weight of the overlying material’.

No Foolin': April 2013 History Carnival

Welcome to the April, 2013 edition of the History Carnival, a monthly showcase of the best history blogging there is. I'm pleased as punch to host the 120th carnival for the first time here, so while the kids are eagerly gobbling the last of those candy eggs, grab a balloon, some cotton candy or nibble the ears of a chocolate bunny, and see what there is to see!

Nominations fell into a few distinct categories: Medical, Social/Political, Food, and what I considered Entertainment.

To kick things off, and in time for the 125th anniversary of the Matchgirls' Strike of 1888 later this year, Natalie Bennett over at Philobiblon writes about Matchwomen – founders of New Unionism. A new book by Louise Raw called The Bryant and May Matchwomen and their Place in History tells a different side of the traditional tale; of the young women who unionized and got what they wanted, thus kicking off a major part of British political history.

Over at the Women's History Network Blog they've written about Women, Politics, Parliaments – Bringing about Democracy, an informative post about the democratic representation of women in the Australian Parliament while the UK History of Parliament Blog discusses the Welsh representation in Parliament during the Cromwellian Protectorate in Welsh Electoral Arithmetic, 1640-1660.

Apparently, the state of the economy over in Britain isn't any better off than it is here in the US, as James Pennock writes over at History Matters in his post called Taxing Times in 2013 and 1013: The Anglo-Saxon State We're In. Funny how history repeats itself, innit?

Quarry Hill Flats, Leeds: ‘They didn’t get it wrong – well not for me anyway!’ at Municipal Dreams talks about the sense of community at the now non-existent rehousing scheme in Leeds. Built to house the working class, the multi-storey flats boasted amenities that modern middle class apartment flats don't have today. Deemed a failure, the development was bulldozed in the '70s. My humble opinion is that much of what was subsequently built in the '70s should be bulldozed.

Paul Doolan at Thinkshop writes about Collective Memory, how it is "manufactured and distributed, passed on and passed down, through huge variety of media", how we as individuals and a culture are shaped by it, and how collective memory for one culture can be a memory of another kind for a different culture. Something to think about in our ever shrinking global community.

Just about every American school kid learns something about Johnny Appleseed but what my class was never told was that his popularity was due to his growing of cider apples. Being a fan of a good pint of hard cider myself, I was interested to learn of this cheap and cheerful drink's role in Hard Cider and the Election of 1840, as told by William Kerrigan over at American Orchard. Cheers!

As an excellent segue into the history of food, we learn about Early Modern Comfort Foods from Amanda Herbert at The Recipes Project. She traces the route of the Brigham account book which passed from owner to owner and crossed the Atlantic, collecting recipes for familiar and exotic foods. Having arrived in the New World, the familiar recipes gave comfort to New World settlers, who also imported many of the culinary plants with which they created these homely dishes.

Using a metaphor of cheese-making and maggots, historian Niamh Cullen writes about  Carlo Ginzburg and the ‘euphoria of ignorance’: Thinking about how to do history. Ginzburg uses the metaphor from 16th century Italian miller Menocchio to illustrate a new way of looking at historical research.

Everyone knows that sex sells, and a clever use of this maxim at The Renaissance Mathematicus on how to Pep up your sex life with a pinch of salt by Thony C. hooks you in and introduces you to the biography of a one Dr. Thomas Moffett who wrote Healths Improvement: or, Rules Comprising and Discovering The Nature, Method, and Manner of Preparing all sorts of Food Used in this Nation in 1655. The good Dr. co-compiled the Pharmacopaeia Londinensis, later transcribed by Nicholas Culpepper, the apothecary, whose Herbal I enjoy perusing. As a bit of trivia, Dr. Moffett's daughter attained lasting nursery rhyme fame as Little Miss Muffet due to her father's work as an arachnologist.

Medically speaking, The Coolest Thing You’ll See All Day: The Renaissance Anatomy “Pop-Up Book” comes from Jennifer Sherman Roberts at Out of Time. I wish they'd thought of this when I had to take 7th grade biology. And don't we pine for the days when library books carried plates asking readers to 'report to the local librarian any case of infectious diseases occurring in the house while a library book is in (your) possession'?  Infectious Pleasures at Centre for Material Texts will regale you with the story of just such a book.

If you want to amaze and amuse your friends at parties, Jennifer Ouellette at Cocktail Party Physics tells you how in Casting the Yarrow: An 18th Century Method for Calculating Pi. It seems a one Georges-Louis Leclerc, Comte de Buffon, figured it out. He also wrote Histoire Naturelle which inspired Darwin's Origin of Species.

