• Wegdam through branches.

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  A direct view at Wegdam from the top of an elevation in the woods.

  

• Wegdam with added central axis.

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  The elevation lies exactly in Wegdam's central axis.

  

• Wegdam survey 1832.

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  No indication of a garden layout near the elevation.

  

• Wegdam in 1889 with park layout.

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  Garden paths lie near the elevation, and a small road leads up to it.

  

• Wegdam in 1929.

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  The small road leading to the elevation is now identified as water.

  

• Wegdam 2010 ditch and elevation.

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  The water now reflects the trees on the small hill.

  

Photos by HvdE. Maps from watwaswaar.nl, with adaptations by HvdE. The layout of Wegdam was right on the edge of many older maps, that is the reason why some of the maps above show only part of that layout.

My recent visit taught me why: a visual relation between hill and house is only possible when the trees have no leaves. Trees were just budding in the beginning of April, and I could now spot Wegdam‘s front door from the top of the hill (see my badly focussed photo).

The difficult part in linking both was that the landscape garden at Wegdam has a visual axis that slightly bends to the right. I took a photo from in front of the house and completely mistook the visual axis for the central axis, although I tried to compensate. The elevation is hidden in the woods to the left of this visual axis. But it appears to be exactly at the end of the central axis starting from the front door. This view is supported by careful examination of the maps, although they have not shown this feature until very recently.¹
Having established that Wegdam and the elavation belong to each other, the questions “what was it for?” and “how old is it?” immediately popped up. Without exhaustive research the answer to both questions must be: not certain, but I’ll give it a shot.

Use.
The elevation must have been visible from the main house, but would certainly have been more noticeable with an eye-catcher placed on it. Far from the house, seen from the Oude Needseweg, the hill (and anything adorning it) is reflected in the still water surface of a rectangular ditch or pond.² The hill must have had some kind of pavilion on it from which the surrounding landscape could be seen. It could have served as a resting place as well: halfway a walk over the winding paths in the park a short climb opened a vista towards the house where the walk had begun. A belvedere is the most logical use this feature could have had.

Age.
If we take the maps at face value, the hill must have been created between 1846 and 1889, together with the layout of the winding paths on what in 1832 was heathland alongside the Oude Needseweg. The ditch / pond between that road and the hill probably dates from the same period, although it was initially drawn as a road. During this period the small circular pond in the central axis near the house was also created.³
A change in ownership -albeit by marriage of the last heiress- might have inspired a new layout. Wegdam had been in hands of the Van Coeverden family for centuries, but was owned by members of the Amsterdam family Meyjes between 1849 and 1897. It is possible they decided to make a more elaborate layout around what up till then seems to have been a luxury farm.

This small hill and pond seem to be the only relics of the layout in the woods. The paths have disappeared under a thick layer of leaves. But it would be great to find out more about this place. If only because creating such a belvedere and mirror pond seems rather old fashioned for the period…
To be continued, I am sure.

1. The (1 : 25.000) topographical map of 1989 is the first map I have seen on which the small elevation is indicated. [back]
2. If common practise is followed here, the elevation was made with the soil dug out to create the pond. [back]
3. These ‘waterworks’ were probably necessary to improve the soil of the heathland, and make a garden layout possible. [back]

The tale has now officially become one of a litter – or a nest – of lions.

Last year, someone casually mentioned the existence of workshops producing (garden) statues in bulk during the 19th century. I knew about that, but had my doubts about these statues, mainly because of the distinct differences in ‘finish’ the lions at De Paauw and Drottningholm had: very smooth for the Dutch examples, where the Swedish lions have a more rugged exterior. The ones in Ireland seem to have a slightly different finish as well, but they unmistakably derive from the same model.
Sometimes the simple explanation (workshops and mass production) really is the right one. But does it answer all questions?

The lions at Powerscourt were placed there between 1850 and 1867, when Mervyn E. Wingfield (1836-1904; 7th Viscount of Powerscourt) transformed the terraced garden into what it is now. That coincides with the periods in which the lions were installed at De Paauw, and probably at Drottningholm.
We know from De Paauw that the lions allegedly were a gift from Tsar Alexander to the Dutch Prince Frederik in the 1850′s. I have assumed the Drottningholm lions could have been a wedding gift to Carl V Carl XV and Prince Frederik’s daughter Louise of Orange Nassau (they are placed behind the theatre that had been out of use for a long time, but was reused by the young pair during the 1860s). The almost simultanuous appearance suggests the statues at all three gardens must have come from the same workshop. But that does not seem to be the case.

