building the american landscape - Univerza v Novi Gorici

UNIVERSITY OF NOVA GORICA
GRADUATE SCHOOL
BUILDING THE AMERICAN LANDSCAPE
Territories and Cities in the 19th Century Great Trasformation
DISSERTATION
Luca Guido
Mentors:
Renzo Dubbini
Angelo Maggi
Venice, 2013

BUILDING THE AMERICAN LANDSCAPE
Territories and Cities in the 19th Century Transformation

Building the American Landscape.
Territories and Cities in the 19 th Century Transformation
Abstract
The purpose of this research is to demonstrate the essential trait of the concept of
landscape, which developed in America throughout the 19 th century.
The decades under examination, from the Independence of the United States
(1776) and the end of the Civil War (1865), were analysed with the intention of
providing a general view of the problems concerning the landscape and the major
transformations of American landscapes, buildings and towns.
The most important architectural, artistic, intellectual works realized throughout
the nineteenth century are subjects of this intellectual history on American
landscape. From the rural cemeteries to the first urban parks, the landscape
became a symbol of identification of the nation. The fields were no longer intended
only for agricultural practices, and after years of diffusion of horticulture, the
territory was no longer interpreted as a symbol of Eden. The aesthetic writings and
project considerations of the first landscape architects replaced the primitive
demands for subsistence farming. This rapid revision of the landscape themes led to
a major revolution in thought. The idea that the landscape was common property
and that one day this property could be in danger was an exquisitely American
concern.
Nowadays it should be difficult to think the modern culture of landscape, the
contemporary interest in preservation of natural spaces, and the contemporary
approach to architecture without the work of the first American landscape
architects.
Key words
American landscape, nature, wilderness, agriculture, plantation houses, grid,
horticulture, utopian experiments, middle landscape, industrial towns, manifest
destiny, West, frontier, landscape gardening, picturesque garden, urban planning,
American mind, Herman Melville, Walt Whitman, Ralph Waldo Emerson, Henry
David Thoreau, Thomas Jefferson, Andrew Jackson Downing, Alexander Jackson
Davis, Frederick Law Olmsted, Frank Lloyd Wright.

Grajenje ameriške krajine
Teritoriji in mesta v transformaciji 19. stoletja
Povzetek
Namen raziskave je pokazati bistveno značilnost koncepta krajine, ki se je razvil v
Ameriki v teku 19. stoletju.
Desetletje, od neodvisnosti Združenih držav (1776) do konca državljanske vojne
(1865), je bilo analizirano z namenom zagotavljanja splošnega vpogleda na
probleme vezane na krajino in veliko preobrazbo ameriških krajin, zgradb in mest.
Najpomembnejša arhitekturna, umetniška, intelektualna dela realizirana tokom
devetnajstega stoletja so predmet intelektualne zgodovine ameriške krajine.
Od podeželskih pokopališč do prvih mestnih parkih, je krajina postala
identifikacijski simbol naroda. Polja niso bila več namenjena izključno kmetijskim
praksam, ozemlje pa, po letih širjenja vrtnarstva, ni predstavljalo več simbol raja.
Estetski zapisi in obravnave projektov prvih krajinskih arhitektov so nadomestili
primitivne zahteve samooskrbnega kmetijstva. Tako rapidna revizija krajinskih tem
je povzročila veliko revolucijo misli. Ideja, da je krajina skupna last in da bi bila
lahko nekega dne ta last v nevarnosti, je bila izključno ameriška skrb.
Danes bi bilo težko zamisliti sodobno kulturo krajine in interes za ohranjanje
naravnih okolij ter sodobnega pristopa k arhitekturi brez dela prvih ameriških
krajinskih arhitektov.
Ključne besede
Ameriška krajina, narava, divjina, kmetijstvo, plantažne hiše, grid, vrtnarstva,
utopični eksperimenti, srednja krajina, industrijska mesta, usoda, Zahod, meja,
urejanje parkov, slikoviti vrt, urbanizem, ameriški um, Herman Melville, Walt
Whitman, Ralph Waldo Emerson, Henry David Thoreau, Thomas Jefferson, Andrew
Jackson Downing, Alexander Jackson Davis, Frederick Law Olmsted, Frank Lloyd
Wright.

The Oklahoma Land Rush, April 22, 1889, by John Steuart Curry (1937‐39)
Building the American Landscape is the result of a theoretical reflection developed during the last years at the
University of Nova Gorica, international graduate school in Economics and Techniques for the Conservation of
the Architectural and Environmental Heritage.
At the beginning, I thought to study only some aspects linked to relationship landscape‐architecture in the work
of Frank Lloyd Wright. I was inspired by Reyner Banham’s researches in Scenes in America deserta (1982), more
the Getty Institute in Los Angeles authorized me to examine the Banham’s papers in the archive but,
unfortunately, I didn’t realize this project.
The journeys through Illinois and Wisconsin, in the footsteps of Wright suggested me to extend my interests
towards main theoretical and cultural basis of the great American architect. Many people and researchers had
travelled those territories. Therefore I thought it was more interesting to understand how Emerson, Thoreau,
Whitman, and the myth of American frontier had contributed to the organic language and to build the American
landscape.
In Rome, at Centro Studi Americani, I have had the opportunity to address my studies towards the literary and
philosophic aspects discussed in my dissertation. The services and electronic databases offered to members
allowed me to see hundreds of academic magazines related to landscape and other important issues in my
research.
American institution as Massachusetts Historical Society (in particular the archive dedicated to the Thomas
Jefferson Papers) and the Library of Congress have simplified my work providing valuable and evocative
documents immediately in digital form.
I was able to examine many 19 th century publications quoted and included in the bibliography by virtue of
project “Archive”, which connects many American University, making available scans of ancient books now
without copyright.
However this work couldn’t have been written without the suggestion of my mentor Renzo Dubbini and the
accurate observations of Angelo Maggi.
A special thanks to Robert McCarter for his interest in my interpretation of relationship between the
Jeffersonian grid landscape and Broadacre City project by Wright.
I am indebted to Francesco Coppolecchia for the time and assistance he dedicated at Canadian Centre of
Architecture to providing some information on the book La città americana.
Finally this work is dedicated to my parents: in fact they are my most regular reader who supported my studies
and researches.
Many energies are in these pages. I only regret that I have but many places to visit for my intellectual
satisfaction. I hope to go to these and other landscapes. Last but not least “Building the American Landscape” is
simply a chapter of a great history of contemporary landscape that I would like to write.
Disertacija je bila narejena v okviru sofinanciranja študija po Javnem razpisu »Inovativna shema za
sofinanciranje doktorskega študija za spodbujanje sodelovanja z gospodarstvom in reševanja aktualnih
družbenih izzivov – generacija 2011 Univerza v Novi Gorici«, ki ga delno financira Evropski socialni sklad.

BUILDING THE AMERICAN LANDSCAPE
Territories and Cities in the 19th Century Transformation
Content
‐Introduction p. 2
‐The first America p. 9
‐Nature, agriculture and the language of “freedom” p. 14
‐Agricultural America p. 21
‐The grid as landscape p. 46
‐America, or the Israel of our time p. 61
‐Utopian experiments and perspective Eden p. 69
‐The “middle landscape” p. 86
‐Industrial America p. 91
‐Manifest Destiny p. 118
‐First experiences of landscape gardening p. 124
‐The landscape as a principle of urban planning p. 154
‐The Wilderness, the West and the Significance of the Frontier p. 163
‐Conclusion p. 175
Attachments
‐Chronological Table
‐Bibliography
1

Introduction
The purpose of this research is to demonstrate the essential trait of the concept of
landscape, which developed in America from the end of the eighteenth century and
throughout the nineteenth, and the way in which this has marked the principal
artistic, architectural and intellectual thoughts.
Whereas the relationship between man and the landscape in Europe has been
continually subjected to mediation, intellectualization and filtration by numerous
“structures” such as towns, consolidated decision‐making bodies and the different
social roles, in America man has experienced something totally new compared to
the centuries‐old approach to nature and to the perception of the landscape in the
old continent. And it is precisely in America where man and nature developed a
special relationship, with completely modern aims and contradictions. The wild
lands of the North American continent were crossed by masses of migrants who
placed their dreams and their hopes in America. Thousands of people found
themselves in close contact with the purest, most luxuriant nature thanks to
technological developments, such as steam boats and railroads. Even if we bear in
mind the well‐known situations of deprivation of their rights suffered by the black
slaves and the American natives, the extreme egalitarianism imposed by events,
which marked people in the emerging American democracy, together with their
faith in what appeared to so many poor people as the promised land, have created
a sort of specific American religion. It generated not merely a desire, but also an
eschatology, capable of giving a purpose to the destiny of the new American
citizens. Once again, religion in America was strengthened. However, new faiths
were born, which developed in conditions open to social experiments, poetic and
philosophical speculations and utopian experiments.
Thus, in the course of this dissertation, although a specific geographical and
chronological area may be referred to, we will often prefer to use the adjective
American, rather than the term United States, since the former carries broader,
more evocative and perhaps more contrasting issues.
2

If, on the one hand, it is correct to say that the people who devised this particular
way of referring to the American landscape were Europeans, or rather of European
origin, on the other hand the meaning of their particular experience and of the
novelty of exploring the Great Plains and mountain ranges of America should never
be forgotten.
Back in Old Europe, man had had the possibility of getting to know and making his
mark on the landscape, of gauging and changing it within the realms of possible,
and had done so by superimposing projects and cultures lasting hundreds of years.
Tested ownership systems controlled the enjoyment and understanding of the
landscape, at least in this day and age. Not by chance was the idea of a public park,
interpreted as a natural landscape to be preserved for large numbers of citizens,
developed in the new continent, far from the horti conclusi (walled gardens), from
the Renaissance gardens, from the parks of the great royal palaces and from the
hunting reserves, wonderful private landscapes, owned by the noble aristocracy or
by the rich bourgeoisie.
Thus, the Renaissance tradition of considering the garden project as an integral part
of the architecture merged with the American need to plan increasingly large areas.
They did not wish to limit the latter to a chessboard pattern of geometrically
aligned avenues, parterres and rond‐points (circular areas where avenues meet), but
preferred to follow the English tradition of reproducing or enhancing pre‐existing
and perhaps even picturesque sites, using sophisticated reproductions to create a
convincing marriage between the work of man and the work of nature.
The work of Thomas Jefferson (1743‐1826) in Monticello, Virginia is a typical
example of the landscape, which was being created at the time, a cross between a
geometrical and a scientific approach, where the landscape architect became an
attentive land surveyor, farmer and botanist.
Whereas, in the course of the nineteenth century, Europe was experimenting new
approaches to the art of territory and town planning by redefining public spaces
and reconsidering housing policies with close reference to the social
transformations of the time, America initially introduced an intellectual discussion
3

of the issue of the landscape design of spaces, in which man lived and walked,
before finally putting it into practice.
The cultural actors of these events as Whitman, Emerson, Thoreau represented the
ideological core of the landscape research accomplished by designers as Downing
and Olmsted.
It was not merely a matter of redefining the relationship between town and
country, of demolishing the old defensive walls, as often happened in Europe, but
rather of picturing and giving a meaning to the experience of living and of feeling a
connection with the wide, natural spaces, of which man had become aware and
taken possession.
Yellowstone, the first national park in the world 1 , was founded in the United States.
Numerous public parks and nature reserves were created following the concept
that they “benefit the moral and physical and health of the population” 2 and
parkways were devised, all of which became their first experience of landscape
planning on a regional scale.
Therefore, what we wish to stress is the direct relationship between man and
nature and the way in which this began in America. This research will essentially
outline the growth of this relationship and show how it took shape in the American
landscape.
Nature was sometimes represented artistically and historically as a kind of ideology
anchored in the myth of wilderness. Many of the tales about the epic of the old
West help us to take a better look at this issue and to identify the theme.
We only need think of the development of the U.S. railway network as a result of
geographical expeditions, military installations and the settlers. As the railway
advanced, an answer was found to the problems of infrastructures and
communications. However, at the same time an aesthetic experience, capable of
even generating the first types of tourism, based on the vision of incredible sights of
uncontaminated nature became available. However, the landscapes we are talking
1 The Yellowstone National Park established by the U.S. Congress and signed in law by the president
Ulysses S. Grant on March 1st, 1872
2 ZAPATKA Christian, The American landscape, New York, Princeton Architectural Press, 1995, p. 27
(Italian translation L’architettura del paesaggio americano, edited by Mirko Zardini, Milano, Electa,
1995, p. 27)
4

about very soon became a symbol of life on the frontier. These places came very
close to the definition of cultural landscapes given by the World Heritage
Committee of UNESCO. The great American spaces referred to ultimately represent
“the combined work of nature and of man” 3 rather well.
On the one hand, the nomadic landscapes of the Native Americans, on the other
“the machine in the garden” 4 , the modern technology of the means of
transportation, which burst into the wilderness, moving the border of civilization
forward a little more every day.
The most sophisticated American intellectuals believed this relationship between
man and nature was developed by giving life to the so‐called transcendentalist
movement, which was probably the most interesting and authentic philosophical
contribution to the definition of the concept of landscape in America.
A new conception of man matched a new vision of the world and nature, in other
words nature circumscribed a new model of the individual with precise artistic and
intellectual interests. As mentioned previously, it was not only the philosophers
who expressed their considerations, but also artists, men of letters, politicians and
landscape architects. Our interest is to all of them.
In this respect, it must be said that the most important study, the most precise
analysis ever made, on which this research is based, was the book by Leo Marx
entitled The Machine in the Garden: Technology and the Pastoral Ideal in America
(1964), which somehow gravitated around the image of the painting by George
Innes, The Lackawanna Valley (1855), but which had the defect of not lingering on
the landscape/architectonic experiments and on the problem of the frontier,
dwelling at length instead on the literary and poetic aspects.
In the course of the following year, the large amount of research, which followed,
privileged instead the analysis of problems which were more strictly urban. The
historical studies by John William Reps on the birth of the American cities
represented the prevailing trend in the sixties and seventies of the last century
3 Operational Guidelines for the Implementation of the World Heritage Convention. UNESCO, World
Heritage Centre, Paris, 2005, p. 83
4 MARX Leo, The Machine in the Garden. Technology and Pastoral Ideal in America. Oxford, Oxford
University Press, 1979 [first ed. 1964] (Italian translation La Macchina nel giardino. Tecnologia e
ideale pastorale in America. Roma, Edizioni Lavoro, 1987)
5

especially, during which the interests of urban and country developments prevailed
over the more contemporary viewpoint of the landscape.
One of the most important Italian contribution about this issue is the book La città
americana, dalla guerra civile al New Deal (1973), related to Reps’ researches for
various aspects but absolutely original in the hypothesis put forward. Infact this
book proposes the analysis of city problems looking towards the capitalistic dialectic
(a priori understood as the true American “tradition”) and omitting other
developments. According to Giorgio Ciucci, Francesco Dal Co, Mario Manieri‐Elia
and Manfredo Tafuri (the Italian authors of the book) the landscape was only a
romantic interlude, part of progressive planning myth and basic element of agrarian
ideology during 1930s.
On the contrary our subject is the American landscape and his “tradition” during the
frontier period in the culture of architectures, cities and territories.
We want to show ad highlight how the landscape entered the American
consciousness, how the wilderness entered the city, how nature and agriculture
“built” interesting relationships with architectural and urban design.
For these reasons when we talk about the analysis of the jeffersonian grid
landscape we introduce the Wright’s project of Broadacre City offering a very
different interpretation from that presented in La città americana.
This research has arisen today from an academic interest in the landscape, in the
relationship between man and nature, and follows once again in the direction of the
studies by John Brinckerhoff Jackson, the author of some excellent books, which are
little known in Europe and in Italy, and the critical attitude embodied by Lewis
Mumford in The Brown Decades (1931). In the aforementioned publication
Mumford compared culture and architectonical aspects in America, which was
moving towards the ultimate frontier, and used symbolic figures to analyse the
various events.
We present similar roles, however, focus the reflection on the period from
Independence (1776) to the Civil War (1861—65) and dwell on the ideas and the
projects which have shaped the American landscape. For this very reason there will
also be forays into more recent years and into projects known to the vast public of
6

architects. Furthermore, the symbolic events discussed in architectonic
historiography, such as the classical influence of Thomas Jefferson’s architecture,
Pierre Charles L’Enfant (1754‐1825) plan for Washington (1791), and the events
which brought architecture right into the School of Chicago, to the Columbian
Exhibition of 1893 and finally to the City Beautiful movement,(1870s‐1890s), all act
as the background to a story, which goes off at a tangent to the story of the
architectural and urban development of the main U.S. cities. Naturally, there are
many examples we could have proposed to tell this brief history of the creation of
the American landscape and of the development of the idea of nature. We have
taken upon ourselves the responsibility of the choice, conscious that something has
been left out, but aware of the necessity to do so in order to reconstruct an
extensive and open‐minded vision, which does not hinge on specialized and
technical aspects which, as Max Weber says, afflicts studies in the most varied fields
in this day and age.
The projects and events mentioned in this dissertation are often accompanied by a
series of quotations from literature of the period. According to Walter Benjamin,
these quotations do not protect the story, on the contrary, they purify it as they
have the ability to tear the themes away from their original context and destroy the
most obvious interpretation. In fact, they suddenly carry the reader into another
world, a critical point in his reading, from which he will be able to draw similar or
different conclusions from the author’s.
We would like to think that different authors in distant moments wrote the pages of
a great book which no‐one will manage to completely rewrite.
To summarise, this research attempts to identify suitable tools with which to
consider from a theoretical point of view the great architectural and landscape
contributions by Frederick Law Olmsted and Frank Lloyd Wright, the most
authentic, mature exponents of the relationship between man and nature. It wishes
to tread the path of a tradition which embraces a long history with protagonists,
such as Walt Whitman, Ralph Waldo Emerson and Henry David Thoreau.
7