Finally, for sheer historical entertainment, read about  Lord and Lady Grange; Or, Why It Is a Great Pity the 18th Century Never Got Around to Inventing Reality TV by Undine at Strange Company. Dr. Phil can't hold a candle to these two. If your taste runs a bit more modern military, try  Five D-Day Veterans Talkin' Saving Private Ryan at Oral History Audiobooks.

Thanks for coming to the Carnival! Stay tuned for next month's carnival at The Junto: A Group Blog on Early American History. To submit your nominations, go to The History Carnival.

Tweet, Twote, Twat

A former colleague of mine recently graced Facebook with an F-bomb laced rant disparaging Twitter users and our beloved hashtag (#). He wanted to know when it started being called a 'hashtag' since it's always been the 'pound', insisted that it go back to being the 'pound' sign, then proceeded to tell all us Twitter users, in no uncertain terms, what to go do with ourselves.

All I had to say was: #howrude!

Actually, I was a bit surprised, as this guy is part of the generation of Digital Natives - those who have grown up with technology and its associated on line networking sites, as opposed to those of us who remember social networking being a series of hand written letters sent through the post or notes surreptitiously passed in class, lengthy phone calls on phones with lengthy cords, and occasionally cans with string. Aside from a refresher on exercising professionalism in social media, the post made it clear that my former colleague could do with a lesson on Twitter and the history of the humble hashtag. At the very least, he could do with a thesaurus.

 

The hashtag, or # on your keyboard, has been used in computer coding for longer than my fuming friend has been alive. It's used to mark metadata, enabling information to be grouped and searched by a key word or short phrase. Americans know the '#' symbol as the 'pound' key on our telephones and its infuriating use in automated phone systems that entreat us to enter our information "followed by the pound key" only so we can sit on hold for several months until a real person answers and asks for the same information all over again. Similar systems in England say, "then press the hash key". Rightly so, since in England and most of the eastern hemisphere the pound symbol is universally acknowledged to be '£', the symbol for UK currency, the Pound Sterling.

To be blind is bad, but worse is to have eyes and not see. Had my articulate acquaintance ever travelled much or bothered to keep abreast of current trends in social media he would understand the difference between 'pound' and 'hashtag' rather than assault our sensibilities with an excessive use of colorful metaphors (bonus points if you can name the cultural sci-fi phenom from whence that phrase came).

If you're a Twitter user, you will be well acquainted with the hashtag, which has gained omnipresence in social media since its first use on Twitter in 2007. At first it was a way to follow real time news associated with a natural disaster. It has since blossomed into a way to categorize everything from Justin Bieber's hair to breaking world news (some wretched souls actually view those as being one and the same). There are now guidelines for hashtag etiquette, suggestions for the appropriate length of a hashtag, even 'hashjacking' (jumping into a preexisting conversation about a trending hashtag to promote your product or services). According to hashtag.org, "The primary purpose of a hashtag is to bring conversations on the same topic into a single thread to make it convenient for information consumers to view and compare ideas." Such is the mania for hashtags that someone's even gone and named their baby Hashtag (oh, the poor child!).

Here's how it works: a Tweeter - if they're not too verbose and use up their 140 character allowance - can enter the hashtag followed by a word or phrase, such as: #Olympics, #royalbaby, #Trees, #ReplaceMovieTitlesWithPope, #FlowerShow, #meme, #DoctorWho, #onthisday and so forth. The hashtag can also be incorporated into the tweet text but beware of overuse that makes the message difficult to read. Once those hashtags are in place I can go on Twitter, enter a search word and, providing my search word has been hashed (not sure if that's the proper technical term, I just made it up), all the tweets and topics associated with that hashtag are mine for the reading. Like so:

I can always tell when people are confused with social media conventions since the hashtag isn't used on Facebook, yet some people insist on applying hashtags to their Facebook posts. Either they're confused or they're using an on-line social media manager that allows you to enter a status once and upload it to all your social media accounts simultaneously. Hashtags simply have no meaning on Facebook, I'm sorry to say.

I'll admit I was late to the Twitter party, joining in earnest when I met a merry bunch of historians in London who all seemed to be tweeting (I'm looking at you, London Historians!) and boy, am I glad I got there in the end. It's been a great tool for keeping up with history and garden (and garden history) issues and trends around the world, for promoting my blog, and for supporting friends' businesses. I follow an equal number of foreign and domestic people and institutions and have to say that we Americans are lagging when it comes to using social media most effectively. Attitudes such as that so clearly expressed by my former colleague do nothing to recommend us to the wider world, either in our understanding of this growing technological phenomenon or as residents in the ever shrinking global community.

