Essays; Stevenson, Robert Louis, 1850-1894 -- Travel
kitchen plots: an eager or toilful gardener misbecomes the garden
landscape; a tasteful gardener will be ever meddling, will keep the
borders raw, and take the bloom off nature. Close adjoining, if you are
in the south, an olive-yard, if in the north, a swarded apple-orchard
reaching to the stream, completes your miniature domain; but this is
perhaps best entered through a door in the high fruit-wall; so that you
close the door behind you on your sunny plots, your hedges and evergreen
jungle, when you go down to watch the apples falling in the pool. It is
a golden maxim to cultivate the garden for the nose, and the eyes will
take care of themselves. Nor must the ear be forgotten: without birds a
garden is a prison-yard. There is a garden near Marseilles on a steep
hill-side, walking by which, upon a sunny morning, your ear will suddenly
be ravished with a burst of small and very cheerful singing: some score
of cages being set out there to sun their occupants. This is a heavenly
surprise to any passer-by; but the price paid, to keep so many ardent and
winged creatures from their liberty, will make the luxury too dear for
any thoughtful pleasure-lover. There is only one sort of bird that I can
tolerate caged, though even then I think it hard, and that is what is
called in France the Bec-d’Argent. I once had two of these pigmies in
captivity; and in the quiet, hire house upon a silent street where I was
then living, their song, which was not much louder than a bee’s, but
airily musical, kept me in a perpetual good humour. I put the cage upon
my table when I worked, carried it with me when I went for meals, and
kept it by my head at night: the first thing in the morning, these
_maestrini_ would pipe up. But these, even if you can pardon their
imprisonment, are for the house. In the garden the wild birds must plant
a colony, a chorus of the lesser warblers that should be almost
deafening, a blackbird in the lilacs, a nightingale down the lane, so
that you must stroll to hear it, and yet a little farther, tree-tops
populous with rooks.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Elsewhere in the archive
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account