The story of the lions at Powerscourt tells us what the original model was, but not where the bulk of these statues was produced. At the end of his life, Mervyn E. Wingfield wrote a description of Powerscourt, in which he meticulously mentions the plans and concepts used to create the garden; the ideas that have been thrown out the window and the materials used to create what was carried out; as well as the provenance of his statues and gates. It is not often that we have access to such a rich account of the creation – maybe ‘assembly’ is a better word – of a garden by the creator himself. The result is a wonderful source of information, which also tells us something about the ‘parents’ of the nest. Wingfield says in his description:

“On each  side of the steps are four couchant lions, designed after those at the foot of the steps of the ascent to the Capitol at Rome (…).”¹

The lion on the left is one of these Roman examples. It is indeed similar to the ones in Wassenaar and Stockholm, although the finish is slightly different to them: the Powerscourt lions seem to be the most litteral copies of the Roman examples, including the line around the shoulder.
But looks deceive. Alterations have been made in the production of the Irish copies, as is clarified when Wingfield continues his sentence:

“(…) , also designed by Mr. Penrose, of a smaller size than the originals.”

The lions at Powerscourt are thus adapted and custom-made by a local person closely involved with the creation of the garden. It would be great to find out whether the lions at De Paauw and at Drottningholm are really similar in size and scale to their Roman examples. If so, not only a common source, but also a common workshop could be found.
A tape measure, anyone in Sweden and in Rome? I’ll do the ones in Wassenaar…

(edited for spelling and a mistake)

1. Mervyn E. Wingfield, A Description and History of Powerscourt, London (1903), p88. [back]

There’s a hint of earlier developments taking place in the 1750s, based on 18th century remarks that are vague¹, or made decades after the ‘fact’.² My recent addition to that short list is published as one of the many different articles in this new book.³ It might not be regarded better than the other examples, because I am writing about a garden that has been demolished in 1804 and of which we do not have any visual record.
My findings with respect to the garden of Sandenhoeff in Overveen do show that it was quite difficult for garden owners in Holland to acquire knowledge about the new gardens in the 1750s and early 1760s. Despite the abundance of knowledge that by then had been built up at the other side of the North Sea, in England.

But the account book entry of a payment for 60 American trees and seeds, made by Sandenhoeff‘s owner Cornelis Backer (1692-1766) in April 1756, can not mean anything other than this: he was trying to create his own landscape garden. And as this payment was also for the delivery of the plants, he may have even started in 1755.
Too bad no visual record of the garden seems to exist.

(Edited to add the correct title of the book and the names of its main editors)

1. The Swede Bengt Ferrner mentioning a ‘natural’ layout at Watervliet, 1759. [back]
2. Harmannus Numan writing in 1797 on developments at Over-Holland that had supposedly taken place from 1756 onwards -a claim that to my knowledge has yet to be confirmed. [back]
3. Henk van der Eijk, ‘Sandenhoeff: een vroeg landschappelijke tuin?’, in: Cacsade 18 (2), 2009, p104-110. Available in stores as: Arinda van der Does, Jan Holwerda (editors), Tuingeschiedenis in Nederland. Veelzijdig erfgoed in ‘t groen (Utrecht 2009). [back]

Avenues are among the most formal and architectural features in any garden, and although their use may vary (lead the eye to a focal point, connect and pull together different parts of the garden, act as a screen or divider between garden parts), it is almost always characterised by the uniform appearance of similar trees placed in a linear pattern. This uniformity can become dull, and while dullness is not something any garden owner or architect strives for, many variations to the theme have been tried. Thus we find gardens in which the avenues are lined by a combination of different sorts of deciduous trees, like oak and lime. Around 1800 the Champs Elysées in Paris was lined with old chestnut trees, which, according to a visitor, formed a beautiful backdrop for the locust trees (Acacia) also planted there.¹

What we see less often is an avenue lined with a variety of deciduous and coniferous or evergreen trees. This practise probably began just before the rise of the landscape style on the European continent. The attraction of such a combination is obvious: the avenue always retains some of its green and its capacity to form a screen. The general difference in growth form between the two types of trees is also attractive.
At Beeckestijn this may have been the case: the alternate depiction of ‘normal’ and pyramidal trees at least suggests this mix. We do not know what types of trees were planted here.

