There is a peculiar stand-alone altar in the gardens of Wörlitz, the famous early landscape garden laid out by the Von Anhalt-Dessau family from 1767 onwards. Standing near the kitchen building, close to the palace, it caught my eye when I visited the garden in 2009. The sides of the circular altar are dotted with reliefs of isolated figures, denoting the moon goddess Selene, Oceanos, some other figures and a few downward facing torches. It just seems a perfectly strange iconographic mix.

An altar as a weird conundrum, and as I thought at the time, quite unique.
An altar similar to this takes a prominent place in a portrait of Louise Henriette Wilhelmine von Anhalt-Dessau, painted in 1799 (picture obviously taken from a book cover). But the proportions do not match – the real one is thicker and lower- and the figures on the painted altar are closer to each other. Also, the Selene that is visible on the painting is in a slightly different angle in comparison with the real altar I saw at Wörlitz.

We could file those differences as the result of the artist’s freedom. But there are at least two of these altars, I found out during a visit to the Louvre earlier this year. In a statue gallery in the Roman sculpture section I saw the altar pictured below (with apologies for the image quality, there was not much light and I only had a phone at my disposal).¹

The Louvre altar shows more figures and in general has more in common with the painted Selene altar on Louise’s portrait. According to the museum’s information, the altar used to stand in the Diana Temple in the Villa Borghese gardens and there is a Ch. Percier drawing from 1790 mounted to the wall to prove that. The moon goddess Luna (Selene in Greek) and Diana were ultimately seen as similar figures, so the appearance of a 2nd century altar depicting Selene in a temple dedicated to Diana in a Renaissance garden is not particularly strange.²
The altar at Wörlitz does not look like a roman example. More likely it is a neoclassical remake or pastiche of known examples such as the Borghese altar. It is hihgly likely that the owners of Wörlitz either visited the Borghese garden, or knew drawings or prints of the Temple of Diana.
It is obvious from the painting that the iconography was important for the family. But it would be nice to know for certain how this altar with this particular iconography came to adorn the majestic gardens of Wörlitz.

1. Musee du Louvre (Inventaire MR 952, Nro usuel Ma 508); purchased by the museum in 1807. The museum is also in doubt with respect to the identity of the two young men. [back]
2. The altar was purchased 17 years after the Percier drawing. At this moment a new Empire-style altar occupies the temple in Villa Borghese. [back]

So we have three instances where similar lion statues appear in gardens across Northern Europe, in a very limited period: between 1850 and 1867. And their inspiration, which is much older, originated far more south and travelled across the Mediterranean from Egypt to Rome.
This all suggests a sculptor’s studio produced copies of the original in small numbers, during a short period in the third quarter of the 19th century.

And then photo’s of Scott fountain at Belle Isle Park started to appear in the photo group on Flickr. This fountain was started in 1919, finished in 1925 and created by architect Cass Gilbert and sculptor Herbert Adams. Around the base four lions play a role in the elaborate waterworks of the fountain.

The similarities with the 19th century statues are obvious. Compared to the ones at De Paauw (above) the Detroit statues (right) show the details in more relief, but the lions in Wassenaar seem to have the smoothest finish of them all. Seen from the side the Belle Isle Park lions look very much like the originals in Rome (see the HGimages link below this post for more photos).

But the gap between the occurance of these statues is over half a century.

Why Herbert Adams (1858-1945) used these lions, and where he got his inspiration from, is material for further research. He went to Europe in the 1880s, where he worked for French sculptor Antonin Mercié, who consequently created two statues in the US in 1890 and 1891.
Adams’ work consists mainly of busts and statues of people, he may even have only sculpted the Scott-statue situated near the fountain. In that case Cass Gilbert (1859-1934) could have chosen to install exactly these four lion statues on the fountain.

Amidst all the uncertainties, it is clear that the Palatine lions remained an inspiration for sculptors far into the 20th century, even outside Europe. Whether they were mass produced as copies since the 1850s, or whether they kept inspiring individual artists over and over again, remains to be seen.

The Unknown

An intriguing insight into the way the garden looks to the archaeologists is presented by Boaz Gross from Tel Aviv university, as presented on the LiveScience.com website (click image to enlarge). We see different kinds of trees within an enclosed space. There is water supply by what seems to be some sort of aqueduct supported by arches, letting the water run into and through the garden through irrigation channels.
But this drawing is intriguing not because what it tells us about the garden. For instance, it doesn’t give any information about dimensions, territory, about the organisation of plants, nor does it tell us what the paths looked like or -bar one- where they were.
It intrigues because of the way it looks.

The Representation

Neo-Assyrian bas relief in the British Museum (645-635 BC, reg.nr. 1856,0909.36). probably Possibly a representation of the Hanging Gardens.