We have tried to do so by suggesting an approach which is not strictly academic,
but which presupposes the evolution of the concept of landscape with its numerous
twists and turns.
We are well aware that the actions and the projects analyzed in the course of the
following pages cannot be extrapolated from the context of the political,
intellectual and artistic developments throughout America during the nineteenth
century up to the beginning of the twentieth century.
8

The first America
A short premise is required to place the first events of exploration and settlement
of the coastal territories of North America into context.
The historiography and sociological and political literature about American city have
dissected and analysed in detail the decisive aspects of the first colonial settlements
on the Atlantic coast. Philological expertise has now reconstructed how the first
settlements were founded and their significance derives naturally from the
economic role played by the formation of the colonial empires of France, Spain and
above all England. Thus, the foundation of the first towns was based for practical
and symbolic reasons on concepts of Europe’s experiences of town planning.
Traditional town planning in the Old World was, therefore, the background on
which to root multiple needs and stimuli, which often differed greatly from those in
Europe. These towns took on a shape which reflected the purpose of creating a
common market, a controlling base (not merely a military outpost), a place from
which to govern and exploit the territory, according to the talents of the settlers.
However, in the initial years the very shape of the towns was based on defensive
criteria against possible external enemies.
The United States began as a sort of extension of Europe, subject also to a cultural
dependency, which remains evident today especially on the East Coast, where
contacts with the old homeland were more direct, and where intellectual influences
had less possibility of being diluted by contact with the great prairies of the Mid‐
West and the endless deserts of the West.
However, as the years passed, reciprocal cultural influences mixed until they
merged to create a regenerated awareness and a latent consciousness, so very
different from that of their countries of origin. The historian Maldwyn A. Jones
clearly described the spiritual essence of the new‐born American man:
Long after they became politically independent, Americans remained in
a state of cultural (and to a lesser extent, economic) dependence upon
Europe, reading European books, aping European fashions, drawing on
European technological “know how” and recruiting European labour to
till their fields and develop their mines and factories. Yet even the first
9

colonial settlements were never an exact replica of Europe. Right from
the start American society and culture diverged from European models.
The American environment had dissolving effects: it demanded and
encouraged new ways of thinking and behaving and forced European
settlers to modify the institutions they brought with them.
The sheer size of America, its remoteness from Europe, its climatic and
topographical peculiarities, its seemingly endless economic
opportunities, the extraordinary energies required to subdue the
wilderness ‐ these factors helped to form a fluid, mobile society and
bred a temper that was at once restless, optimistic, enterprising,
reckless, and impatient of external restraint. A further source of
divergence was that Americans drew not on one European tradition but
several. Although during the crucial early decades of settlement English
influences were paramount, by 1760 there was a sufficient non‐English
leavening to give the population a distinctive spice. In the nineteenth
century America attracted vast numbers of immigrants from every
Country in Europe – and from other parts of the world. A unique blend
of peoples and culture was to result. Americans then remained in
Europe’s debt but evolved a distinct society with an ethos and an idiom
of its own. 5
The geographical factor, that is the abundance of available lands compared to an
“overcrowded” and exploited Europe, together with the physical distance from the
old social injustice also contributed to form the typical belief of invulnerability of
the new nation. A vision that was definitively put into question by the shock
produced in the U.S. and in the Western world by the terrorist attacks of September
11 th , 2001.
Besides, the idea of American greatness and success has been fed and reinforced
over the years to the point of overturning the correct, aforementioned assertions
by Maldwyn A. Jones, which referred to the colonial period and to the nineteenth
century. Suffice it to list but a few items of daily use, such as the mass‐produced car,
the Apple computer and jeans, to understand how America has gradually become
convinced that beyond its political/military victories it has reached the summit of
the world economic system on the basis of indisputable factual data, and can
dictate fashions and create an empire made of rules of behaviour with precise
meanings.
5 JONES, A., Maldwyn, The Limits of Liberty American History 1607‐1992, London, Oxford University
Press, 1995 [first ed. 1983] p. 1 (Italian translation Storia degli Stati Uniti d’ America. Dalle prime
colonie inglesi ai giorni nostri, Milano, Bompiani 2011, p. 7)
10

However, it must not be forgotten that the American dream has been achieved
mainly at the expense of the Natives and the slaves.
In his book A people’s History of the United States (1980), Howard Zinn (1922‐2010),
perhaps the most important, radical U.S. historian (in Europe he would more
correctly be called an intellectual antagonist), dealt with the social and political
conditions, which marked the years before the independence of the United States.
He shifted the perspective on to ordinary, defeated people, in other words on to
those, who have never been capable of writing their history. According to Zinn’s
interpretation, American history hides an identity made of ferocious conflicts of
interest between opposing classes:
It seems quite clear that class lines hardened through the colonial
period; the distinction between rich and poor became sharper. By 1700
there were fifty rich families in Virginia, with wealth equivalent to fifty
thousand pounds (a huge sum in those days), who lived off the labor of
black slaves and white servants, owned the plantations, sat on the
governor's council, served as local magistrates. In Maryland, the settlers
were ruled by a proprietor whose right of total control over the colony
had been granted by the English King. Between 1650 and 1689 there
were five revolts against the proprietor. In the Carolinas, the
Fundamental Constitutions were written in the 1660s by John Locke,
who is often considered the philosophical father of the Founding Fathers
and the American system. Locke's constitution set up a feudal‐type
aristocracy, in which eight barons would own 40 percent of the colony's
land, and only a baron could be governor. When the crown took direct
control of North Carolina, after a rebellion against the land
arrangements, rich speculators seized half a million acres for
themselves, monopolizing the good farming land near the coast. Poor
people, desperate for land, squatted on bits of farmland and fought all
through the pre‐Revolutionary period against the landlords' attempts to
collect rent. Carl Bridenbaugh's study of colonial cities, Cities in the
Wilderness, reveals a clear‐cut class system: >At the very start of the
Massachusetts Bay Colony in 1630, the governor, John Winthrop, had
declared the philosophy of the rulers: "... in all times some must be rich,
some poor, some high and eminent in power and dignity; others mean
and in subjection." […] New York in the colonial period was like a feudal
kingdom. The Dutch had set up a patronship system along the Hudson
River, with enormous landed estates, where the barons controlled
completely the lives of their tenants. In 1689, many of the grievances of
the poor were mixed up in the farmers' revolt of Jacob Leisler and his
group. Leisler was hanged, and the parcelling out of huge estates
11

continued. Under Governor Benjamin Fletcher, three‐fourths of the land
in New York was granted to about thirty people. He gave a friend a half
million acres for a token annual payment of 30 shillings. […] The
colonies, it seems, were societies of contending classes ‐ a fact obscured
by the emphasis, in traditional histories, on the external struggle against
England, the unity of colonists in the Revolution. The country, therefore,
was not "born free" but born slave and free, servant and master, tenant
and landlord, poor and rich. 6
The myth of the Atlantic coast as a place of shelter, where land to be cultivated
could be found and social conflicts could be solved, appears more complex and
well‐structured than it appears at first sight.
When the Pilgrim Fathers arrived in 1620 on the Mayflower, the colonial
experiment was at its second attempt. After the foundation of Jamestown in
Virginia in 1607, the first black slaves had already been put ashore in 1619 by a
Dutch ship, in what had become the first English settlement on American soil.
However, immediately after the first half of the eighteenth century, the ideas of
equality and the language of freedom found ample approval, at least from an ideal
point of view, in the first English colonies. On the basis of these new convictions,
and with the idea and the symbol of a Nation to be built, intellectuals and influential
individuals were able to unite many people in the fight against their original
motherland, perceived by most as a distant, tyrannical power.
The years immediately after the Declaration of Independence (1776) were those
that ignited the engine of the melting pot, without, however, putting an immediate
end to slavery and inequality. These were the years in which a relationship of nonsubjection
to Europe was defined and in which the land of the new continent was
idealized, on the basis of political independence and under the symbol of hope.
The past, however, was not immediately repudiated and put aside in favour of the
future. The idealization of American nature surely has European roots and appeal.
Think how the primitive aspects of the idea of the noble savage, so dear to
6 ZINN, Howard, A people’s History of the United States, New York, Harper&Row, 1980 [quotation
translated by the author] (Italian translation by Erica Mannucci, Storia del popolo americano, dal
1492 a oggi, Milano, il Saggiatore, 2010, pp. 39‐41)
12

Rousseau, and the Arcadian simplicity offered by life in the New World inspired
American intellectuals.
However, American life was also made up of contradictions. Contemplation of the
beauty of the natural environment could also take place without renouncing
mundane finery and courtly architectural evocations of a mythological past. Many
settlements of the plantations in the Deep South were born in this spirit.
Nature could also be exploited for agricultural production by means of buildings,
which served above all as distinctive landmarks.
The idea of a bucolic America totally dedicated to agriculture soon clashed with the
evolution of technology, which burst into the wilderness, giving rise to the epic of
the frontier and of the Wild West.
13

Nature, agriculture and the language of “freedom”
We hold these truths to be self‐evident, that all
men are created equal, that they are endowed
by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights,
that among these are Life, Liberty, and the
pursuit of Happiness. 7
Benjamin Franklin (1706‐1790), a protagonist in the years of the Revolution (1775‐
1783), was one of the first Americans to be widely known in Europe.
He lived in London as the representative of the colonies, in Paris as an American
plenipotentiary minister; his affable, sincere manners and his genius made him
immediately popular.
He was to ironically nourish certain aspects of the mythology of American nature,
making fun of his interlocutors, whilst at the same time favouring an exotic idea of
the colonies. In 1765 in the London pages of The Public Advertiser 8 he was to
reassure English readers, flaunting a certain humour, about improbable news
coming from America: not simple literary inventions, but “one of the finest
Spectacles in Nature”, alluding to the jumping whales and to cod hunting in the
Niagara Falls. In 1773, the naturalist William Bartram (1739‐1823) started a long
voyage in the Southern colonies, which lasted four years, and his discoveries and
adventures are recorded in his book Travels Through North & South Carolina,
Georgia, East & West Florida, the Cherokee Country, the Extensive Territories of the
Muscogulges, or Creek Confederacy, and the Country of the Chactaws. Containing
an Account of the Soil and Natural Productions of Those Regions; Together with
Observations on the Manners of the Indians (1791).
The publication (1791) is a botanical report, and at the same time one of the first
contributions by American literature to the description of luxuriant sceneries,
picturesque landscapes, ferocious animals and Native Americans intent on
contemplating nature. The theme of the Native inhabitants was also dealt with by
7 Second sentence of the United States Declaration of Independence (1776)
8 FRANKLIN, Benjamin , “The Grand Leap of the Whale”, The Public Advertiser, May 22, 1765
14

Francois‐René de Chateaubriand (1768‐1848), who talked about it in three tales 9
inspired by his experiences in the forests of North America (1791).
As in Bartram, here too, the inhabitants of the wild territories of the New World
resembled the characters described by Rousseau 10 according to the taste of the
Europeans of the time. The landscapes were also accurately described, and the
visions of nature combined together and developed parallel to those of the ancient
world 11 . In his scientific report of the voyage made to Latin America between 1799
and 1804 Le voyage aux regions equinoxiales du Nouveau Continent (1810‐1825),
Alexander Von Humboldt (1769‐1859) described majestic landscapes, full of natural
beauty, however, the Old Europe, with its baggage of antiquity and classicism,
remained a frequent term of comparison, despite continuous and sincere denials:
Between the tropics on the contrary, in the lower regions of both Indies,
everything in nature appears new and marvellous. In the open plains,
and amid the gloom of forests, almost all the remembrances of Europe
are effaced; for it is the vegetation that determines the character of a
landscape, and acts upon our imagination by its mass, the contrast of its
forms, and the glow of its colours. 12
On the contrary, Thomas Jefferson (1743‐1826), one of the authors of the
Declaration of Independence (1776) and third President of the United States (1801‐
1809), did not limit himself to simple descriptions or idealizations. He was the first
American to work as project designer to “build” the landscape in his estate of
Monticello (1769‐1809) 13 [Figures 1‐12]. Numerous studies 14 have analyzed the
various phases of the construction of the Monticello villa and the planning choices
9 Les Natchez (written between 1793 and 1799 but published only in 1826), Atala (1801) and René
(1802)
10 See CUNLIFFE, Marcus, The Literature of the United States, Harmondsworth, Penguin Books, 1969
pp. 42‐43 (It. tr. Storia della letteratura americana, Torino, Einaudi, 1970, pp. 44‐45)
11 See DUBBINI, Renzo, Geografie dello sguardo. Visione e paesaggio in età moderna, Einaudi, Torino
1994, pp. 66‐80
12 HUMBOLDT Von, Alexander, Le voyage aux regions equinoxiales du Nouveau Continent, Paris,
1810‐1825 (English translation by Helen Maria Williams, Personal Narrative of Travels to the
Equinoctial Regions of the New Continent, [London, Longman, 1818] New York, AMS press, 1966, vol
III, p. 354)
13 The Monticello estate is included in the list of UNESCO World Heritage Sites, together with the
University of Virginia of Charlottesville (1817‐1826), another example of the interest in the
relationship between architecture and the natural landscape.
14 See Bibliography. Here we only mention: BEISWANGER, William, Monticello in Measured Drawings,
Charlottesville, Thomas Jefferson Memorial Foundation, 1998;
15

adopted by Jefferson as an architect. His strict use of Neo‐Palladian designs [Figure
2] made Jefferson an up‐to‐date architect who supported the choices of the main
protagonists of the late Enlightenment. Furthermore, his allusions to Renaissance,
Roman and Greek architecture acquired the meaning in far‐away Virginia of a
fundamental commemoration. The classicism of Jefferson’s neo‐Palladianism, his
interest in agriculture, represented the programmatic, barely concealed dream of
creating a rural landscape of bucolic and democratic inspiration.
The past did not simply recall the justice of those far‐away times, but used
architecture to bring back hope and faith, too, in the forms of the newly‐born
Republic. Therefore, our interest in Monticello, with its 5,000 acres of land
(approximately 2,000 hectares), is not in the building itself, nor in its decorations,
but in the agricultural vocation of the building, which, with its vegetable and flower
gardens, plantations and roads, proves it is a perfect workhouse of nature [Figure
3]. The formal perfection of the architecture and the completeness of the
architectural project divert our attention from the experimental and at times even
ephemeral use of the landscape [Figure 4‐5] .
The Italian, Filippo Mazzei, played a privileged role in the agricultural development
of the Monticello estate. He was a versatile character, who was to become a
frequent visitor and friend of Jefferson and of other influential politicians from the
moment of his arrival in Virginia in 1773, in the wake of a group of Tuscan farmers.
Jefferson, who felt the Italian influence so deeply that he had called his estate
Monticello 15 , gave him the use of a nearby property named Colle, and became a
staunch friend of Mazzei, who reciprocated in turn with the supply and the sale of
plants, vegetables and vines 16 .
However, the role of Filippo Mazzei in the history of the birth of the American
Republic goes far beyond the role of a simple farmer dedicated to the
contemplation of nature. As numerous detailed research studies have already
15 See GOODWIN, S. Lucia, “Italians in the Monticello orchard” in STANTON, C. Lucia, Anniversary
dinner at Monticello, April 12, 1982, in memory of Thomas Jefferson, Charlottesville, Thomas
Jefferson Memorial Foundation, 1982 and the link
http://wiki.monticello.org/mediawiki/index.php/Italian_Influence_in_the_Orchard URL visited May
28, 2012
16 See MHS archive, Coolidge Collection of Thomas Jefferson Papers, Garden Book, pp.
15,22,29,30,31,35,40
16

highlighted 17 , Mazzei was also one of the inspirers of the thesis of the principle of
equality of men, incorporated in the Declaration of Independence. For this reason,
John F. Kennedy himself granted Mazzei honours which no‐one had ever given him
previously in his book A Nation of Immigrants (1958) 18 .
Among the documents made available by the Massachusetts Historical Society, the
electronic archive dedicated to the Thomas Jefferson Papers 19 contains the detailed
diaries, the Garden Book and the Farm Book, in which Jefferson recorded his
intentions and the agricultural actions taken, listing not only the plants, seeds,
flowers, but also the origins of the flora and the successes and failures of the
relevant cultivations [Figures 11‐12].
The extraordinary interest aroused by these handwritten documents highlights the
continual modifications of the landscape and the attempts made on it.
The hypothesis completed during the years of his presidency contained four
elliptical paths, the roundabouts, which surround the hill top and as they slowly
descend to lower levels, they gradually increase in circumference [Figure 7].
These paths give access to several landscaped areas, designed around the main
building. Furthermore, “The ground between the upper and lower roundabouts to
be laid out in lawns and clumps of trees, the lawns opening so as to give
advantageous catches of prospect to the upper roundabout. Vistas from the lower
roundabout to good portions of prospect” 20 . To the East the paths go beyond The
Grove, obtained by thinning out a nearby portion of natural forest, cleared of the
undergrowth, then skirting the Mulberry Row to the South, with the pavilions used
17 See MARCHIONE, Margherita, Philip Mazzei: Jefferson's "Zealous Whig", Morristown, NJ, American
Institute of Italian Studies, 1975, and in bibliography the other studies by Marchione about Mazzei.
18 See KENNEDY, F. John, A Nation of Immigrants, New York, Harper Collins, 1964 (first ed. 1958), pp.
15‐16: “The great doctrine incorporated into the Declaration of
Independence by Thomas Jefferson, was paraphrased from the writing of Philip Mazzei, an Italianborn
patriot and pamphleteer, who was a close friend of Jefferson. A few alleged scholars try to
discredit Mazzei as the creator of this statement and idea, saying that "there is no mention of it
anywhere until after the Declaration was published". This phrase appears in Italian in Mazzei's own
hand, written in Italian, several years prior to the writing of the Declaration of Independence. Mazzei
and Jefferson often exchanged ideas about true liberty and freedom. No one man can take complete
credit for the ideals of American democracy”.
19 http://www.masshist.org/thomasjeffersonpapers/ URL visited May 28, 2012
20 JEFFERSON, Thomas, “General Ideas for the improvement of Monticello” c. 1804, Jefferson Papers,
Massachusetts Historical Society, in TEYSSOT, George (ed.), The American lawn, New York, Princeton
architectural press; Montreal, Canadian centre for architecture, 1999, p. 79
17