There are only a few other examples known in The Netherlands. I mention them here, because I hope to gather more information on this type of planting in avenues. Two of these examples date from the second half of the eighteenth century and the other was designed and planted during the 1890′s.
Starting with the latter, the Boombergpark in Hilversum, there was a special purpose to the alternate planting of beech and larch. According to the authors of a recent book on the park, the larches were used as sun blocks, to protect the sensitive bark of the freshly planted beech trees.² This view is supported by the fact that the larches were cut out 25 years later because they had “lost their purpose”. In his design for the Boombergpark in Hilversum, landscape architect Dirk Wattez used this kind of planting for two avenues. One was a single lined, slightly winding avenue on the western side of the park where different kinds of trees are planted alternately along the side of the paths. The other -straight- avenue was on the eastern side of the park, with two rows of trees on one side and three on the other (see right hand image). Where there are three rows of trees, they are planted in a quincunx formation, with again alternating sorts along the roadside. Wattez used a smart pattern here, because his plantation was set up in such a way, that from whichever way one looked, there were never three trees of the same species planted in one line. So although the larches may only have had a practical use in the end, Wattez made sure they made an aesthetic impression while they lasted.

The two 18th century examples are Beeckestijn and Twickel. The original planting of both avenues is long gone, leaving us with no information about the species planted there. Two contemporary German examples, of which we do know which species were used, show some possibilities.
The first is not far from The Netherlands, in fact just over the border with Germany in the garden of Kleef (Kleve). In 1781 an avenue of beech and fir was mentioned by Pieter van Winter.³ Van Winter admired the contrast between the colours and texture of both sorts (bright green and soft for the beech; paler green and needle-like for the fir tree). He also says the trees had grown considerably since he saw them earlier, which indicates the trees must have been planted somewhere in the 1760′s or 1770′s.
The second German example is near Aschaffenburg: Schönbusch. Like Beeckestijn, this garden was a mix of baroque elements and landscape garden design, although the execution of the landscape garden at Schönbusch was much bolder than the Dutch garden. For a more formal part of the garden, head gardener Müller was told by the Prince-Elector (Kurfüst) to transform a chestnut avenue into a mixed avenue. He was ordered to plant large larches between the chestnuts: “(…) [zwischen] 2 Kastanien-Baümen jedesmalen ein wohlgewachsener Lerchenbaum hineingepflanzet werden solle (…)“. The reaction of the Prince-elector’s advisor Sickingen is telling: he thinks this is not a good idea, because in his view planting larches between chestnuts in a straight avenue alongside water is of and old fashioned artificiality that was not suitable for a modern garden like Schönbusch.⁴

Going back to Beeckestijn, current belief is that this mixed avenue was planted between 1755 and 1760.⁵ This fits in with what both German examples show: planting mixed avenues was en vogue in the third quarter of the 18th century. It appears to have been swept away by the landscape style coming in from England during that same period. Some of the early landscape gardens kept these mixed avenues intact, possibly because they were still deemed to be modern enough to last for a while.
During the reconstruction ten years ago, in a long and difficult discussion about what to plant here, a compromise was reached: a combination of lime and thuja was planted in this avenue. I was present at that discussion and I believe it is safe to say that none of the participants was happy with this choice. But politically it was the only combination possible at the time.
Back then, the information cited above was not available to the restoration team. Now Beeckestijn is on the threshold of a new start, and the thuja’s are suffering and lagging behind the lime trees (or just plain dead), it is not too late to use this information and do the right thing: dig out the thuja’s and plant firs or larches instead.

Please. It can be done in the next months.