The drawing immediately sprung out because it does not show what the garden looks like, it shows how a garden would have been represented in ancient times. And I was impressed. Because it is very difficult to draw something you have no first hand impression of, and not make it look like something produced in your own day, like something remotely familiar to you.¹
And then I found it: the drawing of what the Ramat Rachel garden may have looked like, is an almost exact copy of a bas relief now kept in the British Museum (including the man standing in a doorway, wearing a pointy hat). The relief is believed to be a representation of the Hanging Gardens of Babylon, or of gardens similar to these. Researchers now believe these hanging gardens were located in Nineveh.

Which makes it a very appropiate illustration, given the ties between the regions, but not a representation of what the Ramat Rachel garden may have looked like (let alone an ‘artistic impression‘). The archaeologist knew that, the science websites missed it.
Like I said: I’m very curious to see what the archaeologists will find.

1. The quite detailed description of Pliny’s garden near Rome has inspired artists in the 17th and 18th century to draw plans of that garden, based on the description alone; and every plan is more telling of the garden style in the artists time than of Pliny’s garden. [back]

The underpass in Stadspark Schoonhoven (photo HvdE).

So we’re talking about a deliberate design decision by Springer. And a successful one at that: this bridge alone makes it worthwhile to make a circular walk through the rectilinear and narrow Stadspark. It is no secret that Springer did not invent this feature. The most famous example in The Netherlands is the 18th century large Swiss bridge at Elswout, but there are more.

Reason for this post is that a less known example must have directly influenced Springer, even before his long career took off. It is not mentioned in the booklet that was published on the occasion of the reopening of the renovated Stadspark.¹ I’m talking about a bridge in the garden of Frankendael, in Springer’s hometown Amsterdam.

Between 1867 and 1882 Frankendael was in use as a horticultural school, lead by the Koninklijke Nederlandsche Tuinbouw Maatschappij “Linnaeus”. Leonard Springer attended this school between 1871 and 1874. In 1886 – Springer had already established himself as a successful beginning landscape architect and the school had ceased to exist – Springer drew a map of the garden based on measurements done by students in 1873.
On that map (image detail courtesy of Wageningen UR, location indicated by the red circle -HvdE) the bridge can be seen passing over the water and a path running alongside each other. To my knowledge no illustrations of this feature exist, so we’ll need the example from Elswout below as reference.

Springer lived with and around this bridge and underpass for a few years, so it is no surprise that it pops up in his oeuvre in a later stage. But even then he adapted the theme to local circumstances (no waterway under the bridge) and combined it with a rock garden – which was very fashionable at the time.

Thus the classic underpass in the hands of Springer underwent a small scale metamorphosis, making it suitable for both location and taste-of-the-day.
Glad to see the work of a true artist in a lovingly renovated form again.

1. WErkgroep SPringerpark, Het Stadspark in Schoonhoven (Schoonhoven 2008). Constance Moes briefly mentions the existence of this that bridge in the monography of Springer, but does not make the connection with later occurances of such underpasses in his later work; in: Constance D.H. Moes, L.A. Springer, Tuinarchitect, Dendroloog (1855-1940) (Rotterdam 2002), p94, note 25: “In de tuin waren elementen van de landschappelijke aanleg uit het begin van de negentiende eeuw intact, zoals de vijver met eiland en de hoge Zwitserse brug.” [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]

It turns out we are talking about at least four lions. Some closer inspection of other photos of the Swedish lion revealed that there are also two lions at Drottningholm.¹ It is not the same set as at De Paauw, though, because the ones in Sweden both have their tail on the right side of their body, while one of the statues in The Netherlands has his tail draped on the left side of his body.²
The lack of symmetry suggests that two different lion types were made, possibly in series, which could be combined at will. It is therefore quite possible that more of these lion statues are hidden in some collection or garden.

Be that as it may, the more interesting question is whether all lions share the same provenance. This is suggested by their similar appearance.
According to current literature, the lions at De Paauw were placed there somewhere in the early 1850s. It is claimed to be a gift from the Russian tzar Alexander II to Frederik, prince of The Netherlands. The earliest reference to that story I have found is from as late as 1924, when a large part of De Paauw was transferred to the council of Wassenaar. Its soon-to-be-former owner, Mr. Chabot, presented the set of lions and a trough as a gift, and in an accompanying letter stated how Frederik had originally received the statues.³

In most literature since then this story is repeated, with some inevitable minor alterations (e.g. ‘in 1850′, ‘around 1850′ or ‘in the early 1850s’). “Tzar Alexander II” is always named as the giver, even though he wasn’t tzar until 1855. The most logical conclusion would be that the actual donation was made by Alexander in the later 1850s. But that may be taking the easy route, and it does not explain how the Drottningholm lions fit into this story?