as workshops. Downhill from the Mulberry Row there is the Vegetable Garden
Terrace 21 , with a small pavilion‐belvedere, two small vineyards (measuring 16,000
and 9,000 square feet respectively, equal to 1,400 and 800 sq.m.), spaced out by
the Berry Squares [Figures 5‐6], and the South Orchard 22 with numerous varieties of
apples, peaches, cherries, pears, apricots and plums [Figure 10], which was
“restored” in 1981 to make it accessible to visitors.
Numerous attempts have been made in this orchard to cultivate Mediterranean
trees, such as fig, almond, pomegranate and olive trees, without success due to the
harsh winter and spring climate 23 .
The Eastern side of Monticello features a smaller orchard [Figure 5], planted in 1784
before he left for France, and a thinned out wood, or arboretum, with
autochthonous plants and other trees, such as the red cedar (Juniperus virginiana),
the sugar maple (Acer saccharum), the European larch (Larix decidua), the tulip
poplars (Liriodendron tulipifera) 24 .
The project for the buildings adjacent to the main building, Jefferson thought of
various techniques to diversify the uses of the surrounding land. His solutions show
a knowledge of European landscapes. Jefferson, as is well known, had spent time in
England, France and Italy and had drawn inspiration from his experiences in these
countries. The Italian influence can be seen in the names given to the places, in the
classical origins of the architecture and in his friendship with Mazzei (together with
other Italians). They can all be traced back to the fascination exercised by the Four
Books of Architecture by Andrea Palladio, which Jefferson had studied in detail 25 .
21 See HATCH, J. Peter, “A Rich Spot of Earth”: Thomas Jefferson’s Revolutionary Garden at
Monticello, foreword by Alice Waters, New Haven, University of Yale Press, 2012, p. 280
22 See HATCH, J. Peter, The fruits and fruit trees of Monticello, Charlottesville, University of Virginia
Press, 1998, p. 222
23 See MHS archive, Coolidge Collection of Thomas Jefferson Papers, Garden Book, p. 23, Oct. 12.
1778 “brought an olive tree from Colle. It is a shoot from an old root, being one of many brought
from Italy in 1773. They stood the winter of that year and the remarkable frost of May 5.1774 also
the winters of 1774 & 1775 planted in the open field & without any cover in Decemb. 1775 & Jan.
1776.There was a frost of four or five weeks duration, the earth being frozen like a rock the whole
time. This killed all the olives; the others totally, this one alone sprung up from the old root. Its
height now is 21 3/4 I. took a cutting from it and planted it. When an olive tree is killed in Italy and a
new shoot puts out, it is ten years before it bears.”
24 http://www.monticello.org/site/house‐and‐gardens/trees‐monticello URL visited May 28, 2012
25 Thomas Jefferson owned five different editions of the Palladio’s publication I quattro libri
dell’architettura. The first English edition is by Giacomo Leoni The architecture of Andrea Palladio,
London, 1715
18

The call for tradition by English landscape gardening is also obvious. Jefferson does,
in fact, show typical Anglo‐Saxon sensitivity in the way he combines the picturesque
with the call of the past, as William Kent (1685‐1748) and Lancelot “Capability”
Brown (1716‐1783) had already experimented in their work.
His use of a Ha‐Ha barrier [Figure 5] on the east and west sides is proof of
Jefferson’s attention to a detail which marked the landscape of the English estates.
In fact, he used it in the same spirit as the Ha‐ha barrier was not merely a ditch to
establish the precise perimeter across a curve in the terrain. Its purpose was also to
protect the flower gardens from the animals grazing close to the building.
The Eastern side, with the access road to the villa, is bound by an oval designed by a
sequence of small columns and a chain fence [Figure 5]. The vegetable gardens and
the fruit trees, which still exist today, were surrounded instead by paling fences
about one metre high, to keep away either hares, deer or other wild animals, as the
case may be, but over the years hawthorn hedges were also used to separate crops
or to protect specific areas from the animals.
In direct contact with the building, in the space enclosed by the Northern and
Southern pavilions, there are numerous oval flower beds [Figures 4‐5], containing a
large variety of species, selected over the years not only from places near and far,
but also from the geographical expedition of Lewis and Clark (1804‐1806).
Finally, as an extension of the side wings, there is a clay pedestrian path in the
shape of a ring, which unfolds on the gently sloping land at the base of the summit
to enclose a wide lawn[Figure 1], bordered here and there by flower beds and a
small pond. Further away from Monticello, on the hills and slopes surrounding the
large estate, there were sections of wood set aside for animals, such as deer, sheep,
and cattle, and fields reserved for “intensive”, non‐experimental agricultural
cultivation, on the basis of a scheme to exploit the ground using crop rotation. In
these additional fields, wheat, oats, clover, peas, corn and fruit trees were
cultivated.
In addition to all this, there were numerous paths, canals, roads, buildings, fields
and sections of wood organized according to a common project. Even more amazing
are not only Jefferson’s botanical notes, but also his detailed project drawings, the
19

assessments made with measurements and sketches, his general control of the
project guaranteed by continual shifts of scale, from the garden to the surrounding
territory [Figures 8‐9], including his thoughts on the perspective views and on the
definition of the natural skyline.
We are confronted with a very modern phenomenon, which, according to tradition,
dates back to the history of architecture at the end of the eighteenth century, and
which anticipates the contemporary approach to landscape design.
However, the varied landscapes of Monticello also tell us something more, and they
may also sound like a warning today, however anachronistic the landscape of
slavery which underpins Jefferson’s seductive organization of the estate may seem.
Jefferson had condemned slavery many times, but for each vegetable garden, each
field in Monticello there were a proportionate number of simple cabins, shelters
built for forced labour, which seemed to mock the words expressed in the Notes on
the State of Virginia (1785), according to which the “Cultivators of the earth are the
most virtuous and independent citizens” 26 .
Even today, the effort of building a common ground based on the idea of freedom,
on the right to pursue happiness, clashes against a similarly sad and complex reality.
To evoke a divine or earthly justice is not enough to satisfy the hunger for food,
water and energy.
Today’s fashionable topics concerning sustainability, recycling and the ecocompatibility
of projects to transform the territory, too often appear on the pages
of glossy magazines and in the classrooms of the Faculty of Architecture to be
merely useful, scientific tools to maintain a contradictory system, in which the
slaves are no longer recognizable by their chains, since they have been replaced by
less visible constrictions.
Nowadays, the problem raised by Jefferson has much wider geographical
boundaries than the Monticello estate, because it affects the whole planet.
Escaping to nature is of no use, we have to nourish those landscapes which creep
into our towns to the same extent as those in the geographical and social outskirts
of our world.
26 PETERSON, Merrill, (ed.) Thomas Jefferson Writings, New York, Library of America, 1984, p. 301
20

Figure 1- Monticello view from the lawn
(Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division Washington)

Figure 2- Monticello West Elevation (view from the lawn)
Figure 3- Drawing of Monticello garden, orchards, and grove accompanying letter to J.H.
Freeman. [Autograph letter signed by T. Jefferson] 1806 February 26, Washington [to] Mr. J.
Homes Freeman, Monticello [Map of lands leased] Thomas Jefferson Papers: An Electronic
Archive. Boston, Mass. : Massachusetts Historical Society, 2003

Figure 4- Monticello: house and grounds (study), [1785-1789], by Thomas Jefferson.
N136; K138 [electronic edition]. Thomas Jefferson Papers: An Electronic Archive. Boston,
Mass. : Massachusetts Historical Society, 2003

780
THOMAS JEFFERSON'S MONTICELLO LANDSCAPE 1809-1826
8
7
9
9
6
5
4
3
2
9
3
1
4
2
28
5
7
6
8
5
9
10
5
13
4
15
17
16
18
12
19
11
N
7
8
7
0 152,45 METERS
0
500 FEET
1) LAWN
2) WENDING FLOWER WALK
3) OVAL FLOWER BEDS
4) HA-HA BARRIERS
5) GROVE
6) FIRST ROUNDABOUT
7) SECOND ROUNDABOUT
8) THIRD ROUNDABOUT
9) 1 FOOT IN 10 FEET ROAD
10) ROAD TO RIVANNA RIVER
11) MONTICELLO CEMETERY
12) MULBERRY ROW-CEMETERY ROAD
13) MULBERRY ROW ROAD
14) SLAVE QUARTER BULDINGS
800
810
820
9
10
8
9
27
10
24
21
14
17
830
820
800
780
730
9
20
22
20
6
13
15
19
23
8
15) VEGETABLE GARDEN TERRACE
16) VEGETABLE GARDEN PAVILION
17) VINEYARD
18) BERRY SQUARES
19) SOUTH ORCHARD
20) NORTH ORCHARD
21) CHAIN FENCE
23
7
8
26
25
8
23
22) PRINCIPAL ROAD TO HOUSE
23) PARK FIELD
24) SOUTH ROAD
25) EAST ROAD
26) NORTH ROAD
27) NORTH PAVILION AND DEPENDENCIES
28) SOUTH PAVILION AND DEPENDENCIES
Figure 5- Monticello landscape 1809-1826 (Plan by Luca Guido)

Figure 6- Monticello Today: aerial view from Google Earth, 2012
Figure 7- Monticello: mountaintop (plat), 1809, by Thomas Jefferson.
N225; K169 [electronic edition]. Thomas Jefferson Papers: An Electronic Archive. Boston,
Mass. : Massachusetts Historical Society, 2003

Figure 8- Monticello: 3rd roundabout (plat), 1808-1809, by Thomas Jefferson.
N215; K168d [electronic edition]. Thomas Jefferson Papers: An Electronic Archive. Boston,
Mass. : Massachusetts Historical Society, 2003
Figure 9- Monticello: estate lands (plat), recto, 1806, by Thomas Jefferson.
N209; K168 [electronic edition]. Thomas Jefferson Papers: An Electronic Archive. Boston,
Mass. : Massachusetts Historical Society, 2003

Figure 10- Monticello: orchard and vineyard (plat), undated, by Thomas Jefferson.
N234; K169i [electronic edition]. Thomas Jefferson Papers: An Electronic Archive. Boston,
Mass. Massachusetts Historical Society, 2003

Figure 11- Thomas Jefferson‘s Garden Book, 1774 (Note the name of Filippo Mazzei)
Garden Book, 1766-1824, page 15, by Thomas Jefferson [electronic edition]. Thomas Jefferson
Papers: An Electronic Archive. Boston, Mass. : Massachusetts Historical Society, 2003.

April 1 sowed & planted as follows.
No. 53. turneps. Dr Bland.
25. Fagiuoli d’Augusta.
19. do. verdi coll’occhio bianco. D. Hylton.
71. Bonny-Bess. Colo. Bland.
70. Snap-beans. Colo. Bland.
2. Fagiuoli coll’occhio di Provenza.
7. do. bianchi di Parigi.
6. Cetriuoli. Webb. 9. monticini.
5. do.Eppes. 12. monticini.
4. the peas of Mar. 24. come up.
5. Cucumbers. the same as No. 6. only that these were steeped in water
from Mar. 31. till this day when they were sprouted. 10. hill
do. same as No. 5. only soaked as before. 17. hills.
No. 63. Piperone. John Wood.
52. Cayenne Pepper. Dr. Bland.
24. Purple beans. Jas. Donald.
17. White & purple do. do.
21. Sugar beans.
1. Fagiuoli bianchi di Toscana.
6. No. 65. Hotspur peas. Monticello.
66. Marrow fat do.do.
Planted 30. vines just below where the new garden wall will run, towards
the Westermost end. 8 of them at the Westermost end of the row were
Spanish Raisins from Colo. Bland’s, next to them were 16. native vines
from Winslow’s in New Kent, and at the Eastermost end
were 6. native vines of Monticello. They were planted by some Tuscan
Vignerons who came over with mr. Mazzei. The manner
was as follows.

Figure 12- Thomas Jefferson‘s Garden Book, 1804-1806-1809 (Note the name of Filippo
Mazzei) Garden Book, 1766-1824, page 31, by Thomas Jefferson [electronic edition].
Thomas Jefferson Papers: An Electronic Archive. Boston, Mass. : Massachusetts Historical
Society, 2003.

1804
Apr. 6. sowed seeds of the East India Asparagus in a small bed at the point of levelled
triangle S.W. end of the garden.
10. planted in the orchard below the garden black soft peaches of Georgia from W. Mer.
12. planted 40. odd Hemlock & Weymouth pines near the Aspen thicket.
29. planted seeds of the Cherokee rose from Govr. Milledge in a row of about 6.f. near the N.E. corner of the
Nursery. Goliah stuck sticks to mark the place. this has been a remarkeably backward spring. we have
had fi res steadily thro’ the whole month.
Apr. 22. a great fresh in the Rivanna this day. it was above the top of the hopper in my toll mill. by marks at
Henderson’s distillery in Milton it wanted 6. feet of being as high as that in 1795. which wanted but 3. f. of
being as high as the great fresh on the 26th. of May 1771.
1806. Mar. 14. the road from the Shadwell ford to the top of the mountain, along the North side of the mountain,
was begun & was fi nished May. 11. except some little blowing. it has taken 552. days work @2/ = 184. D.
The cherries & peaches are completely killed this year, as well on the mountains as elsewhere. this
was effected by cold freezing winds, mostly from the N.W. in the month of April, & of considerable cont
inuance. The peaches & cherries (except Morellas) were then in bloom & killed. the Morella cherries &
apples, not being then in bloom, escaped entirely.
1809. Apr. 10. planted in the Nursery next below the little grass terras, in a bed ranging with the upper strawberry
bed, 68. peach stones [W. Meriwether’s Georgia black. unknown, but supposed good be
cause saved]
69. plumstones in the row next below
68. apricots stones in the next row & a half
these came from G. Jefferson, probably sent him from abroad, directed to me in a little bag. -
they came from mrs. Hackley Cadiz.
Apr. 13. planted 32. seeds of the Mimosa julibritzin in the earthen trough, in which were
also sowed on the 10th. inst. seeds of the Alpine strawberry from Mazzei.
sowed seeds of Dionaea muscipula in a pot. they were several years old.
in square II. beginning with the S. W. row sowed
1. row of rheum undulatum, esculent rhubarb. the leaves excellent as Spinach.
1.do. Long pod soup pea. or Asparagus bean. pods 3.f. long, to run on poles. when green they are
dressed as Asparagus, or as snaps, or boiled in soup.
1.do. African early pea, lately introduced from Africa into S.Carola. where it gives 3. crops a year. the
two last as articles from Genl. Sumpter.
1.do. lentils. Ervum lens.
3. do. Windsor beans.
14. sowed oil radish in the nursery, in the former asparagus bed.
G. Divers fi nds the following suffi cient for his family.
Celery 400. f. running measure. to wit 10. rows of my squares 3.f. apart 4 f is better
Salsafy 320. f = 8. rows of my squares of 40 f. at 6. I. every way
Carrots 320. f = 8. do.12.I. apart
parsneps 200. f = 5. do.12.I. apart
beet 200. f = 5. do.12.I. apart
26. sowed Monthly strawberry seed from Colo.Worthington in Nursery E. corner.

Agricultural America
The English colonial period had seen the affirmation of a mercantilist system, based
on the commercial exchanges by sea between the homeland and the new lands.
Thanks to the shipping companies, this merchant system had had a success over the
years, based on a structure of subordination of the colonization policies 27 to this
particular scheme.
The machine of economic development in the territory also assisted to a certain
extent the exploitation and the exports of primary, natural resources on the model
of the theories of economists such as Thomas Mun 28 . With Independence (1776),
following the end of the revolutionary years (1775‐1783), the mercantilist system
was quickly put to one side in favour of economic models intended to avoid the
exploitation and impoverishment of internal resources.
The demands for change and the studies aiming to search for a possibility of
economic reform were outlined by Alexander Hamilton, a conservative politician
nominated first U.S. Secretary of the Treasury (in office from 1789 to 1795) by
Washington. Hamilton was at first committed to drafting two Reports on the Public
Credit (1790) and to reorganizing the tax and public debt systems. Then he fought
to establish a national central bank called the First Bank of the United State, which
was approved by Congress in 1791 after lengthy controversies by Thomas Jefferson
and James Madison, who saw in the central bank the consolidation of a restricted
group of investors at the expense of the majority of the population.
Besides, Jefferson’s idea of an America committed to agriculture, fired by the
revolutionary ideals of the newly‐born Republic and described in the
aforementioned Notes on the State of Virginia (1785), was soon undermined by the
technological revolution, which highlighted how backward the agricultural system
of the South of the United States had been since the years following the Civil War
(1861‐1865).
27 Think of the Virginia Act of 1622, The Town Act of 1662 and subsequent measures during the
colonial years
28 Thomas Mun (1571‐1641) His works: A discourse of Trade from England unto East Indies (1621)
and England’s Treasure by Foreign Trade (published in 1664 by his son)
21