1. Pieter van Winter, writing to his daughter in 1802: “(…) ook doet de importante hoogte en zwaare belommering van oude kastanjeboomen en Acacia’s die tegen elkander een goed effect doen veel tot het schoone gelyk mede de stoffagie van duizende Wandelaaressen zeer voïant gekleed.” Letter from June 24, 1802, found in the Six collection (Amsterdam) inv.nr. 73683. I thank Ruud Priem for this information. [back]
2. Piet Bakker (et.al.), Het Boombergpark in Hilversum: verleden, heden en toekomst van een monumentaal wandelgebied (Hilversum 2005). [back]
3. Pieter van Winter, writing to his parents in 1781: “(…) by ons men heeft thans veele laanen met beuken en sparren om den anderen die sedert ik die gezien heb, vry wat gegroeit zyn en een admirabel adspect opleveren in ‘t groote daar ‘t levendig groen en zagt blad der eerste door het vaalder en penachtig blad der laatste; aardig word gecontrasteert (…).” I am not exactly sure what he means with the ‘by ons’ (here). He was traveling, so he could be referring both to home, or to his location at that moment. Letter from July 16, 1781, found in the Six collection (Amsterdam) inv.nr. 73661. I thank Ruud Priem for this information. [back]
4. J. Albert, W. Helmberger: Der Landschaftgarten Schönbusch bei Aschaffenburg (Worms 1999), p49, ill. 79 and note 197. [back]
5. This part of the garden was only added to Beeckestijn in 1755, and in 1760 the owner decided to start laying out his new garden in the landscape style he saw in England. The mixed avenue must be designed during those years. [back]

Browsing through one of last year’s more eye-catching books, I stumbled upon a maze I knew I’d seen before -or a slight variation to the design.¹

The Sanssouci maze. Detail of a -not executed- part of a remodelling plan made around 1775. SPSG plan collection 11790 (photo from book in note 1). The palace -and the north- is to the right. The image is rotated 180 degrees, which is why all trees are depicted upside down.

This Prussian example of a combined circular and rectangular maze reminded me of a similar maze I saw a short while ago, when I read about a former maze on the isle of Texel, in the upper northern parts of The Netherlands.² I managed to find this terrible image of a plan, which -according to its source- should date from around 1790.
These mazes are not identical, but despite the differences between them, they are remarkably similar. Both have a circular maze with a -slightly crooked- rectangular appendix; but the Texel maze has only one center, where the one proposed for Sanssouci seems to have two.
Both circular mazes are made up of two paths, spiralling outwards from the center of the maze -or rather: inward to the center of the maze.
They both have one path leading from the center that’s ending in a dead end; although the Texel one has a way out from there, while the Sanssouci maze forces you to go all the way back to the center and try the other path.

The Texel design made before or after 1786?
Depending on which source one chooses to use, the Texel design was made before between 1764 and 1786 (for Cornelis Roepel) or between 1786 and 1794 (for Arie Kikkert).³ I believe the maze as shown here might date from before 1786, because of the name used on the plan. The small area has had an impressive amount of names in the past. “Engelsteen” is the name used on the plan from ±1790. An alternative was “Engelse Steen” (“English Stone”). Both names refer to a local belief that the rocky underground of this elevated plot of land was part of one huge stony slab, which supposedly connected Texel to England underneath the North Sea. In fact it is an isolated sediment, created during one of the ice-ages. Today it is simply known as ‘Doolhof‘ or ‘Het Bosje‘ (‘The [small] forest’).

Part of the North Sea, with Texel in the circle on the right.
The Rede van Texel (‘road’ or ‘anchorage’) was situated to the east of the island.

One source is very elaborate about Arie Kikkert creating the maze, refurbishing the place with clipped hedges and summerhouses with benches and mural paintings. This all supports a creation date of 1786 or later. So that source dates the plan to ±1790. It also says Kikkert renamed his patch of forest into “‘s Lands Welvaartszicht“.⁴ And it does not question why the map sports the old name for his property, instead of the new one he himself invented? I believe the plan was made before 1786. One source even specifies this and dates it to the last months of 1774, but does not give any supporting evidence for that claim.⁵

Relationship between the two desings?
Regardless of its precise dating, the plan for the Texel maze has been created approximately the same time or shortly after the Sanssouci remodelling plan was drawn. Which does raise the question how and why these two almost simultaneous designs can bear so much similarities? They are separated by almost 600 kilometers of land and sea and situated in separate countries. The Sanssouci design was made for a Prussian king, the Texel design for a local buff, working in or highly dependant of a country whose political and economical role was diminishing sharply -and with no known cultural relations whatsoever.