That last part is probably the easiest to answer. Knowing that prince Frederik’s daughter Louise married the Swedish crown prince Carl in 1850, certainly ties both families, gardens and lion groups firmly together. The fact that in 1850/51 architect Hermann Wentzel (1820-1889) worked in Stockholm on the Nationalmuseum, right before he was commissioned by prince Frederik at De Paauw in 1853, only strenghtens these ties.
This means we can already identify one possible explanation for the occurence of these statues in exactly those two gardens: two of the lions, given to Frederik by tzar elect Alexander, may in turn have been a gift from Frederik to his daughter.

But there is a catch here: in a recent article on the work that Wentzel did at De Paauw, an almost casual remark states that the lions were a gift by Alexander to a relative of Frederik. This relative then passed the lions on to him, for his newly remodelled garden.⁴
This puts things in a totally different perspective, and forces us to turn our attention to Drottningholm, where the lions are situated in front of the garden façade of the famous court theatre. Could it be the statues were originally a gift to the Swedish royal family, who then passed two lions, a trough and an architect on to the future queen’s father?

More on that in part 3.

1. For photos see: Ove Hidemark, The Drottningholm Court Theatre: its advent, fate and preservation (Stockholm 1993), pp 4+5, 64, 122+123 and 137. [back]
2. Both couples are placed facing opposite directions. The resulting difference is that -when seen from the side- in Sweden one always sees only one tail at a time, whereas at De Paauw either none at all, or two tails are visible. [back]
3. On September 27, 1924. See: Frans Micklinghoff, Kastelen, buytenplaetsen en landgoederen in Wassenaar (Wassenaar 1998), p150. It is likely that a dating of around 1850 or the early years of the following decade is inspired by the fact that in those years an extensive remodelling of both house and garden took place, under supervision of the prince. The German architect H.H.A. Wentzel was called in to give the estate a pompeian atmosphere. These slick, white marble lion statues must have fitted into the picture quite well, hence the dating in the early 1850s. [back]
4. Wim Meulenkamp and Carla Oldenburger, ‘A miniature Klein-Glienicke – Dutch stibadia modelled on Prussian examples’ in: Prussian Gardens in Europe. 300 years of garden history (Leipzig 2007), p99. But it never becomes clear where this information comes from. [back]

Well, first of all: the lion I recognised was on a picture of a statue. And secondly his lookalike is situated in the west of The Netherlands, at De Paauw in Wassenaar. Close to home and I had taken pictures of that one shortly before I was browsing and found the one in Sweden.

The lions at Drottningholm (above, photo Pippi Netgirl)
and at De Paauw (below, photo HvdE).

They are similar, although the finish of both statues is completely different: the details of the lion at De Paauw are much smoother, less outspoken than the Swedish specimen. The biggest difference is the watering hole forming the mouth of the Dutch lion (which is one of a set of two lions placed on either side of a water trough, or bath tub).
Apart from these superficial differences, they share a lot of features.

• The hair on top of the head parts in a V-shape on both lions and the ears are similar (the ear of the Drottningholm lion is damaged, but one can see it is the same).
• The facial features (eyebrows, cheekbones, nose) are the same and the spots where the whiskers would be are more outspoken in the Swedish lion, but the De Paauw specimen also has them.
• The manes are similar.
• The tendons (visible on the left forelegs and on their sides near the hindlegs) of both lions are shaped exactly the same.

And to top it off: there are horizontal lines that look like cracks or seams at both sides of the head on both lions, and they are at the same height.

The conclusion must be that these lions have been created after the same model. There must have been two models, though, because at De Paauw the lions have their tail on different sides of their body (both tails are visible from the house).
It looks like prefab workshop material, possibly delivered with smooth features, which could easily be adapted to the buyer’s taste when he wanted them to appear stronger, or at least more distinct. Which -as always- leaves me with more questions than answers, but the main ones are: where are they produced and who made them?

What I also do not know is whether the Drottningholm lion has company, nor do I know whether that lion was made for the palace gardens itself, or brought in afterwards.¹ The picture above is the only evidence I have of it.
The lions at De Paauw are reportedly a gift from tzar Alexander II to prince Frederik of The Netherlands (king Willem II’s younger brother), a donation that supposedly took place somewhere in the 1850s. That story, however, is riddled with uncertainty and opportunities to present an alternative view.

As is the case in all royal families in Europe, close ties are not hard to find between the two men. But how does Sweden tie in, and is that even important? More about that in part 2. For now, I leave you with two challenges: prove me wrong and spot the deciding differences I have missed; and educate me (us) on the provenance of the Drottningholm lion.

1. Due to the fact that most literature about Drottningholm seems to be in Swedish and/or is concerned with the theatre of the palace. Combine that with the fact that the only publically available (in The Netherlands) copy of Nils G. Wollin’s book ‘The marbles in the Royal Park of Drottningholm and their origins‘ (Stockholm, 1965) is missing from its library in Amsterdam, and you can imagine why. [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]