Hamilton’s Report on Manufactures (1791) is the programmatic document of the
opposition to that well‐rooted economy in the new American Nation, which hinged
on land rents and on agricultural investments. As the main circumstances in favour
of industrialization (protective prices, premiums and subsidies to favour private
initiative, the introduction of new labour via immigration, the division of work, etc.)
were identified, the report insisted mainly on the political arguments, proposing a
doctrine of free‐trade, which intended to stimulate the commercial elements of the
Northern States.
Historic events have demonstrated Hamilton’s extreme farsightedness in imagining
a modern, capitalistic economy, but they have also highlighted the total
indifference to a uniform implementation of such demands in the different States of
the Union. The idea according to which “Whatever, besides, tends to diminish in
any country the number of artificers and manufacturers, tends to diminish the
home market, the most important of all markets for the rude produce of the land,
and thereby still further to discourage agriculture” 29 could be true in the East,
where the harsh climate, the not particularly fertile lands and the limited availability
of agricultural soil had favoured a scientific approach to crops.
In the East it was customary to take advantage of crop rotation and to make use of
fertilizers; in the South, on the other hand, the abundance of fertile soil and the
more massive use of slavery had favoured an intensive agriculture based on
exploitation of the soil, cultivated mainly with tobacco, sugar cane and cotton 30 .
Eugene Genovese, a scholar of policies linked to slavery, analysed the economic
limits of such practices:
The weakest economic point in the South lay in the low productivity of
its workforce. The slaves’ work was mediocre. Strict surveillance made it
possible to make them work reasonably well in the cotton fields, but the
cost of such surveillance during one or two operations was prohibitive.
Slavery hindered the radical process to update technology, which could
have substantially increased productivity. These obstacles to
technological progress caused irreparable damage to agriculture in the
South, as it was precisely the improvement of tools and machinery
29 SMITH, Adam, An Inquiry into the Nature and Causes of the Wealth of Nations, Forgotten Books,
2008 (first ed. 1776), p. 521
30 To study in depth: GRAY, Lewis Cecil, History of Agriculture in the Southern United States to 1860,
Washington, Carnegie Institution of Washington, 1933
22

which definitely contributed to the enormous increase in the yield per
hectare which distinguished the States of the North during the 19 th
century. Slavery and the plantation system meant using agricultural
methods, which in turn gradually impoverished the soil. Similar results
were obtained by the frontier methods used by the Free States.
However, the existence of slavery meant that the South continued to
depend on methods based on the intensive exploitation of the soil even
when the frontier moved further westwards. 31
The expansion of the cotton plantations, together with the growth of the textile
industry in New England and the modernization of cultivation techniques, created
an internal contradiction to the agrarian system of the South, which was one of the
reasons for the Civil War (1861‐1865).
The introduction of the mechanical cotton gin 32 [Figure 13], invented by Eli Whitney
in 1793, boosted both production and the occupation of new lands. Production rose
from 3,000 balls (about 200 kilos each) of cotton in 1790 to 100,000 balls in 1801,
400,000 in 1820 and 4 million in 1860.
The law of demand and supply operated with surgical and tragic precision. In fact
the cotton gin caused a rapid crash in the price of raw cotton and a shadow fell over
the vast cotton landscape. Paradoxically, the machine, which was to free the
peasants from their labour in the fields, instead encouraged an increase in the
numbers of slaves in the South from 875,000 in 1800 to 4 million in 1860.
The plantations extended in proportion and the system ended up by also favouring
the banks in the hands of the rising, manufacturing bourgeoisie. Many landowners
were often forced to ask for loans to anticipate the cost of investments to expand
their crops. Within a few decades, this form of economy damaged the agricultural
system of the Southern States, even though it ensured rich short‐term earnings,
first in South Carolina and Georgia, then in the black belt region between Alabama
and Mississippi, in the Mississippi delta and finally in Texas, stretching for 1,600 Km
31 GENOVESE, D. Eugene, cit. in TEODORI, Massimo, Raccontare l’America. Due secoli di orgogli e
pregiudizi, Milan, Mondadori, 2005, p. 27 [translation in english by the author].
32 See LAKWETE, Angela, Inventing the Cotton Gin: Machine and Myth in Antebellum America,
Baltimore, The John Hopkins University Press, 2003
23

from East to West and including approximately 1,000 km of plantations along the
Mississippi river 33 .
However, the scenarios of the plantations also included different settlement types.
The main building was the owner’s house, often studied by historians of
architecture as an isolated building. However, around the plantation house there
was usually an ornamental garden, cared for by professional gardeners, and a series
of outbuildings, such as the cookhouse, the washhouse (laundry), the smokehouse,
the milkhouse (dairy), and a cistern [Figure 19] .
Some structures were quite common, such as the carriage house and blacksmith,
others, such as a small schoolhouse for the owner’s children, chapels,
representative offices for business relationships, were quite frequent, but without
recurrent schemes. The house of the overseer and the slave quarter naturally
played an important role in the working of the plantation 34 . The materials used for
all the residential buildings were sometimes bricks or more often wood. Further
away, there were vegetable gardens, orchards, haylofts and corrals for the animals.
To complete this overall view, there were various agricultural structures, laid out
according to the needs of the plantation, in which to store materials and tools
required to cultivate the products of the plantation 35 . The plantation papers
represent a primary source for the interpretation of the cultural landscapes of the
South. These include various types of documents, such as diaries, letters, notes,
sketches and drawings of the plantations, land surveys, notary deeds and
inventories, all of which are evidence showing the purchase of trees and
ornamental plants.
A study by Suzanne Luise Turner 36 , professor of landscape architecture at Louisiana
State University, highlighted the importance for landscape history of numerous
33 For the data on this page see JONES, A., Maldwyn, The Limits of Liberty American History 1607‐
1992, London, Oxford University Press, 1995 [first ed. 1983] p. 1 (It. tr. Storia degli Stati Uniti
d’America. Dalle prime colonie inglesi ai giorni nostri, Milano, Bompiani, 2011, p. 113)
34 See PHILLIPS, B. Ulrich, American Negro Slavery, Baton Rouge, Louisiana State University Press,
1966
35 See VLACH, John Michael, Back of the Big House, The Architecture of Plantation Slavery, Chapel Hill:
University of North Carolina Press, 1993
36 TURNER, Suzanne L., “Plantation Papers as a Source for Landscape Documentation and
Interpretation: The Thomas Butler Papers”, published in Bulletin of the Association for Preservation
Technology, Vol. 12, No. 3, 1980, pp. 28‐45
24

legal and commercial documents compared to the private correspondence of
Thomas Butler (1785‐1847), one of the greatest sugar and cotton plantation owners
in the territories of Mississippi and Louisiana [Figure 14].
Turner describes the interest in the flower gardens of the Butler family, in particular
of the women, and outlines the choices which demonstrate an awareness of and
attention to the creation of The Cottage landscape. She lingers on the documents
which are a witness to the owner’s research and purchase of ornamental and fruit
plants. Moreover, the results obtained suggest that, although there were certainly
differences in the agricultural crops and in the specific varieties of plants in the
Southern States, ornamental horticulture in Mississippi and in Louisiana could
compare with practice in the Northern and Eastern States 37 .
The well‐known landscape architect, Frederick Law Olmsted (1822‐1903), left us a
significant description about life in the plantations and their landscapes. At the end
of the 1850’s, Olmsted made a series of voyages in the Cotton Kingdom of America,
leaving a detailed, sophisticated report, packed with naturalistic, botanical and
agricultural observations, measurements and detailed architectural comments on
the buildings. Olmsted’s experiences describe and compare the organizational
features of the agricultural businesses in various States, and naturally they also
investigate the botanical and naturalistic aspects of the gardens and the sections of
the land he crossed:
In the afternoon, I left the main road, and, towards night, reached a
much more cultivated district. The forest of pines still extended
uninterruptedly on one side of the way, but on the other was a
continued succession of very large fields, of rich dark soil ‐ evidently
reclaimed swamp‐land ‐ which had been cultivated the previous year, in
Sea Island cotton. Beyond them, a flat surface of still lower land, with a
silver thread of water curling through it, extended, Holland‐like, to the
horizon. Usually at as great a distance as a quarter of a mile from the
road, and from half a mile to a mile apart, were the residences of the
planters ‐ white houses, with groves of evergreen trees about them; and
between these and the road were little villages of slave‐cabins. My
directions not having been sufficiently explicit, I rode in, by a private
See also TURNER, Suzanne L., The Gardens of Louisiana: Places of Work and Wonder. Co‐author with
A. J. Meek, photographer. Baton Rouge and London: LSU Press, 1997.
37 This statement contrasts, as the author says, with the thesis of HENDRICK, Ulysses Prentiss, A
History of Horticulture in America to 1860, Oxford University Press, 1950
25

lane, to one of these. It consisted of some thirty neatly‐whitewashed
cottages, with a broad avenue, planted with Pride‐of‐China trees
between them. The cottages were framed buildings, boarded on the
outside, with shingle roof and brick chimneys; they stood fifty feet apart,
with gardens and pig‐yards, enclosed by palings, between them. At one,
which was evidently the "sick house," or hospital, there were several
negroes of both sexes, wrapped in blankets, and reclining on the door
steps or on the ground, basking in the sunshine. 38
Olmsted did not fail to refer to situations of town life and made remarks about the
planning of the towns he travelled through in his journeys.
It was during these explorations that his repulsion for slavery reached a climax, and
he decided to document what he had seen and to encourage the anti‐slavery voices
with the publication of his travel diary and the dispatches he had written for The
Times, just as the Civil War broke out.
The homes linked to the cultivation of the fields deserve a more detailed discussion.
The architectural principles which inspired the plantation houses can be essentially
traced back to two models, which were often merged together according to eclectic
criteria that expressed the overall taste of the owners.
The first type was the Creole cottage 39 , used mainly for small buildings [Figures 15‐
16]. The main feature of Creole architecture was its special distribution system,
where a kind of central hall, accessible from the front door, acted as walk‐through
living room. Moreover, a fairly large portico, known as the galerie or gallery, not
only protected the entrance, but also allowed the access to the internal rooms
overlooking the main side. The buildings were usually low and the gallery, which
extended along the four sides of the building, was very frequently on a raised level
and the house suspended above the ground.
These buildings correspond to the stereotyped image, probably of cinematographic
origin, which we have of a house in the American Deep South in the nineteenth
century: a one‐storey house, with whitewashed wood panelling, a veranda
38 OLMSTED, Frederick Law, Journey in the Seaboard Slave States, New York, Dix & Edwards, London,
Sampson Low, Son & Co., 1856, p. 416
39 A study of Creole architecture is: EDWARS, Jay, D., “The Origins of Creole Architecture”, Winterthur
Portfolio, Vol. 29, N. 2/3 (Summer‐Autumn, 1994), The University of Chicago Press, pp. 155‐189, and
to see also LANCASTER, Clay, “The American Bungalow”, The Art Bulletin, Vol. 40, N. 3 (Sep. 1958),
College Art Association, pp.239‐253
26

overlooking the garden and the road and finally, slender columns supporting the
overhang, which gave shade to an old black man sitting on a rocking chair.
The second architectural model was based on the new, neo‐classical, stylistic
elements of American architecture, the so‐called federal‐style architecture 40 .
References to this model date back to Italian Renaissance architecture and, in the
some cases, to the Greek model, which occasionally gave rise to questionable
revivals.
Used for buildings which resembled more closely the cottages and the bungalows
described above, this style was also used to celebrate the power and commercial
achievement of the estate owner. The main feature of the buildings which adopted
this specific architectural style was a large loggia on the main façade, almost an
archetype common to Creole architecture. Instead, the façade stood out for the use
of a giant sequence of columns, which gave unity and a stereometric structure to
the building, nearly always designed with two storeys and a possible attic or
mansard. There are numerous, widespread examples of manor houses, which are
significant for their architectural and/or landscape value, throughout the Southern
States. Louisiana, in particular, offers diversified situations:
The Destrehan Plantation House, St. Charles Parish, Louisiana (1787‐90), the
Homeplace Plantation House, St. Charles Parish, Louisiana (1787) [Figure 17], Laura
Plantation, Vacherie, Louisiana (1820), the Uncle Sam (Constancia) Plantation, St.
James Parish, Louisiana (1829‐43) 41 [Figure 19], the Houmas House Plantation and
Gardens, Burnside, Louisiana (1840), the San Francisco Plantation House, Garyville,
Louisiana (1849‐56), the Dunleith Mansion, Natchez, Mississippi (1858).
Among the many Louisiana landscapes, one of the most important is the Rosedown
Plantation’s 42 , St. Francisville, (1835) [Figure 18]. The owner’s house of this
plantation was conceived as the central element of a wide park‐garden (28 acres),
40 See CRAIG, Lois A., The Federal Presence: Architecture, Politics and Symbol in United States
Government Building, Cambridge, MIT Press, 1978
41 http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Uncle_Sam_Plantation , URL visited May 31, 2012
42 See the bibliography and the landscape description and analysis in the National Historic Landmark
nomination form by FRICKER, Donna and TURNER Suzanne: Link download:
http://pdfhost.focus.nps.gov/docs/NHLS/Text/01000765.pdf URL visited May 31, 2012
27

which recreated various formal situations influenced by the French, the English and
the Italian [Figure 20].
In his book Gardens and Historic Plants of the Antebellum South (2003), James
Cothran describes some elements of the landscape, common to various housing
complexes of the plantations: "during the antebellum period, with few exceptions,
southerners remained wedded to formality and the principles of geometric garden
design that had prevailed throughout the colonial period. Not only did geometric
elements fit within the context of a symmetrical house and garden plan, but
formalized landscape features […] reflected a control over nature and served as a
means of conveying wealth, taste and social prestige" 43 .
However, the unquestionable icon of all the landscapes of the Old South is Oak
Alley House (1837‐39) [Figure 26], designed in St. James Parish, Louisiana, by Gilbert
Joseph Pilie on behalf of Jacques Telesphore Roman, a sugar cane planter and
owner of the estate on the shore of the Mississippi River.
The ground of the plantation is a long rectangle in shape, placed perpendicular to
the river[Figures 22‐23]. This particular arrangement probably originated in the
“typical French pattern of long, narrow farms running back from the water’s
edge” 44 . A 1764 map of Detroit, reproduced by Reps 45 in Town planning in Frontier
America, shows the French system of subdivision of the land, as highlighted by
some plots aligned along the river outside the small town. It was Reps himself who
confirmed that the system was applied for the first time in Canada, to the
settlements along the Saint Lawrence River, and later around New Orleans, along
the Mississippi River.
In 1858, the use of this system to divide the land was verified by Norman’s Chart
Of The Lower Mississippi River [Figure 21‐22], which highlighted the designation of
the various plantations (usually cotton and sugar cane) and identified their
ownership.
43 FRICKER, and TURNER, “National Historic Landmark document”, p. 24: Link download:
http://pdfhost.focus.nps.gov/docs/NHLS/Text/01000765.pdf URL visited May 31, 2012
44 REPS, John William, Town Planning in Frontier America, Princeton, University Press, 1969 [first ed.
1965] p. 86 (Italian translation by M. Terni, S. Magistretti, La costruzione dell’America urbana;
introduction by Francesco Dal Co, Milano, Franco Angeli, 1976, p. 98)
45 Ibid. p. 97. This drawing of Detroit is the earliest printed map of the city.
28

The structure was the result of the settlers’ desire to have access to water, which
was used for practical purposes and for transportation, since the road
infrastructures were inadequate and entailed construction and maintenance costs.
The relationship with the river economy and transport along the river banks
determined the two landscapes being merged, and goes back to the original name
of the place, Bon Séjour, a place name which hinted at a hospitality‐hotel
destination of the installations which preceded the current building, or a simple,
good omen for the drained marshlands and swamps.
Whatever the case, the exceptionality of the place is created by the presence of
numerous oak trees, Live Oak, (Quercus Virginiana), a native evergreen tree of the
South‐East of the United States. Probably planted at the beginning of the
eighteenth century during the first colonial installations, the trees already appeared
as tall, luxurious plants at the time the main house was built. They were arranged
on both sides of the 240 metre‐long (800 feet) drive from the river bank to the
house entrance to provide a spectacular, monumental scene [Figure 24]. The house
was, therefore, built relatively close to the river, whereas the long strip of land
extended through many kilometres of sugar cane in the swamps and cotton fields in
the marsh‐free areas. The white neoclassical style building stands out against the
green landscape, among the lawns and the foliage of the trees covered with moss
and lichens. The tall Doric columns along the entire perimeter of the house support
a large hip roof and form a colonnade on the ground floor and a balcony, or gallery,
on the first floor. The result is a screen, which allows nature to be seen beyond and
creates an immediate relationship [Figure 25]. Enclosing a square‐shaped space, the
28 perimetral columns correlate directly with the oak trees encountered along the
drive, since they replicate their number: a transformation of nature into
architecture, “a momentary fusion of natural and tectonic orders” 46 .
The numerous openings of the cubic volume enclosed under the large, sloping
overhangs guarantee the continual and necessary change of air and the correct
amount of light in the hot, Southern climate, whereas the colour and the use of the
materials confer the house with a special luminosity to give it the appearance of a
46 PLUMMER, Henry, The Potential House, Tokyo, A+U publishing, 1989, p. 49
29

hazy bubble or a cloud, which has descended on the Southern landscape. The
horizontal progression of the project, less evident at first sight but highlighted by
both the balustrade of the first‐storey gallery and by the enormous trabeation to
close the giant order of façades, creates a strong spatial tension, notwithstanding
the independent, autonomous shapes used [Figure 26].
The significance of the landscape at Oak Alley House is well commented by Henry
Plummer:
While the house emanates in all directions through a permeable
structure, the main axis of the site has been directionally shaped into an
explosive shaft of energy. Tracing out the radius of a tight curve in the
Mississippi, which has made an arc around the front of the property, this
line runs first from the river under a dramatic tunnel of oak trees, then
right through the main doors and hallway of the house, as well as the
upper veranda's balcony on the river world, out rear doors and through
a less insistent alley of trees, and then onward for over three miles along
a farm road, under open skies and past neatly arrayed plots of sugar
cane at either side, to finally dissipate in an impassable Louisiana
swamp. 47
On top of the roof at treetop height is a terrace, acting as a belvedere and as an
ideal watchtower, from which to contemplate nature and the surrounding fields.
Oak Alley is the symbol of an aristocratic isolation from the city, the allegory of a
rich landowning class, which was spending its final days with the impassive elegance
of those who know they are moving towards an inexorable decline.
The significance of this large scale landscape in the vastness of the Mississippi Valley
and of the lands of the Deep South highlights the complex intertwining of the
impulses of society, technology and politics of a specific, historical period.
Other recognizable elements of the landscape were the peculiar fencing, called
warm‐fences or snake‐fences [Figure 42‐44]. Built with wooden poles or boards,
they edged the perimeter of the properties or the animal pens with their typical
zigzag pattern. Particularly complex to make and requiring continual maintenance
over the years, these fences were constructed by taking advantage of the grooves
and the superimposition of the poles to balance them in an only apparently
unstable way. Running for thousands of kilometres, they were nearly completely
47 Ibid. p. 48
30

destroyed during the Civil War, because the soldiers saw them as an easy source of
firewood and a means to destroy the property borders of the large landowners 48 .
At the end of the Civil War nothing would go back to what he had been.
During the spring and summer of 1875, Charles Nordhoff described in his letters to
the newspaper, the New York Herald, the changes which had taken place in the
Southern States and the attempts at economic reconstruction and reorganization.
While visiting Arkansas, Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama, North Carolina, and
Georgia, he lists the results of his observations. As regards the state of Arkansas,
“Arkansas, as viewed from a railroad car, is not a charming country to a Northern
eye. It seems to contain a good deal of thin and worthless land, and where you
meet with cultivation the farms have a ragged and uncombed look, the farm
buildings are usually of a poor character, and very high fences show that stock is
allowed to run wild. Fields are oftenest full of stumps; and in the cotton region
"deadenings", or fields with girdled and decaying trees standing upon them, give
the landscape a melancholy aspect.” 49
Similar observations were made by Nordhoff concerning Louisiana, a State for
which, as for the others, he highlights the lack of skills of the new politicians:
“Unfortunately the reconstructors of Louisiana have utterly failed in this. It was not
only murder and personal outrage they should have punished and repressed, but
malversation in office, public robbery, bribery, fraud” 50 . Furthermore, Nordhoff
lingers over numerous evaluations of the rice and cotton plantation system, the
landscapes linked with water and over the agricultural changes. He mentions, for
instance, the systematic adoption of the cultivation of orange trees, which
guaranteed good earnings.
The years after the Civil War should, however, deserve a separate discussion. It is
first of all important to note that a different logic was applied to the reconstruction
of the towns and to the re‐opening of the estates after the destruction and neglect.
48 An accurate description of the fences is in: JACKSON, John Brinckerhoff, American Space: the
Centennial Years, 1865‐1876, New York, W.W. Norton, 1972, pp. 64‐67 and 138‐19
49 NORDHOFF, Charles, The Cotton States, in the Spring and Summer of 1875, New York, D. Appleton
& Company, 1876, p. 37
50 Ibid. p. 50
31