If the design was indeed made for Cornelis Roepel, there is a chance he may have had contacts with important garden owners with connections or ideas. Roepel worked for the Admiraliteit van Amsterdam (Amsterdam Admiralty), which was one of the most powerful and influential organisations in The Netherlands. And although Roepel was situated in what we now consider as an outpost of the country, in his age this was the point where tradeships from all over the world anchored before sailing through to Amsterdam -or vice versa.
The design has a familiar feel to it, but I still haven’t figured out how these designs ended up looking like each other as they do. Both gardens may have had the same designer, but it seems more likely both designs refer to another example. The only example I know that comes close to these two, is a design published by Dezallier d’Argenville. Although that design was highly popular and used in several gardens in The Netherlands, it must have been oldfashioned by the time the Texel and Sanssouci designs were made. Besides that, it only accounts for the paths, spiralling out from the center of the maze. None of the other characteristics of the Sanssouci and Texel mazes are present.
I doubt these mazes have had the same designer. But there surely is one combined source for both designs?

‘Dessein d’un Labirinthe avec des cabinets et des Fontaines’, from: Antione Joseph Dézallier d’Argenville, La Théorie et Pratique du Jardinage, Paris, 1709.

1. Katrin Schröder: ‘Englische Parthien’ and foreign trees- The ‘natural taste’ in the Frederician garden arts of Prussia; in: Prussian Gardens in Europe. 300 Years of Garden History. Stiftung Preussische Schlösser und Gärten Berlin-Brandenburg (SPSG) 2007, pp. 34-39. [back]
2. The current owner, Staatsbosbeheer, announced a revitalisation of the Doolhof (the Dutch name for a maze and, though the maze itself has gone, still the name for the road running past it). It soon became clear that by revitalisation Staatsbosbeheer meant refurbishing the paths and adding some benches and more attractive plants to the worn-out bush the Doolhof had become. [back]
3. The latter period is also mentioned in a recent publication on mazes and labyrinths: Fons Schaefers and Anne Miecke Backer, Doolhoven & Labyrinten in Nederland, Uitgeverij De Hef Publishers, 2007, p. 44 (under the alternative name: ‘Het Bosje’). [back]
4. That name translates roughly as “Prospect of the country’s Prosperity”, probably because from this elevated spot -a whopping 15 meters above sea leavel!- on the island he had a good view at the tradeships from Amsterdam, Hoorn and Enkhuizen docking at the Rede van Texel), waiting for a favourable wind to sail out to the East Indies. [back]
5. Doolhof: Tegen de Hoge Berg ligt een interressant loofbosje dat de Doolhof wordt genoemd. Het werd eind 1774 aangelegd door Cornelis Roepel of Ruepel, commissaris van de Amsterdamse Admiraliteit, die daarmee een lusthof voor zichzelf en zijn familie wilde creëren. De trap op het hoogste punt (15 meter boven de zeespiegel) van het bosje wordt ook wel de Zeven Pannekoeken genoemd. Het doolhof, zo genoemd naar de labyrintische dooreengevlochte slingerpaden valt onder beheer van de Stichting Natuurmonumenten en Staatsbosbeheer. [back]

Another way in which gardens and the moon can interact, is the way it is done at Beeckestijn. There, on the 1772 map of the estate, part of the menagerie is a circle with a plan that can best be described as a stylised map of the moon: the bright spot in the lower part of the circle is on the same location as the large crater on the moon’s surface, known as Tycho crater. The other forms and shapes -in essence: the lights and darks- may not resemble the moon for a bit, but that is less important. I’ll try to explain why I think that is the case -and why I believe this part of the garden symbolises the moon.

