Water is an essential component in any garden, it is the archetypical image of our primordial sea, it is chaos, the origin of all, the source of life, it purifies, regenerates, it is at one and the same time the creative and the destructive principle. It may seem like a paradox, but the oldest known gardens in the world were created in the middle of a desert, the most hostile terrain conceivable for a garden. Three thousand years before Rome was founded, the inhabitants of Mesopotamia had managed to acclimatize palm trees and render their delta land fertile through a system of irrigation channels. Mesopotamia’s ancient gardens, which were probably fairly rudimental, may have had some sort of religious significance for a long time.
The first Middle Eastern peoples, the Assyrians and the Babylonians, had an efficient set of laws governing water, which held an important place as a divinity because it was held to be the essence of life. Gardens were created in Nineveh, Nippur and Lagash, but the most famous were Nebuchadnezzar II’s legendary Hanging Gardens of Babylon near the gate dedicated to the goddess of fertility, Ishtar. They were one of the seven wonders of the world, built on ascending terraces and irrigated through a system of channels. Water was pumped up to the top of the gardens, stored in cisterns and then redistributed.
The Persian kingdom that succeeded the Babylonian rulers proposed new models, which were to prove popular throughout the East, later spreading to Africa and Spain on the heels of the Arabic conquests. The first Persian gardens we hear about are Cyrus’ garden in Pasargadae (sixth century BC) and Artaxerxes’ in Susa (fifth century BC).
These first gardens had a geometric design, divided into four quarters by two bisecting water features or paths. Similar four-lobed patterns called chahar-bagh (literally: four orchards) underlined symbolic allusions to the four points of the compass and the four vital elements of earth, air, fire and water, according to the cosmic vision of Zoroastrian philosophy. With the rise of Islam the classical structure of the Persian garden was assimilated by the new religion, which considered gardens sacred, symbols of the paradise described in the Koran that man can never hope to imitate on earth. Islamic gardens are surrounded by a wall and follow the usual four-square scheme, with two perpendicular water features which meet in a central pool or pavilion. Water, with its gentle murmur or more forceful rush, is the voice of any garden; it is its life source, a god-given gift.
In Baroque gardens, where artifice was prized and nature designed to impress, water plays a pivotal role. It spouts towards the skies in defiance of the law of gravity, or is suddenly stilled in the ample basins that broadened so many Baroque perspectives.
This spectacular, carefully-crafted use of water is pushed to its extreme limits during the period. Lakes, pools and basins assume multiple guises and shapes, while water-driven organs and other feats of hydraulic engineering come back into fashion.
At Versailles the huge stretches of tamed water and infinite waterworks were governed by sophisticated systems managed by expert hydraulic engineers. Waterfalls, fountains, canals and a plethora of other hydraulic devices were all bought into play at the passing of the king during the Promenade du Roi and the extravagant parties organised for the sovereign and his court.
The echo of Versailles spread beyond France’s borders and inspired a host of extravagant imitations, among them the sumptuous palace and gardens of the Peterhof, built for the Tsar of all the Russias, Peter the Great. The palace was set on a bluff overlooking the Gulf of Finland, with a distant view of the roofs of St Petersburg, the new capital of the kingdom founded by the Tsar, thus constantly under the attentive eye of its master. The gardens, laid out over two levels, and were designed to hinge on the palace; with the upper gardens lying inland and the lower gardens sloping gently down to the sea.
The upper gardens harbour a wealth of ornamental water features which also played a practical role as cisterns to feed the numerous fountains and waterfalls in the lower gardens. Here a spectacular waterfall, set just beneath the palace itself, cascades 16 metres down marble steps, flows into a round fountain and then on into a canal all the way down to the sea, symbolically uniting the sea with the residence of the Tsar. Indeed part of the inspiration behind the Peterhof palace was to symbolise the kingdom of the sea and the Tsar’s dominion of the waters, a fittingly magnificent command post he could govern his newly-conquered Swedish lands from.
By the end of the 18th century the fashion for spectacular, artificial Baroque fountains had run its course, and water had returned to the more natural springs, streams and lakes found in so many English gardens.
Lucia Impelluso
The first Middle Eastern peoples, the Assyrians and the Babylonians, had an efficient set of laws governing water, which held an important place as a divinity because it was held to be the essence of life. Gardens were created in Nineveh, Nippur and Lagash, but the most famous were Nebuchadnezzar II’s legendary Hanging Gardens of Babylon near the gate dedicated to the goddess of fertility, Ishtar. They were one of the seven wonders of the world, built on ascending terraces and irrigated through a system of channels. Water was pumped up to the top of the gardens, stored in cisterns and then redistributed.
The Persian kingdom that succeeded the Babylonian rulers proposed new models, which were to prove popular throughout the East, later spreading to Africa and Spain on the heels of the Arabic conquests. The first Persian gardens we hear about are Cyrus’ garden in Pasargadae (sixth century BC) and Artaxerxes’ in Susa (fifth century BC).
These first gardens had a geometric design, divided into four quarters by two bisecting water features or paths. Similar four-lobed patterns called chahar-bagh (literally: four orchards) underlined symbolic allusions to the four points of the compass and the four vital elements of earth, air, fire and water, according to the cosmic vision of Zoroastrian philosophy. With the rise of Islam the classical structure of the Persian garden was assimilated by the new religion, which considered gardens sacred, symbols of the paradise described in the Koran that man can never hope to imitate on earth. Islamic gardens are surrounded by a wall and follow the usual four-square scheme, with two perpendicular water features which meet in a central pool or pavilion. Water, with its gentle murmur or more forceful rush, is the voice of any garden; it is its life source, a god-given gift.
In Baroque gardens, where artifice was prized and nature designed to impress, water plays a pivotal role. It spouts towards the skies in defiance of the law of gravity, or is suddenly stilled in the ample basins that broadened so many Baroque perspectives.
This spectacular, carefully-crafted use of water is pushed to its extreme limits during the period. Lakes, pools and basins assume multiple guises and shapes, while water-driven organs and other feats of hydraulic engineering come back into fashion.
At Versailles the huge stretches of tamed water and infinite waterworks were governed by sophisticated systems managed by expert hydraulic engineers. Waterfalls, fountains, canals and a plethora of other hydraulic devices were all bought into play at the passing of the king during the Promenade du Roi and the extravagant parties organised for the sovereign and his court.
The echo of Versailles spread beyond France’s borders and inspired a host of extravagant imitations, among them the sumptuous palace and gardens of the Peterhof, built for the Tsar of all the Russias, Peter the Great. The palace was set on a bluff overlooking the Gulf of Finland, with a distant view of the roofs of St Petersburg, the new capital of the kingdom founded by the Tsar, thus constantly under the attentive eye of its master. The gardens, laid out over two levels, and were designed to hinge on the palace; with the upper gardens lying inland and the lower gardens sloping gently down to the sea.
The upper gardens harbour a wealth of ornamental water features which also played a practical role as cisterns to feed the numerous fountains and waterfalls in the lower gardens. Here a spectacular waterfall, set just beneath the palace itself, cascades 16 metres down marble steps, flows into a round fountain and then on into a canal all the way down to the sea, symbolically uniting the sea with the residence of the Tsar. Indeed part of the inspiration behind the Peterhof palace was to symbolise the kingdom of the sea and the Tsar’s dominion of the waters, a fittingly magnificent command post he could govern his newly-conquered Swedish lands from.
By the end of the 18th century the fashion for spectacular, artificial Baroque fountains had run its course, and water had returned to the more natural springs, streams and lakes found in so many English gardens.
Lucia Impelluso