Thus, we could define these lands today as memory landscapes, because they bear
traces of something from a world which cannot be recreated and which certainly
cannot be restricted to agricultural or horticultural and ornamental practices.
However, the plantations, so indissolubly linked to the country life, were places
which inspired a wide range of literature, which spread the political positions and
the cause of the anti‐slavery movement. Among these publications, the best known
is Uncle Tom’s Cabin (1852) by Harriet Beecher Stowe (1811‐1896), which had a
great success and wide diffusion as a “protest novel”. It distinguished itself among
the numerous novels printed at that time, both in favour and against slavery. The
novel speaks of stereotyped characters, the good owner, the ignorant, affectionate
slave (Uncle Tom) and the cruel slave‐driver. All the characters described by Stowe
portray strong feelings and display every type of extreme human behaviour. The
actions and manifestations from a wide sample of psyche occur in a melancholy
script, heightened by a vein of predestination which marks the various protagonists.
On the eve of the decline of the plantation system 51 , the pious loyalty of Uncle Tom
is an appeal to non‐violence in a world dominated by prejudices, even though the
intention of the authoress was not directed against the Southern states, but rather
against slavery itself. It is Uncle Tom who gives us a touching description of his
world as he sees it flow away from the pier of a Mississippi boat:
The slanting light of the setting sun quivers on the sea‐like expanse of
the river; the shivery canes, and the tall, dark cypress, hung with
wreaths of dark, funereal moss, glow in the golden ray, as the heavilyladen
steamboat marches onward. Piled with cotton‐bales, from many a
plantation, up over deck and sides, till she seems in the distance a
square massive block of gray, she moves heavily onward to the nearing
mart. [...] For a hundred or more miles above New Orleans, the river is
higher than the surrounding country, and rolls its tremendous volume
between massive levees twenty feet in height. The traveller from the
deck of the steamer, as from some floating castle top, overlooks the
whole country for miles and miles around. Tom, therefore, had spread
out full before him, in plantation after plantation, a map of the life to
which he was approaching. He saw the distant slaves at their toil; he saw
afar their villages of huts gleaming out in long rows on many a
plantation, distant from the stately mansions and pleasure‐grounds of
the master; and as the moving picture passed on, his poor, foolish heart
51 See PHILLIPS, B. Ulrich, “The decadence of the Plantation System”, Annals of the American
Academy of Political Social Science, Vol. 35, N. 1, The New South, 1910, pp. 37‐41
32

would be turning backward to the Kentucky farm, with its old shadowy
beeches, to the master's house, with its wide, cool halls, and, nearby,
the little cabin overgrown with the multiflora and bignonia. There he
seemed to see familiar faces of comrades who had grown up with him
from infancy; he saw his busy wife, bustling in her preparations for his
evening meals; he heard the merry laugh of his boys at their play, and
the chirrup of the baby at his knee; and then, with a start, all faded, and
he saw again the canebrakes and cypresses and gliding plantations, and
heard again the creaking and groaning of the machinery, all telling him
too plainly that all that phase of life had gone by forever. 52
These images will remain in Tom’s mind while he goes to meet his terrible destiny.
The author leaves her readers with the idea of a world destined to die, which is
dragging the agricultural landscapes and steamboats into the whirlpool of historic
events.
However, agricultural America, which had been inspired by Thomas Jefferson,
developed different approaches in other areas of the country. It was Jefferson
himself, attentive landscape lover as we have already seen in the Monticello
project, who decided to implement other projects, such as the Poplar Forest
plantation and house near Lynchburg, Virginia and the University of Virginia in
Charlottesville, which symbolized a very strong man‐nature‐architecture
relationship.
In the project for Poplar Forest 53 [Figure 27], an estate of about 4,800 acres, we can
assess the differences in approach with the plantations of the Deep South. The
project lasted approximately ten years, from 1806, the year the work started to
build the octagonal villa with bricks and which ended three years later. The
architectural style used is neo‐Palladian and nature completes the house project
according to a criterion which considers planning in terms of the territory [Figure
28]. The house becomes the landmark which bestows a geometrical order to the
property, featuring three landscaped areas: the agricultural fields and a 61‐acre
curtilage containing a wide circle with the house at its centre[Figure 29]. This
52 STOWE BEECHER, Harriet, Uncle Tom’s Cabin, London, John Casseli, 1852, pp. 121‐122 (Italian
translation by Beatrice Boffito, La capanna dello Zio Tom, Milano, BUR ragazzi, 2011, pp. 179‐181)
53 See CHAMBERS, S. Allen Jr., Poplar Forest and Thomas Jefferson, Little Compton, Fort Church
Publishers inc, 1993
33

particular scheme, as witnessed by the fascinating hypothesis of Roger Kennedy 54 ,
seems to derive from some earthen American Indian "monuments" and tumuli
(mounds) placed on a precise territorial scale 55 [Figures 30‐32]. Besides, the
architectural project of the house was completely original. Its octagonal shape
expresses the radiality of the space and the multiple relationships it establishes with
its surroundings [Figure 33]. There are two earth mounds on both sides of the
house along an axis acting as the diameter of the circular design of the ground,
covered with trees and connected with the building via a double line of paper
mulberry trees. An analysis of the drawings suggests that Jefferson replaced the side
wings and pavilions of the traditional design with natural elements. 56
The agricultural fields, on the other hand, were cultivated with tobacco and wheat,
whereas the snake‐fenced curtilage contained vegetable gardens, orchards, flower
gardens and the buildings related to the plantation. The curtilage, in other words,
represented the landscape acting as a mediator between the open countryside and
the owner's house. The circle with the house enclosing an area of approximately 10
acres was surrounded by a road lined on both sides by Italian poplars. The half with
the access road leading to the house entrance contained a garden with trees, the
other half a lawn [Figure 29] .
Today, only fragments damaged by time remain of this complex landscape made of
land rooms designed as Chinese boxes. Nevertheless, both the house and the
landscape, subjected to "archaeological" excavations for study and research
purposes, have been restored.
54 KENNEDY Roger, “Jefferson and the Indians”, Winterthur Portfolio, Vol. 27, No. 2/3 (Summer ‐
Autumn, 1992), The University of Chicago Press, pp. 105‐121
55 Very interesting is this analysis by Joseph Rykwert: “The Puritans who arrived in New England in the
seventeenth century and the royalists who settled in Virginia had meagre ideas about building or
planning or institutions. The Indians of North America, however, unlike those of Central and South
America, had not only built orthogonal settlements but large collective dwellings –mounds‐ which
are strewn over a vast area south of the Great Lakes. These mounds were up to a thousand feet in
length or diameter and they were of a very different plan: some were square or circular, others in
the shape of birds or quadrupeds or serpents. They seem of the Plains, whom the Europeans settlers
did encounter, were mostly nomadic, though perhaps descended from the mound builder. At any
rate, these settlers never took any interest in the mounds, and certainly never considered taking
them over”, published in RYKWERT, Joseph, The seduction of Place. The History and Future of the
City, New York, pp. 34‐35 (Italian translation by Duccio Sacchi, La seduzione del luogo. Storia e futuro
della città, Torino, Einaudi, 2003, pp. 61‐62)
56 In 1814 Jefferson builds a lateral wing of “offices” in addition to the east side of mansion house.
34

Jefferson, who considered himself a professional farmer 57 , insisted in favour of
agricultural economy and local autonomy, understood as productive self‐reliance on
the land, and with his dislike of the development of industry was the first American
to openly express a kind of repulsion for the city 58 . According to Manfredo Tafuri,
Jefferson represented the "ambiguous conscience of the American intellectuals" 59 ,
due to his fear of accepting the passage from an old to a new social order: for this
reason his is a utopia, “even though not an avant‐garde one, but as a rear‐guard
one […]. The utopia of Jefferson the architect becomes the
of his Classicism” 60 .
The agricultural development in the North of the country was a different case. The
expansion of the plantations did not celebrate the aristocratic agricultural
democracy by using the classical shapes of Jefferson's architecture. In fact, it
became evident after the Civil War that the plantations in the North and in the Mid‐
West, which had been explored in the first decades of the nineteenth century, were
an indirect achievement of an entrepreneurial and commercial spirit, which relied
on the resources of the rising American cities.
Since the initial attempts to set up settlements, the first agricultural villages in the
North were idealized as refuges of religious tolerance without, however, having
utopian connotations. Those who settled there did not want to experiment a new
model of social behaviour, they did so simply to stay there. This attitude also
explains their agricultural experiments and the diffusion of horticulture, all of which
57 In 1809 Jefferson draws a particular model of a plow called improved moldboard of least resistance.
This project will receive a medal from the French Society of Agriculture.
58 See WHITE, Morton Gabriel, WHITE, Lucia, The intellectual versus the city: from Thomas Jefferson
to Lloyd Wright, Cambridge, Harvard University press, 1962; FITCH, James Marston, Architecture and
aesthetics of plenty, London, Columbia University press, 1966; SCULLY, Vincent J., American
architecture and urbanism, London, Thames & Hudson, 1969 (Italian translation Architettura e
disegno urbano in America: un dialogo fra generazioni, introduzione di Mario Manieri Elia, Roma,
Officina, 1971)
59 TAFURI, Manfredo, Progetto e utopia, architettura e sviluppo capitalistico, Roma‐Bari, Laterza 2007
(prima ed. 1973) p. 28, (English translation by Barbara Luigia La Penta, Architecture and Utopia.
Design and Capitalistic Development, Cambridge, Massachusetts, and London, England, The MIT
Press, 1976, p.28)
60 Ibid. p. 28‐29
35

certainly encouraged the ambition of many religious sects to recreate the Garden of
Eden here on Earth 61 .
A certain narrow‐mindedness of the sects, their considerable fragmentation and the
radicalism of the ideals expressed by some of them, all led to less widespread
slavery. Letters from an American Farmer (1782) by J. Hector St. John de Crèvecœur
(1735‐1813), a naturalized French‐American writer, described for the first time the
life of these farmers of the American frontier. Crèvecœur spoke in great detail of
the customs, the climate, the plants and the animals, the villages and the Native
Americans, interpreting the main questions about America. His comment on these
landscapes draws the attention to the best aspects the countryside can offer, and in
particular he lingers on agriculture as a means to belong to the Land and as a tool
for the ideology of the homeland.
Questioning the essence of the American man, he theorized probably the first
educated version of the American dream:
What attachment can a poor European emigrant have for a country
where he had nothing? The knowledge of the language, the love of a
few kindred as poor as himself, were the only cords that tied him: his
country is now that which gives him land, bread, protection, and
consequence: Ubi panis ibi patria is the motto of all emigrants.
What then is the American, this new man?
He is either a European, or the descendant of a European, hence that
strange mixture of blood, which you will find in no other country. I could
point out to you a family whose grandfather was an Englishman, whose
wife was Dutch, whose son married a French woman, and whose
present four sons have now four wives of different nations. He is an
American, who, leaving behind him all his ancient prejudices and
manners, receives new ones from the new mode of life he has
embraced, the new government he obeys, and the new rank he holds.
He becomes an American by being received in the broad lap of our great
Alma Mater. Here individuals of all nations are melted into a new race of
men, whose labours and posterity will one day cause great changes in
61 Rykwert wrote “Whatever their religious or political beliefs, they [all these religious groups,
editor’s note] did have one thing in common: their towns and villages were intended to last, and that
made many of these settlers model agriculturalists and horticulturalists; since some felt that they
were recreating paradise on Earth –a garden of Eden‐ they became very assiduous orchard keepers.
This was in strong contrast to the more secular farmers who, in moving slowly westward, practiced a
form of slash‐and‐burn cultivation, and relied on the resale value of their exhausted land for profit to
bolster any income they might obtain from their farm produce”, published in RYKWERT, Joseph, The
seduction of Place. The History and Future of the City, New York, p. 55 (Italian translation by Duccio
Sacchi, La seduzione del luogo. Storia e futuro della città, Torino, Einaudi, 2003 pp. 67‐72)
36

the world. Americans are the western pilgrims, who are carrying along
with them that great mass of arts, sciences, vigour, and industry which
began long since in the east; they will finish the great circle. The
Americans were once scattered all over Europe; here they are
incorporated into one of the finest systems of population which has ever
appeared, and which will hereafter become distinct by the power of the
different climates they inhabit. The American ought therefore to love
this country much better than that wherein either he or his forefathers
were born. Here the rewards of his industry follow with equal steps the
progress of his labour; his labour is founded on the basis of nature, selfinterest.
62
This was to become the ideal base, on which multiple developments occurred in the
horticultural techniques and revolutionary technological inventions in agriculture.
First of all, the scientific literature diffused knowledge about these matters and that
stimulates the debate among the main reference groups placed between the cities
of Philadelphia and Boston.
On his return from Lewis and Clark’s expedition (1804‐1806) to explore the
territories of Louisiana, Bernard McMahon 63 (1775‐1816), mentor of the gardening
practices of Thomas Jefferson, published The American Gardner’s Calendar, a
detailed compendium about gardening, horticulture and floriculture, giving precise
instructions, differentiated according to the plants, practices and uses.
In an attempt to combine botanical science with practical horticulture, his declared
intention was:
[...]in order to accommodate the Agriculturist, I have given a classical
catalogue of the most important and valuable grasses and other plants
used in rural economy; and likewise pointed out the particular kind of
soil, in which each plant cultivated as a grass, or exclusively on account
of its foliage, has been found, upon repeated trials, to succeed best.
From an experience which I have had of near thirty years in PRACTICAL
GARDENING, on a general and extensive scale; the particular pains
which I have taken, not only to designate the necessary work of every
month, but also the best methods of performing it; 64
62 ST. JOHN DE CREVECOEUR, J. Hector, Letters from an American Farmer, London, J.M. Dent & Sons
Ltd., 1951 (first ed. 1782) cit. p. 43‐44
63 HATCH, Peter, http://www.monticello.org/site/house‐and‐gardens/bernard‐mcmahon URL visited
28 May 2012; Article originally published as "Bernard McMahon, Pioneer American
Gardener," Twinleaf, January 1993
64 MAC MAHON, Bernard, The American Gardner’s Calendar, adapted to the climate and season of
the United States, Philadelphia, J.B. Lippincott and Co., 1857 (first ed. 1806)
37

In addition to being the first practical manual on the subject to be published in
America, The American Gardner’s Calendar achieved a wide success and by 1857 it
had reached its eleventh edition and was the benchmark for the numerous
publications in the sector.
Another manual, entitled A View of the Cultivation of Fruit Trees, and the
Management of Orchards and Cider, a work by William Coxe, was printed in
Philadelphia in 1817. Among the various illustrated trees and fruits, Coxe lingered
specifically on the apples, listing and describing a good 133 different types.
Moreover, he enlarged on pragmatic information about how to plant an orchard,
evidence that this was practiced rather frequently, that the information answered
real needs, and that a series of experiments were under way:
A south east aspect, which admits the influence of the early morning
Sun, and is protected from the pernicious effects of northerly winds, will
be found the best site for an orchard. The situation should he neither
too high nor too low. Rich strong loams are the fittest for the apple a
portion of calcareous matter mixed, either naturally or artificially with
the soil, will be found useful, probably by its serving to correct the
austerity, or to neutralize the acidity of many cider apples […] The first
thing to be determined upon in the planting of an orchard, is the proper
distance of the trees: if a mere fruit plantation be the object, the
distance may be small if the cultivation of grain and grass be in view, the
space between the trees must be wider: at thirty feet apart, an acre will
contain forty‐eight trees; at thirty‐five feet, thirty‐five trees; at forty
feet, twenty‐seven trees; and at fifty feet, about eighteen to the acre
these are the usual distances. 65
Among the settlements dedicated to the cultivation of the land in the regions of the
Atlantic North East of the United States were those of the Shaker community,
practically non‐existent today with the exception of a few individuals, who continue
to live in the village of Sabbath Lake, Maine, founded in 1794. The Shakers 66 [Figure
34], or rather, The United Society of Believers in Christ’s Second Appearing, who
were persecuted in England, moved to America (1774) guided by mother Ann Lee
65 COXE, William, A View of the Cultivation of Fruit Trees, and the Management of Orchards and Cider,
Philadelphia, Carey and Son, 1817, pp. 30‐33
66 The Shakers are so called because of the ecstatic nature of their spiritual exercises (dance)
38