So strongly do I believe in the growing use and popularity of this thing called social media in promoting our businesses and ideas that I even created a voluntary position for myself to aid a friend who's too busy to keep up with all this stuff: Social Media Butterfly. So why not join the party? Come on over to Twitter and follow me @dawiles. I promise I won't go overboard with the hashtags. #Much

Sir Christopher Wren - Rebuilder of London

Today marks the 290th anniversary of Sir Christopher Wren's death. Hailed as one of England's most distinguished architects and largely responsible for rebuilding my beloved London after the Great Fire of 1666, I thought it would be only proper to pay a small tribute to his genius here.

Sir Christopher Wren with St. Paul's in the background.  (attrib)

Born 20 October 1632 in Wiltshire, Wren was well educated, attending Westminster School when his father moved the family to Windsor, then at Oxford. He excelled in maths and sciences, and was appointed Professor of Astronomy first at Gresham College in London then at Oxford in 1661. He was very highly regarded by Isaac Newton, among others. In 1662 he was one of the founding members of the Royal Society.

Also keen on physics and engineering, Wren became interested in architecture and in 1664 was invited to design the Sheldonian Theatre in Oxford. Next came a commission to design a chapel for Pembroke College, Cambridge and from then on architecture was his main profession. He never forgot his scientific roots, though. His Monument to the Great Fire of London - a free-standing fluted Doric column that rises 202 ft (62 m) - was designed to be used as a zenith telescope.

After the Great Fire decimated most of Medieval London, Wren created an ambitious rebuilding plan for the entire city. He designed and rebuilt 51 city churches including the iconic St. Paul's Cathedral that once loomed over the city. Miraculously surviving the Blitz during WW2 and though now obscured by high rises and waterfront buildings on the Thames, St. Paul's still stands guard over the city and when you're standing near it, it hits you just how massive and extraordinary a structure it is.

South face of St. Paul's Cathedral as seen from the top deck of the No. 15 bus riding west.

Wren was created Surveyor of the Royal Works in 1669 which gave him control over all government building in London, and he was knighted in 1673. In 1682 Wren was commissioned to design a hospital in Chelsea for retired soldiers. It still serves as a retirement home for retired soldiers and the internationally acclaimed Chelsea Flower Show is held on the hospital grounds. His other works include The Royal Observatory and the Royal Naval Hospital, both at Greenwich, as well as renovations and expansions to the palaces of Hampton Court and Kensington. He died, after a distinguished and no doubt exhausting career, on 25 February 1723. His gravestone in St Paul's Cathedral features the Latin inscription which translates: 'If you seek his memorial, look about you.'

So, to commemorate his great and lasting contribution to architecture and the most splendid city in the world, I've put together this collection of images of Wren's surviving buildings that I've seen. When I took some of these photos, I didn't realize they were Wren's work until I went inside or looked it up later (I'm not an architectural historian, is my excuse, but I'm learning!). In verifying place names I've come to the conclusion that one simply cannot wander London without bumping into Wren.

St. Martins Ludgate on Ludgate Hill near St. Paul's. Rebuilt 1677-84.

St Dunstan-in-the-East, located midway between The Tower of London and London Bridge. Rebuilt 1688-71. Severely damaged in the Blitz, only Wren's tower and a few walls survive. The ruins have been made into a lovely public garden.

The Sheldonian Theatre, Oxford, 1664-68.

The Royal Observatory, Greenwich, 1675-76.

St. Bride's Church on Fleet Street, 1672. The tiered spire, added in 1701-3, is the inspiration for centuries of wedding cakes!

The remains of St. Mary Aldermanbury. Gutted by a bomb during the blitz, the shell was dismantled and all the stones moved to Westminster College in Fulton, MO where the church was reconstructed and dedicated as a memorial to Winston Churchill.

Christ Church, Greyfriars, near St. Paul's. Rebuilt after the Great Fire, destroyed by enemy bombing December, 1940 . The former nave area is now a public garden and memorial.

Kensington Palace, formerly Nottingham House, was extensively enlarged by Wren when William and Mary acquired it in 1689.

The west face of St. Paul's. On the south face there is a phoenix carved in the stone with the Latin word 'Resurgum': I Shall Rise Again. And rise again it did.

Inside the Painted Hall at the Old Royal Naval College, Greenwich.

St. Magnus the Martyr, at London Bridge, as seen from the top of The Monument, 1671-87.

Façade of Hampton Court Palace designed by Wren for William and Mary.



A UNESCO World Heritage Site, the Old Royal Naval College, originally constructed as Royal Hospital for Seamen at Greenwich, and home to my Alma mater, 1696 - 1712. I felt smarter just standing there.

The Monument to the Great Fire of London, 1671-77

Tower of St. Alban, Wood Street, 1685. The church was partially destroyed during the Blitz. Only the tower now remains and is a private dwelling in a traffic island.