Quality of the available source material is one of the issues to address. The large crater can be spotted with the naked eye (even from the largely urbanised place where I live, with nothing but ‘light pollution’ around), whereas the other parts of the surface can be difficult to discern without the right gear and instruments. To us, the actual surface of the moon is known and available in an instant, through top of the range telescopes, photography and internet. For people in the 1760′s, when this garden was laid out in the form known to us through the 1772 estate map, that wasn’t the case. Ofcourse people knew what the moon looked like, they may have looked at it better than most of us ever have. But we know what the moon ‘exactly’ looks like just because we have good representations of the moon’s surface at hand, enabling us to better understand the surface than we would ever be able to by seeing for ourselves. What they saw, is exactly the same as what we see. But their representations of the moon have left more room for interpretation than ours.

The picture on the right is such a contemporary representation of the moon’s surface. It was published in what in those days must have been the benchmark of knowledge: l’Encyclopedie by Diderot. This image is taken from the Astronomie-section in the VIIth part of that immense work, which was published in 1767-68.³ It shows the same view of the moon we have today. The engraving is a fairly exact representation of the moon’s actual surface, but there are slight differences, caused mainly by the coarseness of the engraving. Apparently this image was deemed a good enough representation of the moon; we could all go out at night and see for ourselves to check. But it is also a highly schematic representation of the moon, which allows room for interpretation and different views.

Thinking along those lines there is another issue: we must ask ourselves how important it may have been for the designers and owners of Beeckestijn to recreate an exact image of the moon’s surface. The fact that it sort-of resembled the moon might have been sufficient, just like the fact that Beeckestijn’s triumphal arch was probably painted on a piece of wood and would only have looked real from a distance. There are many, many more examples of these practices in The Netherlands throughout the ages, I mentioned a contemporary one earlier, from an English student in Leyden, traveling between Delft and Leyden in 1765:

‘The passage there is very pleasant, the gardens of the Merchants running the whole way down the river; by what I can see of the Dutch gardens they are infinitely inferior to ours, & seem to be greatly behind us in Taste, their only ecxellence is their neatness which is extraordinary – their decoration is odd, they fill their gardens with paintings, & if they want to lengthen a walk, they paint a gravel one on a piece of board, to deceive the Eyes & I saw more than one painted Aviry (sic)’.⁴

Besides that it still is a garden and no matter what message someone wants to convey with the design of parts of the garden, it still needs to be practical. In this case this means that where copying the exact surface of the moon would have left the owner with an unpleasant walk, the surface is stylised and adapted in such a way as to primarily work as a garden feature, and secondly convey an inaccurate, yet convincing image of the moon.

The interpretation of this garden feature is in my view obvious when we notice a similar styling on the opposite side of the central axis at Beeckestijn, where the flower garden forms a mirror-feature of the menagerie, both near to, and at the same distance from, the main house.⁵ Here we see a circular form, consisting of bend curved flower beds spiralling outward from an open centre. These spiralling flower beds can be viewed seen as the rays of the sun, and the whole flower garden as a representation of the sun. Both features have been identified as the moon and sun before.⁶ We cannot be sure whether these designs actually stand for the sun and moon, but it seems likely.

To return to the central topic with a question: why would someone be keen to have the moon visualised in the menagerie of his garden? There are many posible answers possible to that question, and it is very tempting to put one of these forward as a definitive one. But the truth is we don’t know at all. It is quite possible both garden feautures represented the ‘male’ (sun, flowergarden) and the ‘female’ (moon, menagerie), as we see happening in more gardens in The Netherlands: like an echo of the prince and princesse’s gardens at Paleis Het Loo in the 17th century. Antoher possibility is one that has been linked with the 1772 map earlier by Heimerick Tromp, where various garden features are said to contain symbols that point towards the Freemason movement.⁷ In this case he also identifies the moon on the 1772 map, but in a different section of the garden. The then owner of Beeckestijn, Jacob Boreel Jansz., is not listed as a freemason, but two of his grandsons (one also called Jacob, the other Willem François) became one later on. A tantalising hint towards Mrs. Boreel also being interested in the Freemasons comes from a letter sent to her husband Jacob by a friend, Cornelis Backer. At the time, Jacob Boreel was in London, sent out as an envoy on behalf of the Dutch government. It was his responsibility to maintain the right for Dutch ships to transport goods during the Seven Year’s War (in which The Netherlands were neutral, but the English accused the Dutch of transporting goods on behalf of the French, with whom England was at war -ofcourse we never did such a thing :0).⁸ Cornelis Backer wrote on the 11th of June 1759:

“Hede morgen had ik de Eer te ontfangen die van UHEdGest. der 8 jongstleden; ik heb daar op de papieren van UHEdGestr. rakende de free masson van Mevrouw Boreel; onder mijne recepisse ontfangen en zal daar op alvorens te berichten (…) met den Heer R.P. in den Haag spreeken.”⁹

Sadly, we don’t have the original letter and papers Boreel sent, and a reply on the subject is also missing (or: not found yet). It is strange that it was Mrs. Boreel who is mentioned in relation to this, because as far as I know, the Freemasons remained a strictly male brotherhood until the end of the 19th century.

In conclusion (for now): I believe the layout of the menagerie at Beeckestijn is meant to represent the full moon. It is not a direct copy of the moon’s surface, mainly because that probably was not important but it would also not be usefull as a garden feature people should be able to walk through. The date of the design must lie between 1760 and 1772, but it is possble the design leans heavily on the engraving in the Encyclopedie, pushing the date forward to between 1768 and 1772. The reason why Jacob Boreel chose to depict the moon in his menagerie is unknown, even when we take into account that it mirrors a representation of the sun on the other side of the central axis.

Comments and suggestions are very welcome.

1. Source: mattie_shoes photostream on flickr [back]
2. Gardener’s calendars at least until the end of the 18th century have an abundancy of references like this: “sow after the third new moon of the year” -although the religious calendar was very important as well, but in reformed Holland the saints -for obvious reasons- were not as important as elsewhere. [back]
3. The image is rotated, not just to put it in the same direction as the other images used here, but because we actually see the moon like this at our longitude. The Beeckestijn version must have been created in the same period: the style of the design is very much in line with what we know about the early landscape style, adopted in The Netherlands around 1755, but slowly finding its way into Dutch society during the 1760′s and 1770′s. [back]
4. He means to say: Aviary. James Harris to his father, September 16, 1765. Source: Hamphire Record Office (Winchester, England), Malmesbury family archive, inventory 9M73, inv.nr 262/5 [back]
5. The main house is the dark blob below in the centre. [back]
6. Joke van der Aar & Siebe Rolle, Een beeld van een buitenplaats: de tuinen van Beeckestijn, Museum Beeckestijn, Velsen-Zuid, 2000, p44-45. There is one problem with this identification: it can only be presented in a convincing way, when we take both features into account. It is difficult to prove these identifications when we focus at each individual feature. [back]
7. Cascade 15 [2006], nr. 2, p. 6-13. In Freemasonry, the sun and the moon are important elements. [back]
8. Holland wanted to hold on to a free-trade treaty both countries agreed upon in 1674. England felt the treaty was outdated and -mainly- did not serve their needs anymore, as England was on the rise and Holland had become an ecomically less important state. [back]
9. A selfmade translation, using some shortcuts: “This morning I received your [letter] dated June 8. I have also received your papers with regard to the Freemasons of Mrs. Boreel”. He goes on saying that he will discuss the matter with one of the highest politicians (the mentioned “R.P.”, which are not his initials, but those of his function: Raadspensionaris. I have yet to find an English equivalent for that. His name was Pieter Steyn, though.) in Holland, and he’ll reply on the subject later on. Source: Nationaal Archief, Boreel family archive, inventory 1.10.10, inv.nr 132.Cornelis Backer was the owner of Sandenhoeff, a small estate in Overveen. [back]

(Update@8-Feb-2007: Beeckestijn was awarded a place on this list as early as 1930. The Dutch newspaper Het Vaderland reported on December 2nd of that year, that Beeckestijn, together with neighbouring Waterland, Heerenduinen (also in Velsen) and Tusschenwijck (in Wijk aan Zee) was going to be protected under the Natuurschoonwet. All four estates were owned by J.G. Boreel van Hogelanden, Esq. Talk about fiscal benefits….

Of these four estates, only Heerenduinen is on the current list now. Why the other three are taken from the list, and when, is not clear to me. To be continued.)