(1736‐1784), the founder of the sect, in order to escape prejudice and
discrimination. This was a group of individuals, who believed in a kind of mysticism
based on a public confession of sins, on celibacy, equal rights and responsibilities for
men and women and on the sacredness of the craft and agricultural work 67 . In
addition to their religious precepts, they also practiced mutual help, a kind of
primitive communism, a direct reflection of the hostilities and suspicions they
encountered.
An analysis of the Shaker communities, together with the similar attempts made in
lay utopian experiments, highlights the fact that the latter often had a short life. On
the contrary, the Shakers expanded their properties and just before the start of the
Civil War numbered approximately 6,000 individuals, organized in numerous selfsufficient
communities. The first settlement, “the first to be formally ‘gathered into
a society order” 68 , is commonly believed to be New Leabanon 69 (c. 1787) [Figure
36], New York, or Mount Lebanon as it was renamed after 1861, and was created
thanks to a donation of some land by a group of believers.
The settlements of Watervliet (c. 1787) and Hancock (c. 1790) located respectively
in the States of New York and Massachusetts, territories that boast the largest
presence of Shaker communities, followed in its footsteps. Later, numerous villages
were also set up in New Hampshire, Maine, Kentucky and Ohio.
Some of these villages were given charming, spiritual names, such as “Lovely
Vineyard” (Shirley, Massachusetts) or “Pleasant Garden” (Harvard, Massachusetts),
which not only suggested ideals of pastoral peace and underlined the importance of
the relationship between man and nature, but also indicated the distinctive
features of the places.
This particular aspect also fascinated the transcendentalist philosophers of the time
to such an extent that Amos Bronson Alcott, the father of Louisa May Alcott, and
67 DESROCHE, Henri, Les shakers americains: d’un néo‐christianisme à un pré‐socialisme? Paris,
Minuit, 1955 [The American Shakers: from neo‐Christianity to pre‐Socialism?], (Italian translation Gli
Shakers americani: da un neocristianesimo a un presocialismo, Milan, Edizioni di Comunità, 1960)
68 SCHIFFER, Herbert, Shaker architecture, Exton, Penns., Schiffer Publishing, 1979, p. 7
69 For the history of shaker architecture: ROCHELEAU, Paul, SPRIGG, June, Shaker built: the form and
function of Shaker architecture; edited and designed by David Larkin, London, Thames and Hudson,
1994; LASSITER, William Lawrence, Shaker architecture: description with photographs and drawings
of shaker buildings at Mount Lebanon, New York, Watervliet, New York, West Pittsfield,
Massachusetts, New York, Bonanza Books, 1966
39

Charles Lane founded a village named Fruitlands (1843 Harvard, Massachusetts). It
was a community experiment lasting barely a few months and was inspired by the
Shakers’ ideals of life and influenced by the diffusion of the theories of the utopian
socialists, which were also rather widespread at the time. However the Shaker
villages differed from the lay communities and from the utopian attempts, both for
the finished quality of their architecture and for their attempt to form a relationship
with nature according to a precise scheme [Figure 35]. This was underlined by the
care, with which the members of the sect cultivated their gardens and fields and
manufactured items of daily use and pieces of furniture 70 .
These typical forms of settlements rarely copied the European, aggregative
schemes, since they privileged the distance between buildings and their relationship
with the road [Figure 37‐38]. The documents, which have been handed down to us
regarding their planning activities are very few, and just as little is known about the
architects and carpenters, such as Moses Johnson (1752‐1842) or Micajah Burnett
(1791‐?), who designed and constructed some of the buildings of various villages.
The functional town planning scheme adopted in the first settlement of Mount
Lebanon [Figure 36], together with the typical shape of the rural buildings with a
curb roof, were the elements which were repeated in all the Shaker villages.
The meeting house, a building of central importance for the life of the community,
was built along the road. It featured a rectangular floor plan with two separate
entrances for men and women, situated on the long side of the building.
The service buildings, such as the laundry, a barn, various workshops, the school,
and the office were built around the meeting house, which represented the first
"family", usually called the Church or Center Family. When the community
expanded, they built a different group, separated from the first and called Second
Family or South Family, using the remaining compass points in case of further
expansions.
70 Joseph Rykwert wrote: “[…] the fine, spare buildings and the equally spare but very well made
furniture and household objects are testimony to a century and a half of productive activity. Their
conviction that each believer is a , and their practice of ,
show the importance they attached to the formal discipline of their designs as a part of religious
practice”, published in RYKWERT, Joseph, The seduction of Place. The History and Future of the City,
New York, p. 55 (Italian translation by Duccio Sacchi, La seduzione del luogo. Storia e futuro della
città, Torino, Einaudi, 2003, p. 70)
40

Tidy, mainly horizontal, board fencing arranged enclosed the vegetable and flower
gardens, separating the spaces around the buildings from the open countryside and
from the road [Figures 35 and 37]. Herbert Schiffer wrote about the design of
Shaker villages: “these communities which now seem in some respect models of
modern planning ‐ including such concepts as the clustering of dwelling and service
buildings in small groups to locate the proper balance of activity and privacy and to
the optimum use of the surrounding land ‐ evolved as a result of the Shaker
demand for order and efficiency” 71 .
The village of Hancock [Figure 40], besides complying with the general features
described above, is famous for its industrious inhabitants, who had contributed to
make it (and its economy) prosperous over the years, with approximately 300
inhabitants and 3,000 acres of land by about 1830. The Round Stone Barn (1826,
the roof of which was rebuilt in 1864 following a fire, with alterations made to the
original design of the roof) is the most famous building in the village [Figure 39]. 90
feet in diameter, it could contain up to 52 dairy cows. It was used for a large
agricultural machine and for breeding the animals. It enabled the operations of hay
storage to be easily carried out, and protected the stock of hay by means of
carefully studied natural ventilation. It not only allowed simultaneous access to
different levels of the structure, but also enabled the hay to be moved from the
upper levels directly into the mangers of the cows on the lower level. Its circular
shape also enabled horse‐drawn carriages to enter without having to make
complicated manoeuvres to get out of the cowshed. Finally, a special "floating"
floor too had been studied to keep the animals separated from the manure, which
was store, collected through special trapdoors and then used as fertilizer in the
vegetable and flower gardens, where they cultivated seeds and aromatic and
medicinal herbs [Figure 41].
Wood, stone and bricks were the main materials of the various buildings, which also
acted as landmarks, since they could be identified by their colour. The rules of the
Millennial Law of 1821, a programmatic document which set the internal behaviour
rules of the Shaker community, also supplied numerous regulations to be followed
71 SCHIFFER, Herbert, Shaker architecture, Exton, Penns., Schiffer Publishing, 1979, p. 8
41

in the construction of buildings, the use of colours and in the manufacturing of
objects and furnishings.
The main red brick dormitory, built in 1830, stood out not only for the aesthetic
quality of its interiors, but also for the use of innovative, technological solutions to
improve its comfort. These included windows placed on ceilings or on internal walls
to light and ventilate all the rooms, running water inside and built‐in, sliding
cupboards, such as dumbwaiters, etc. The other buildings were laboratories, in
which they manufactured items with the typical, functional, geometric design, such
as chairs, baskets, brooms, swifts, pails, stoves and tin‐ware.
Outside these communities, however, yet more different landscapes were just
beyond the horizon. Parallel to the flourishing of the first agricultural experiences
by the religious sects, technology started to replace traditional tools with time and
labour‐saving equipment and machinery for the most common and important
agricultural operations. A true revolution took place in the techniques to exploit the
fields. These combined with the multiplication of publications for the sector, which
in turn encouraged the practice and the diffusion of horticulture, as mentioned
previously.
In 1837, John Deere (1804‐1886), the man who gave his name to a famous company
for agricultural machinery still in operation today, invented a plough completely
made of steel 72 , which was an improvement over the wooden plough and was able
to cut and overturn the water‐soaked clods full of roots, typical of the untouched
fields of the Illinois prairies. In the early years, his company produced a rather
modest number of ploughs: 10 ploughs in 1839, 75 in 1841, 400 in 1843.
About ten years after production had begun, he moved to Moline, Illinois, where he
founded a factory using hydraulic force, and with new mechanical improvements
the yearly number of ploughs reached 13,400 in 1857. In the final decades of the
nineteenth century, the small plough had given rise to a thriving industrial activity
and had transformed the landscapes of the Mid‐West prairies, cultivated mainly
with cereals. The company catalogue (see page 268) for 1898 had over 350 pages,
72 There are some different theses about the materials and the history of Deere’s plough: KENDALL,
Edward C., “John Deere’s steel plow”, Bulletin (United States National Museum) Contributions from
the Museum of History and Technology, Smithsonian Institution, 1959, pp.15‐25
42

which displayed hundreds of pieces of equipment, machinery, mills, tools, spare
parts, carriages, and naturally multiple types of ploughs, some of them
programmatically named “New Deal”, the ultimate objective of the well‐known
policy of Franklin Delano Roosevelt, implemented between 1933 and 1937.
In Virginia in 1831, Cyrus H. McCormick invented the mechanical harvester, a light,
horse‐drawn, wooden structure, but the model was to be perfected in Chicago in
the 1840’s. The historian, Maldwyn Jones, confirms the importance of this event
“[…] in the middle of the wheat belt, and, thanks also to his business skills, he was
able to defeat a rival who had independently perfected a similar machine. In 1860
McCormick was able to manufacture 20,000 harvesters per year. Almost at the
same time, similar innovations improved threshing […]”. 73
In the years immediately after the Civil War, all these technological transformations
and innovations had created the extraordinary agricultural landscape of the
bonanza farms 74 , cereal cultivations which extended for hundreds of kilometres
along the shores of the Northern Red River, in an extremely fertile geographical
area. From an architectural point of view, the landscape of the prairies was
dominated by typical wooden buildings. The invention of the balloon frame in the
1830’s completely changed the building techniques and the American landscape
during the settlement of the West 75 . The construction of homes became an
industry which replaced the small log cabins built by the pioneers, as well as the
more imposing, costly masonry buildings.
Sigfried Giedion identifies the inventor of the balloon frame in George Washington
Snow 76 (1797‐1870), even though the phenomenon has to be set in a wider context,
73 Numeric data and quotation from JONES, A., Maldwyn, The Limits of Liberty American History
1607‐1992, London, Oxford University Press, 1995 [first ed. 1983] cit. p. 1 (Italian translation Storia
degli Stati Uniti d’ America. Dalle prime colonie inglesi ai giorni nostri, Milano, Bompiani 2011, p.
111)
74 JACKSON, John Brinckeroff, American Space: the Centennial Years, 1865‐1876, New York, W.W.
Norton, 1972, pp. 49‐55
75 On the diffusion and knowledge of the construction system in the middle of the nineteenth century
see: WOODWARD, George Eveston and F.W., Country Homes, New York, 1865
76 See GIEDION, Sigfried, Space, TIme and Architecture, Cambridge, Massachusetts, Harvard
University Press, 1954 (first ed. 1941)(Italian translation edited by Enrica e Mario Labò, Spazio,
Tempo ed Architettura. Lo Sviluppo di una nuova tradizione, Milano, Hoepli, 2004, p. 340)
43

as the very same historian admitted 77 : “The invention of the new structure
coincides with the progress of sawing mill equipment and not least with the mass
production of nails” 78 . The special construction of the balloon frame was in fact
influenced by the level of industrialization achieved in America 79 .
The idea of building a thick basket made of thin wooden beams and pillars, all with
the same cross‐section and held together by boards was taken from some
construction and covering techniques of the first houses of the settlers on the
Atlantic coast 80 . The main difference lay in the fact that the complex carpentry
operations of the wooden joints had been replaced by the faster technique of
nailing.
Furthermore, the reduced size of the load bearing structure made it easier to
transport and assemble. The method of construction not only guaranteed a speedy
execution and a cheap building, but it was also perfectly suitable for the
construction of haylofts and other agricultural buildings 81 [Figure 42‐43].
However, these aspects of the agricultural technological revolution and of the
construction methods are strictly linked not only to the evolution of American
society, but also to a series of provisions taken over the years to regulate the
distribution of land at the expense of the Native Americans. These provisions,
collectively known as Land Acts, began with the purchase of Louisiana, also
established the planning of the territory, and made them the most incisive
contribution to the definition and construction of the extensive American
77 See other research on the balloon frame: FIELD, Walker, “A Re‐examination into the Invention of
the Balloon Frame”, The Journal of the American Society of Architectural Historians, Vol. 2, No. 4
(Oct.,1942), University of California Press, pp. 3‐29
78 See GIEDION, Sigfried, Space, Time and Architecture, Cambridge, Massachusetts, Harvard
University Press, 1954 (first ed. 1941)(tr. it. a cua di Enrica e Mario Labò, Spazio, Tempo ed
Architettura. Lo Sviluppo di una nuova tradizione, Milano, Hoepli, 2004, p. 338) [Translated in English
from Italian by the author]
79 See SPRAGUE, Paul E., “The Origin of Balloon Framing”, Journal of the Society of Architectural
Historians, Vol. 40, No. 4 (Dec., 1981), University of California Press, pp. 311‐319
80 See CAVANAGH, Ted, “The Original Aspects of Conventional Wood‐Frame Construction Re‐
Examined”, Journal of Architectural Education (1984‐), Vol. 51, No. 1 (Sep., 1997), Association of
Collegiate Schools of Architecture, pp. 5‐15; and JENSEN, Robert, “Board and Batten Siding and the
Balloon Frame: Their Incompatibility in the Nineteenth Century”, Journal of the Society of
Architectural Historians, Vol. 30, No. 1 (Mar., 1971),University of California Press, pp. 40‐50
81 See JACKSON, John Brinckeroff, American Space: the Centennial Years, 1865‐1876, New York, W.W.
Norton, 1972, p. 24
44

landscapes and of the towns themselves, which were involved in an infinite, logical
expansion of their boundaries.
45

Figure 13- Mechanical Cotton Gin invented by Eli Whitney in 1793
(Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division Washington)

Figure 14- Certifi ed copy (1808) of a land survey, made from an original plan dated 1788,
showing the use of trees as landmarks along property lines. (Image from TURNER, Suzanne
L., “Plantation Papers as a Source for Landscape Documentation and Interpretation: The
Thomas Butler Papers”, published in Bulletin of the Association for Preservation Technology,
Vol. 12, No. 3, 1980, pp. 28-45

Figure 15- Origins of plantation houses.Creole architecture in antebellum South: Kleinpeter-
Knox house, Baton Rouge, ca. 1800. Note the gallery is like an external distribution hall (Fred
B. Kniffen Cultural Resources Laboratory, Louisiana State University: Drawings, Kathy Miller.)
Image from the article by EDWARS, Jay D., “The Origins of Creole Architecture”, Winterthur
Portfolio, The Univesrity of Chicago Press, Vol. 29, No. 2/3 (Summer - Autumn, 1994), pp.
155-189

Figure 16- Origins of plantation houses. Creole architecture in antebellum South: Holden
house, Pointe Coupee Parish, La., ca. 1790. Note the gallery is like an external distribution
hall (Fred B. Kniffen Cultural Resources Laboratory, Louisiana State University: Drawings,
Guy Carwile.)
Image from the article by EDWARS, Jay D., “The Origins of Creole Architecture”, Winterthur
Portfolio, The Univesrity of Chicago Press, Vol. 29, No. 2/3 (Summer - Autumn, 1994), pp.
155-189

Figure 17- Homeplace Plantation House, St Charles Parish, Louisiana, 1787
(Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division Washington)
Figure 18- Rosedown Plantation, St Francisville, Louisiana, 1835
(Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division Washington)

Figure 19- Uncle Sam (Constancia) Plantation House, St James Parish, Louisiana, 1829-43;
Aereal view of Plantation, with the owner’s house and other buildings
(Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division Washington)

Figure 20- Present-day Turistic Map of Rosedown Plantation,Louisiana, Buildings and gardens

Figures 21/21.1- The plantation landscape: blue and pink to indicate cotton plantations, yellow
and green to indicate sugar plantations. The planimetry is the Norman’s Chart Of The Lower
Mississippi River by A. Persac. Published by B.M. Norman, New Orleans, La. 1858. Engraved,
Printed & Mounted By J.H. Colton & Co. New York. The title at top is “From Natchez to New
Orleans”.(73X155 cm)
View shows plantations by type; This reproduction copy issued by Pelican Press, originally in
1931, and printed by Rand McNally - this reproduction greatly alters the original. Incredible
detail, showing the Plantations on both sides of the river. Four engraved views. Engraved by
J.H. Colton. Lacking boards, this copy has some tears at the folds with slight loss at some intersections,
some light browning in two areas, but is overall a very good copy. Copies at LSU,
Historic New Orleans Collection
(David Rumsey Historical Map Collection Archive)

Figures 22/23- Oak Alley Plantation House, 1837. Left, plan of plantation and relationship with
Mississippi River; Right, plan of House and Gardens and entry road with Oaks
Drawings from: PLUMMER, Henry, The Potential House, Tokyo, A+U publishing, 1989

Figure 24- Live Oaks along the entrance road from the Mississippi river to the owner house.
Oak Alley Plantation House, 1836 (1938 Image)
(Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division Washington)

Figure 25- The columnade of the principal front. Oak Alley Plantation House, 1836 (1938 Image)
(Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division Washington)

Figure 26- Pricipal facade from the entrance road. Oak Alley Plantation House, 1836 (1938
Image) (Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division Washington)

Figure 27- Thomas Jefferson’s Poplar Forest House, North front elevation
(Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division Washington)
Figure 28- Thomas Jefferson’s Poplar Forest House, Plan (survey)
(Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division Washington)

Figure 29- Plan Scheme of Poplar Forest. In the center the house with earthen mounds planted
with trees subsituting for traditonal pavilions and lines of trees forming Palladian“wings”
(Image from KENNEDY Roger, “Jefferson and the Indians”, Winterthur Portfolio, Vol. 27, No.
2/3 (Summer - Autumn, 1992)

Figure 30- Indian mound with trees (see the mounds near the Jefferson’s House in Poplar
Forest). (SQUIER, Ephraim George, and DAVIS, Edwin Hamilton, Ancient Monuments of
the Mississippi Valley: Compising the Results of Extensive Original Surveys and Explorations,
Washington, Smithsonian Institution, 1848)
Figures 31/32- Plans of Indian monuments
(Images from SQUIER, Ephraim George, and DAVIS, Edwin Hamilton, Ancient Monuments
of the Mississippi Valley: Compising the Results of Extensive Original Surveys and Explorations,
Washington, Smithsonian Institution, 1848)

Figure 33- Jefferson’s 1809 Poplar Forest with earthen mounds planted with trees subsituting
for traditonal pavilions and lines of trees forming Palladian“wings”
(Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division Washington)

Figure 34- Shakers near New Lebanon state of New York, their mode of worship. Several
rows of Shakers, separated by gender, performing a step dance in the meeting hall; a woman
spectator is seated in left foreground.
(Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division Washington)

Figure 35- Diagram of the south part of Shaker Village, Canterbury, New Hampshire, 1849
Pen-and-ink and watercolor. Structures drawn in elevations, numbered, and identifi ed by a
legend. The artist who drew this diagram, not being acquainted with any rules of drawing,
hopes it will be suffi cient apology for the imperfections which may be found. It is not drawed
from any measurement or scale, but the buildings are placed nearly in their natural situation.
(Library of Congress Geography and Map Division Washington)

Figure 36- Shaker Village (Sketch Map), New Lebanon (1787), Columbia County, New York,
(Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division Washington)

Figure 37- Shaker Village, Berkshire County, Massachusetts, view from the main street. 1906
(Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division Washington)
Figure 38- Shaker Village (Sketch Map), Berkshire County, Massachusetts
(Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division Washington)

Figure 39- Shaker Church Family Round Barn, Hancock, Berkshire County, MA, The Round
Stone Barn, originally build in 1826, underwent paint restoration in 2009. Upper levels of the
barn were painted to appear as they did circa 1865, when the barn was rebuilt and renovated
after a fi re. (Photo courtesy of Hancock Shaker Village, Pittsfi eld, MA)
Figure 40- Hancock Shaker Village, Berkshire County, Massachusetts
(Photo courtesy of Hancock Shaker Village, Pittsfi eld, MA)

Figure 41-Shaker Church Family Round Barn, Hancock, Berkshire County, MA, 1826
(Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division Washington)

Figure 42- Different kinds of fences in Yates County, New York (note the cleanlines of the
roads after fence laws): Residences of Henry Lewis and Geo. J. Jones (and a blacksmith and
carriage shop), 1876
(David Rumsey Historical Map Collection Archive)
From the book: “Combination Atlas Map Of Yates County New York. Compiled, Drawn and
Published From Personal Examinations and Surveys”. Everts, Ensign & Everts, 714 & 716
Filbert St. Philadelphia. 1876. Thos. Hunter Pr. Phila. N. Friend, Engr. Philad. C.L. Smith, Del.

Figure 43- The snake fences in Yates County, New York: Residence of Joseph F. Finton, 1876
(David Rumsey Historical Map Collection Archive)
From the book: “Combination Atlas Map Of Yates County New York. Compiled, Drawn and
Published From Personal Examinations and Surveys”. Everts, Ensign & Everts, 714 & 716
Filbert St. Philadelphia. 1876. Thos. Hunter Pr. Phila. N. Friend, Engr. Philad. C.L. Smith, Del.
Figure 44-Snake fence and farm home in Virginia, 1940 (Wolcott, Marion Post, photographer)
(Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division Washington)

The grid as landscape
As anticipated in the previous paragraph, the success of Jefferson’s ideal of an
agricultural democracy soon merged with the events of the farmers’ colonisation of
the West.
Furthermore, it has to be stressed that the policy for awarding state lands, with
provisions and planning devices established over the years, ended by also shaping
the development of town and territorial planning.
The endless American suburbia of today is in some way linked to these dynamics.
The ideal of freedom, which developed in contrast to life in the cities, was the
element which undermined the integrity of the town planning of the latter, often
stretching them over too wide a grid. Even though the grid had been introduced by
the Europeans in the first settled towns, we can say today that it is the most
straightforward town planning heirloom of frontier America [Figures 45‐46], which
encouraged a sort of counter‐culture of planning focusing on decongestion 82 .
Even though the grid is severely limited as it sees the territory in only two
dimensions, it enabled cities to be planned and expanded quickly and inexpensively.
As Reps claimed, this checkerboard system from the colonial era gave rise to
“senseless mechanized and unimaginative town planning which was to characterize
much of the 19 th century” 83 but also to quality town planning solutions, such as
“New Haven, with a generous one‐ninth of the original town left as an open green;
or Savannah, with its multiple squares breaking the monotony of the grid; or
Jeffersonville, with its alternating pattern of open squares and building blocks. Even
Philadelphia’s original plan contained the five squares laid out by Penn, the largest
intended as a town center and the four smaller as recreation grounds” 84 .
82 See ESPERDY, Gabrielle, “Defying the grid: A Retroactive Manifesto for the Culture of
Decongestion”, Perspecta, Vol. 30, The MIT Press, 1999, pp. 10‐33
83 REPS, John William, Town Planning in Frontier America, Princeton, University Press, 1965, p. 428
(Italian translation by M. Terni, S. Magistretti, La costruzione dell’ America urbana, introduction by
Francesco Dal Co, Milano, Franco Angeli, 1976, p. 347)
84 Ibid.
46

However, a grid configuration extended across the whole territory could, from the
American point of view, guarantee building‐town‐country integration. It was on the
basis of this premise that Wright’s idea of a project to perfectly integrate Broadacre
City into the logical system of the majority of American territory [Figure 48‐50].
To understand it, it is worth retracing some historical and political transitions which
determined the transformation of the colonial checkerboards of the towns into a
system, with which even wider territories could be planned.
The problem of governing the developing Western lands arose for the first time
following the Land Ordinance of 1784, written by Thomas Jefferson (at the time a
delegate from Virginia), which made provision for the creation of a series of states
in the lands west of the Appalachian Mountains, North of the Ohio River and East of
the Mississippi River. It had in fact become necessary to determine the criterion by
which newly acquired lands should be subdivided and managed following the Treaty
of Paris (1783), which had officially ended the War of Independence.
In 1785, therefore, a new Land Ordinance 85 was issued which not only provided a
useful model for land colonisation [Figure 47], but also enabled the land to be sold,
thus ensuring an income for the treasury chest of Congress. The idea of selling the
land also centralized the power and gave importance to the central bodies of the
newly born Republic, which had thus found a way to finance themselves. In fact,
Congress was unable to raise taxes from the settlers, because this right belonged to
the individual states. The Land Ordinance involved the work of geographers and
explorers, which was to establish the basis for the current Public Land Survey
System of the United States.
This system soon collided head‐on with the rights of the American Indians, who
were forcibly moved several times from their lands, even though the Northwest
Ordinance of 1787 had recognized the right of Native Americans to occupy the
territories, and excluded any unilateral interference by the United States.
85 For the data on this page see WHITE, Albert C., A History of the Rectangular Survey System,
Washington D.C., U.S. Government Printing Office, 1991 (first ed. 1983), p. 776; KNEPPER, George
W., The Official Ohio Lands Book, Columbus, Ohio Auditor of State, 2002, p. 86
47

Unfortunately, it is common knowledge that for numerous reasons things turned
out differently. As the historian, Maldwyn Jones, has correctly observed, the origin
of these contrasts was not due to practical questions, but to ideologically different
approaches to life. “The whites did not have any understanding or patience for a
polytheistic culture (and therefore to them "heathen") which considered not only
foreign, but even repugnant the concept of private ownership of the land" 86 .
Howard Zinn goes a step further as regards this policy, which was to result in, and
was to be celebrated by the “transfer” of the American Indians (Indian Removal Act
of 1830), an act the consequences of which are difficult to calculate precisely in
terms of human lives:
And so, “Indian Removal”, as it has been politely called, cleared the land
for white occupancy between the Appalachians and the Mississippi,
cleared it for cotton in the South and grain in the North, for expansion,
immigration, canals, railroads, new cities, and the building of a huge
continental empire clear across to the Pacific Ocean. […] When Jefferson
doubled the size of the nation by purchasing the Louisiana territory from
France in 1803 […] he proposed to Congress that Indians should be
encouraged to settle down on smaller tracts and do farming;
Jefferson's talk of agriculture, manufactures, civilization is crucial. Indian
removal was necessary for the opening of the vast American lands to
agriculture, to commerce, to markets, to money, to the development of
the modern capitalist economy. 87
The result was, that whoever opposed it was exterminated in a few decades, and
the pacific tribes, who did not oppose the invasion of their territories and had tried
to move from hunting to agriculture, could never match the modern land cultivation
and exploitation techniques adopted by the whites and soon faced their ruin and
decay.
86 JONES, A., Maldwyn, The Limits of Liberty American History 1607‐1992, London, Oxford University
Press, 1995 [first ed. 1983], p. 3 [translation by the editor from Italian (tr. it. Storia degli Stati Uniti
d’America. Dalle prime colonie inglesi ai giorni nostri, Milano, Bompiani 2011, p. 9)
87 ZINN, Howard, A people’s History of the United States, New York, Harper&Row, 1980 [translation
by the editor from Italian (it. tr. di Erica Mannucci, Storia del popolo americano, dal 1492 a oggi,
Milano, il Saggiatore, 2010, pp. 92‐93)
48

The lands freed from the American Indians were then subdivided according to a
model that we will try to illustrate briefly. The basic module consisted of the socalled
Township, a six‐mile long square (6x6 equal to 93 square km), created by lines
that crossed perpendicularly from North‐South and East‐West [Figure 48]. Each
Township was formed in turn by 36 sections of a square mile each, namely 640
acres (2.6 sq. km), which represented the sale unit at the cost of a dollar per acre.
Sections and Townships followed one another in a regular sequence, which
determined the geography of the new states and sometimes merged with natural
borders, such as the Ohio River [Figure 47].
The sections were set side by side and numbered according to a precise scheme,
and some of them had to be reserved for public purposes or put aside for future
sale by the Federal Government, once the costs of the land had risen, thanks to
private investments in the bordering lands.
The Land Act of 1796 changed the numbering for the identification of the sections
and in the following years a series of changes were introduced, in particular as
regards the minimum sale unit. The system, in fact, favoured the large landowners,
who were the only ones able to buy and cultivate portions of territory measuring
640 acres. For this reason, during Jefferson’s time when expansion turned to the
Louisiana territories, recently bought from France, the minimum sale unit was first
halved (to 320 acres) and then halved again to a quarter (160 acres).
Notwithstanding these transformations, it remained difficult for the investors to
make a profit and cultivate such large portions of territory. Therefore, in 1820,
Congress cut the sale unit even further to an eighth (80 acres). However, the Land
Acts set no limits to the purchase and imposed no obligations on the purchasers, all
of which ended by favouring speculation and the formation of large estates. The
path was being cleared for more liberal policies, so that the time was ripe for the
Homestead Act of 1862, which guaranteed easier access to state‐owned lands.
By adopting this model, an attempt was made to control several cases of town
expansion. The case of Savannah 88 , quoted previously in Reps’s words, is significant.
88 See REPS, John William, Town Planning in Frontier America, Princeton, University Press, 1965, pp.
238‐260 (it. tr. by M. Terni, S. Magistretti, La costruzione dell’ America urbana; introduction by
Francesco Dal Co, Milano: Franco Angeli, 1976, pp. 212‐228)
49

Careful observation of the plan of the city in 1800 [Figure 52] clearly shows how the
checkerboard system had been integrated with the six original neighbourhood
pavilions, cancelling forever the image of a frontier town and the savage landscape,
in which the town had lain just a few years before [Figure 53].
If we pause for a moment on a single pavilion governed by the new grid, we see
how a public space was envisaged in the centre and how the selling of lands was
subordinated to the definition of a road grid that established the geometrical order
of the structures. By adding new pavilions the sides, the roads that were once
peripheral automatically became commercial streets, whereas homes usually
fronted the central public spaces.
Although the scheme applied to the city of Savannah did not have any particular
influence on American town planning, it connected directly to the basic grid logic
behind the structure of Broadacre City (1935) [Figure 49‐50]. Wright’s project
adopted the grid not merely for its geometrical layout, but also to return to the
provisions established by the Land Ordinance of 1784, which were later
substantially confirmed in the subdivision of land following the Louisiana Purchase.
SIZE of Land Survey Dimensions in mile miles 2 acres m 2 km 2
Township 6 by 6 36 23040 93.0
Section 1 by 1 1 640 2.6
Half‐section 1 by ½ ½ 320 1.3
Quarter‐section ½ by ½ ¼ 160 647497
Half of quarter‐section ½ by ¼
1⁄8
80 323749
Quarter of quarter‐section ¼ by ¼
1⁄16
40 161874
Broadacre City 4 by 4 16 2560 10.4
Broadacre‐section 1 by 1 1 640 2.6
Broadacre stretches for 4 square miles and the module which subtends the town
grid consists of the Jefferson‐type section of one mile by one mile, so much so that
in the project the very term section was used by Wright to identify the four quarters
of the city. Each section identifies the 4 areas, amounting to 160 acres each, for an
overall total of 640 acres for the entire area of the section [Figure 49]. The
individual acres were in turn identified by a rectangular module of 264 x 165 feet
(50 x 80 m), which for Wright represented the minimum land unit to associate with
a building.
50

In the centre of the town there were lots reserved for school buildings, as suggested
in the model envisaged by the Land Act, whereas in other strategic locations large,
free and/or equipped areas for common use were to be identified [Figure 49].
Much has been written about Broadacre in an attempt to reconstruct the genesis of
this project: from the hypotheses of the contest of the Chicago City Club Quarter
Section (1913) to the project for Ocatillo (1929) [Figure 65], no‐one has ever found
convincing proof that the most radical trait of Wright's proposal was not the
regressive utopia of back to the land, but rather his adhesion to the logic inherent in
the landscape of the American Midwest, which he had studied and reworked. A
comparison of the aerial and satellite photos of the Midwestern States will suffice
to show how the section continues to be the yardstick for the American landscape.
The assessment of this data demonstrates that in the history of town planning
Broadacre cannot be considered an aristocratic refusal of the city and of its
mobocracy. On the contrary, it underlines a certainly utopian attempt to unite the
natural and mechanical worlds. Broadacre is not merely the city of wide open
spaces with vineyards, orchards and farms, but is also a modern territory crossed by
the railroad and the motorway, marked by many factories and modern
telecommunication equipment. Recently, Robert McCarter lingers on those possible
technological inspirations and makes a quick comparison of the ideas contained in
Wright’s project, relating them to their cultural and literary context:
Wright’s concept, which he called Broadacre City in his book The
Disappearing City (1932), was also influenced by a number of other
sources, including Fields, Factories and Workshops (1898) by the
anarchist Peter Kropotkin, a Russian prince in exile, who predicted the
impact of electrical and communication grids and high‐speed motorways
leading to the merging of city and country; Progress and Poverty (1879)
by Henry George, who called for the removal of land from private
ownership and the single tax system; and Anticipations of the Reaction
of Mechanical and Scientific Process upon Human Life and Thought
(1901) by H.G. Wells, who predicted the diffusion of the population
across the countryside, and their accommodation in what he called the
‘pratically automatic house’. 89
89 McCARTER, Robert, Frank Lloyd Wright, London, Reaktion Books Ltd, 2006, p. 125‐126 (Italian
translation by Vito Calabretta, Frank Lloyd Wright, afterword by Roberta Martinis, Torino, Bollati
Boringhieri, 2008, p. 137)
51

The revision of the Broadacre project, carried out in the 1950’s [Figure 51], and the
design of The Illinois, the mile‐high skyscraper, represent the real contradictions of a
system that Wright had demonstrated as being capable of adapting not to an
abstract territory, but to one that really existed. It is his extraordinary architectural
works, items of great quality inserted at a later date into the city landscape, which
in some way undermine its structure just because they are there.
Wright’s most mature, poetic contribution to Broadacre is not to be found in his
ample panoramic vistas he prepared for the edition of The Living City (1958), but in
his identification of urban planning as landscaping to imagine a city‐environment
continuum [Figure 51]. It is just the variety of the landscapes imagined and
proposed by Wright that is most attractive. What is most attractive is really the
variety of landscapes Wright imagined and proposed. If, on the one hand, there is a
natural landscape which can penetrate the folds of the grid (such as the river which
crosses the ground plan of Broadacre) or which can provide a third dimension by
breaking down the two‐dimensional checkerboard pattern (such as the hill placed in
a corner quadrant, which Wright exploited to include a residential neighbourhood
with larger houses), on the other hand, there is the landscape of the vegetable and
flower gardens, the orchards and the farms, which is typical of the American
agrarian culture.
Bruno Zevi, who was one of the few historians with a profound interest in the ideas
expressed at Broadacre and, in a wider sense, in Wright's architecture, approached
the critical point of organic planning by suggesting an interpretative reading aimed
at promoting the project. His critical analysis reappraises Wright’s programme in
the light of the debates regarding the city, which were typical at the end of the
1970’s. Zevi's considerations appear verisimilar even today:
The anti‐urban polemic is a constant feature of American culture […]
[Broadacre's, editor’s note] model was exhibited, in 1934, at the
Rockefeller Center in New York and, later, in many American and
European cities. The town planners considered it the outcome of a
romantic spirit, still deep in the nineteenth century and linked to a rural
ideal. Only at the beginning of the 1970’s, when the concept of cityregion
or city‐territory came up, it was understood that Wright had been
the only one to foresee the degradation and the collapse of the urban
concentrations, and to indicate a serious alternative. Once the ideas of
52

the garden towns and of the satellite towns had failed, Wright’s “rural
urbanism” is not any longer wordplay but a civil message that has to be
pondered. 90
In other words, the lesson learnt from Broadacre would suggest that neither the
agricultural fields nor the application of an abstract model can give a good answer
to densely populated territories. An opportunity for landscape design lies in the
management and planning of these processes.
Today’s landscapes of urban sprawl, invading what were once considered
agricultural and/or natural territories, now act above all as a warning. Recently, too
many politicians and project designers have, perhaps unknowingly, been unable to
handle a situation which has transformed the city and our customary conception of
it. Suburbs stretching for hundreds of kilometres, according to a plan found in
various European and American regions, have not merely become a symptom of
how dispersive the city can be, but they also demonstrate our inability to make a
phenomenon, which was taking place at the beginning of the twentieth century,
worthwhile. If these common forms of dwelling are often referred to as the cancer
of town planning, it should be stressed that they have wormed their way into the
folds of legislative and town planning tools which, in theory, should have protected
the city from losing its grounds. Wright had understood that there was no need to
oppose dispersion. On the contrary it was better to manage it, and identify its
aesthetic significance.
Although Broadacre appears to express Wright’s talent, it is not resigned to suffer
congestion passively and at the same time, offers an advanced analysis of the
phenomena of dispersion already under way in America in the 1930s.
90 ZEVI, Bruno, Frank Lloyd Wright, Bologna, Zanichelli, 1979, pp. 142‐144 [translation by the editor
from Italian]; A totally different interpretation about Broadacre is to be found in Giorgio Ciucci essay
“La città nell’ideologia agraria e Frank Lloyd Wright. Origini e sviluppo di Broadacre”. [The town in
agrarian ideology and Frank Lloyd Wright. The origins and development of Broadacre]:
published in CIUCCI Giorgio, DAL CO Francesco, MANIERI ELIA Mario, TAFURI Manfredo, La città
americana dalla guerra civile al New Deal, [The American city from the Civil War to the New Deal]
Laterza, Bari, 1973, p. 340 [translation by the editor from Italian];
53

Robert McCarter gives a similar interpretation of this point to the one we have just
suggested: “Broadacre City reflects Wright’s ideal of relating to the land [...] With
this new vision of life in the prairie landscape, Wright also reconnected to Frederick
Jackson Turner’s 1893 lecture establishing the importance of the frontier and
pioneer spirit to American democracy. Wright wrote that: ”. 91
For this reason, Wright refused the idea of today's crowded metropolis far away
from nature, as he had matured a diametrically opposed idea.
On the contrary, the principles of organic architecture actually stem from the idea
that architecture is a sort of extension of nature itself. Furthermore, as Edward
Frank recalls “the ecological relationship extends to man, about which Wright
affirms: ” 92 . Probably such words contain what in the
course of the twentieth century had seemed to be Wright’s remaining romantic
traces and today they reintroduce his modern landscape awareness.
93 .
The grid which had produced New York, a city which embodies Wright's mobocracy,
proved with Broadacre that it could generate from the same scheme a town
founded on much more delicate social links than those imposed by property
speculation. However, Broadacre City actually refused the isolation of agricultural
91 McCARTER, Robert, Frank Lloyd Wright, London, Reaktion Books Ltd, 2006, p. 130 (Italian
translation by Vito Calabretta, Frank Lloyd Wright, afterword by Roberta Martinis, Torino, Bollati
Boringhieri, 2008, p.142). It is important to note that the Wright’s consideration about
“decentralization” are related to the New Deal economic programs sponsored by Franklin D.
Roosevelt in the same years.
92 FRANK, Edward, Pensiero organico e architettura wrightiana, Bari: Dedalo libri, 1978; p. 45
[translation by the editor from Italian]
93 Ibid. p. 107
54

and pastoral life. The “middle landscape” theorized by Leo Marx seems to permeate
this particular project by Wright.
Olmsted reacted differently to the grid, by taking a more diversified, radical
approach. Contrary to Wright, Olmsted acknowledged that the town and its
functions had a precise meaning, but he did try, however, to free his projects of
urban parks from the logic of the grid and reconnect with the picturesque planning
of the English garden, which Andrew Jackson Downing’s theories had popularised in
America. Moreover, Olmsted’s work began as a need for giving structure to the
overall layout of the town. His projects offered a realistic proposal of improvement
and, as Francesco Dal Co has correctly said “Olmsted's landscape did not aim at
producing isolated models, separate and alternative to the town. The landscape
was by now transformed in a precise town planning instrument; the parks were the
product of a philosophy that aimed at reforming the life conditions through refined
planning techniques” 94 . Bruno Zevi further explains the relationship between
Olmsted and the traditional town, by identifying an alternative proposal to the rigid
checkerboard plan in his idea of a park:
The of the United States were not satisfied
with protecting the countryside and with rescuing some green areas
from the building industry. They wished a development that brought
94 DAL CO, Francesco, “Dai Parchi alla regione. L’ ideologia progressista e la riforma della città
americana” [From the Parks to the region. Progressive ideology and reform of the American city]
published in CIUCCI Giorgio, DAL CO Francesco, MANIERI ELIA Mario, TAFURI Manfredo, La città
americana dalla guerra civile al New Deal, [The American city from the Civil War to the New Deal]
Laterza, Bari, 1973, p. 181 [translation by the editor from Italian]; This book requires a note of
clarification. It is an important Italian contribution as regards the development of American towns
between the nineteenth and twentieth century, however, it must be said that the overall significance
of the research appears dated nowadays, and affected by some of the typical categorisations of
culture in the 70s.. The continual references to Marxist theories and the explicit condemnation of
laissez‐faire often make the treatment of social and economic matters anachronistic and make the
authors appear inexplicably interested in a topic which they then seem at times to despise. The
book was later translated into English and printed in the United States. However, following an ironic,
disparaging review which appeared in April 1980 in the magazine Skyline, the official mouthpiece,
together with Opposition, of the IAUS [Institute for Architecture and Urban Studies] directed by
Peter Eisenman, risked undermining the relationship between the IUAV in Venice, represented to a
certain extent by the authors, and the New York architects mentioned in the magazine. Evidence of
this unfortunate situation can be found in the correspondence filed at the Centre Canadien
d’Architecture in Montreal: CCA ‐ Peter Eisenman fonds, serie BOX‐51‐B (AP143.S5.D17‐
DR2001:0038). [My thanks go to Francesco Coppolecchia, architectural researcher, for the time and
assistance he dedicated to providing the information needed to help me reconstruct this episode
with all the aforementioned details.]
55

together urban and environmental planning.[…] The park was for
Olmsted the first tool for freeing the city and his architecture from the
slavery of rigid, uniform and mortifying patterns. Here are some
features: ; . In other words,
the sequence of the parks had to offer the means to overcome the
schism between town and countryside, and to fight both the
bureaucratic zoning and the social segregation 95 .
We believe a brief analysis of a project of suburban settlement, such as Riverside,
Illinois [Figure 54], a suburb in the periphery of Chicago, planned by Olmsted and
Vaux in 1869, to be of greater interest. In this case, the planners had to make a
specific choice: either to retain the characteristic grid of the surrounding territory,
or to propose something different, even though they knew they had to assure the
feasibility of an intervention using private investment and therefore for speculative
reasons.
The ground plan for Riverside, the prerequisites of which were resumed by Charles
and Frederick Olmsted in the later Plan for Vandergrift, Pennsylvania (1895), is the
antithesis of “Manhattanism”, which fascinated Rem Koolhaas in his Delirious New
York, since it rejects the typical, geometrical plan of the metropolis. And yet
Manhattan, even though it is not America, embodies perfectly the typical elements
of the "American layout", as Le Corbusier defined the dense road grille of New York
in 1937 96 .
Olmsted rejected the grid and drew a series of curvilinear streets, which
determined oval blocks of buildings. The overall plan recalls a carpet of leaves under
95 ZEVI, Bruno, “F.L. Olmsted, F. Ll. Wright e il contributo americano” [F.L. Olmsted, F. Ll. Wright and
the American contribution], published in ZEVI, Bruno, Pretesti di critica architettonica, Turin, Einaudi,
1983, p. 345 [translation by the editor from Italian]; This text by Zevi is based on the paper The
Influence of American Architecture and Urban Planning in the World presented at the conference
“200 Years of American History: What difference has it made?”, Washington D.C., during the
American bicentennial and published in DAVIS, Allen F., For Better or Worse – The American
Influence in the World, Westport (Conn.) and London, Greenwood Press, 1981
96 See LE CORBUSIER, Quand les Chatédral étaient blanches, voyage au pays des timides, 1937 (Italian
translation by Irene Alessi, Quando le cattedrali erano bianche, viaggio nel paese dei timidi,
introduction by Gianni Contessi, Milan, Christian Marinotti Edizioni, 2003)
56

a tree, and each "leaf" encloses dozens of lots intended to encourage the rich
bourgeoisie and the American middle‐class to settle there. However, the project
was not limited to the identification of the building lots organized in a functional
plan. The intricate interweaving of winding road created numerous oblong or
triangular areas, which were intended as communal green spaces.
This simple expedient, together with the fact that the buildings were never built on
the edge of the road, but were set back a few dozen metres to create varying
alignments which would give the built‐up area a rural aspect and hide the presence
of the buildings. The Des Plains River, which bordered the project to the South,
fuelled this sensation of immersion in a “natural” habitat stretching over an
approximately 3x2‐km perimeter. The total project area included 1,600 acres
divided slantwise by the railroad. The various private lots wove deep within the
“leaves”, and created an apparently homogeneous green lung free of divisions at
the centre of the “block”. Thus, the homes at the back had plenty of space and
privacy.
The design choices adopted show the importance and the uniqueness of this
project, in which the planners had conceived not only unbuilt areas, as in the urban
park project, but had also indicated the use and the development of the areas
intended for buildings. The urban and landscape project was nearly entirely
completed and in the following years, buildings were added by numerous
architects, such as Daniel Burnham, Louis Sullivan, William Le Baron Jenney and by
Calvert Vaux himself.
However, as we said previously, the “American layout” began to be undermined by
the picturesque English garden. Somehow, the Riverside project refers to a specific
precedent: the design for a park by Alexander Jackson Davis (1803‐1892) and
Calvert Vaux, which contained a series of dwellings. Conceived in 1857 and
implemented two years later, this project was called Llewellyn Park [Figure 55]and
was constructed on the outskirts of West Orange, New Jersey. The trend for
picturesque planning, begun by Llewellyn Park, the influence of which can be
probably traced back to Andrew Jackson Downing, exercised its charm on various
constructions in the following decades.
57

With no bearing on either the logic of the construction chessboard or the dynamics
of the new agricultural lands, the new landscapes which were created led to the
subsequent, nineteenth century idealisation of nature. Christian Zapatka speaks of
the numerous experiences which followed this particular structure to plan for
suburban, residential neighbourhoods as intermediate areas between town and
country:
In the mid‐to‐late nineteenth century, projects for suburban
neighbourhoods such as Roland Park in Baltimore and Druid Hills Park in
Atlanta proposed curvilinear plans that not only took advantage of the
site conditions but introduced less rigid streets. The streets were much
less integrated with the houses than in urban cases. Early photographs
show individual foot bridges, for example, going from the crown of the
road to the sidewalk in front of each house. The suburban streets were
more highway‐like than urban. These neighbourhoods could be seen as
residential versions of the great city parks. The allure of a country house
within the boundaries of the city was one of the forces behind the
project. 97
Even more surprising is Wright’s indirect revision of the oval block scheme
implemented in Riverside by Olmsted. Wright was to remain substantially faithful to
the grid for decades, but at the same time he included some suggestions from the
world of landscape gardening. In fact, in some little known projects, Wright was to
programmatically combine the picturesque approach with that of the grid module.
Although Olmsted and Wright had no direct contact with each other, it has to be
said that the latter knew the Riverside project very well, since it was not very far
away from Oak Park. Furthermore, at the beginning of the twentieth century,
Wright was to get the opportunity to plan as part of the Olmsted project, both
Thomek House (1907) and various buildings on the Coonley Estate (1907‐09), fine
tuning the theme of the prairie houses. It was actually Coonley House, together with
Robie House, a masterpiece of the period, with its annexes and its ample garden,
which occupied nearly all the egg‐shaped space of one of the smallest blocks
planned by Olmsted close to the river.
97 ZAPATKA, CHRISTIAN The American landscape, New York, Princeton Architectural Press, 1995, p. 79
(Italian translation L’architettura del paesaggio americano, edited by Mirko Zardini, Milano, Electa,
1995, p. 79)
58

This idea of dedicating a circular lot entirely to a dwelling was taken up again much
later and applied to the principles of the Usonian houses, when Wright was faced
with devising a master plan for Galesburg Country Homes, Galesburg, Michigan
(1947). This was a small, residential suburb, which included an orchard and a series
of small ponds immersed in nature and used to define the area boundaries. Bruce
Brooks Pfeiffer perceptively reconstructs the details:
The master plan for this sub vision reveals an innovative approach to
individual house plots where each is a complete circle. Forty‐two circles
represent the plots for 42 homes on 72 acres. Wright wrote: “The center
of each disk of ground once located by survey and diameter given, any
house owner can tell where his lot limits are. No lot line touches another
wherever the scheme is perfect. All interspaces are to be planted to
some native shrub like barberry or sumach, throwing a network of color
in pattern over the entire tract”. The plan was later modified to provide
21 homes, and then once again modified to provide 18. Four of the plots
were purchased by homeowners who came to Wright for their designs. 98
The same model was re‐proposed not only in the master plan for Parkwyn Village,
Kalamazoo, Michigan (1947) [Figure 56], in which Wright also pictured a central
building for use by the community, but also in the project called “Usonia II”, another
settlement design devised for the company Usonia Homes Inc. in Pleasantville, New
York (1947) 99 .
When it was the matter of planning Broadacre City, Wright provided a solution
which adhered to schemes that were already present within the territory [Figures
45‐50]. However, when he had the opportunity of planning a smaller, both practical
and dystopic settlement, he managed the needs for the picturesque by using a
circular module [Figure 56]. Wright did not adopt precise formulae to interpret the
landscape, rather he was convinced that architecture "is born and not
manufactured" 100 . This is the very reason why Wright was a great contemporary
interpreter of Jefferson’s ideal of belonging to the land. Wright did not restrict
himself to indicating the great American landscape; he saw in it the opportunity to
98 PFEIFFER, Bruce Brooks, Frank Lloyd Wright 1943‐1959. The Complete Works, Cologne, Taschen,
2009, p. 121
99 Ibid. p. 140 and p. 146
100 WRIGHT, Frank Lloyd, The Future of Architecture, New York, Horizon Press, 1953, p. 213
59

cultivate the architecture there. He had no real confidence in the settlement grid
spread by the Land Ordinances of the end of the eighteenth century, but he
understood that it was an element to which he had to relate. Edward Frank wrote
about the grid and the module: “the module was never adopted in a dogmatic
sense, namely elevated at the level of a universal system. The proportions are not
based uniquely, and not even in a prevailing manner, on abstract geometrical grids,
but on concrete and immediate relationships: ” 101 .
Therefore, Wright used Broadacre City not only to examine the nineteenth‐century
pioneer’s limit, but he also grasped the potentialities of the landscape on the vast
scale of the U.S. section, which continues to be a feature of the territory today.
Broadacre ultimately represents an idea of a town and of democracy, which
summarises America itself. In particular, it makes us think of the America of the vast
fields and farms of the Midwest, governed by the Public Land Survey system, and it
symbolizes the contradictions of America, the story of which is inseparable from the
movement of the car and the elevator.
101 FRANK , Edward, Pensiero organico e architettura wrightiana, Bari, Dedalo libri, 1978, pp. 28‐29
[translation by the editor from Italian]
60

Figure 45- The grid: Clarck County, Wisconsin, 2012 (view from Google Earth)

Figure 46- The grid: Livingstone County, Illionis, 2012 (view from Google Earth)

Figure 47- The grid system (Land Survey System) : the original seven ranges after Land
Ordinance of 1785. Note the Ohio river is considered a natural border. At right a little one of
various scheme of theoretical township diagram swowing method of numbering section with
adjojning sections.
Image from the book by WHITE, Albert C., A History of Rectangular Survey System,
Washington D.C., U.S. Government Printing Offi ce, 1991

Figure 48- Land Ordinance of 1785: scheme of theoretical township diagram swowing method
of numbering sections with reserved section for public scopes.
Image form the book by WHITE, Albert C., A History of Rectangular Survey System,
Washington D.C., U.S. Government Printing Offi ce, 1991
Figure 49- Frank Lloyd Wright, Broadacre City, plan, 1931-35: Note the dimension of Broadacre
city project correspondes exactly to 4 sections of Land Ordinance

Figure 50- Frank Lloyd Wright, Broadacre City, model, 1931-35

Figure 51- Frank Lloyd Wright, Broadacre City, drawing, 1958

Figure 52- The grid and the development of the city. Plan of Savannah, 1800
Map from City of Savannah, Engineering Dept. John McKinnon, surveyor of Chatham County
1800 CITY OF SAVANNAH AND ENVIRONS - Savannah Victorian Historic District,
Bounded by Gwinnett, East Broad, West Broad Street & Anderson Lane, Savannah, Chatham
County, Georgia
(Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division Washington)

Figure 53- The wilderness and the city: a view of Savannah as it stood the 29th of March 1734
(Peter Gordon, author), published in 1876
(Library of Congress Geography and Map Division Washington)

Figure 54- Frederick Law Olmsted, Riverside Landscape Architecture District, Chicago, 1869

Figure 55- Alexander Jackson Davis, Llewellyn Park, New Jersey, 1857

Figure 56- Frank Lloyd Wright, Parkwin village, kalamazoo, Michigan, 1947

America, or the Israel of our time
>
With these opening words Herman Melville began Moby Dick, one of his bestknown
novels, unanimously recognized today as a masterpiece of American
literature of the nineteenth century. The book, also known in the English‐speaking
world with the subtitle The Whale, was published for the first time in London in
October 1851, printed by the editor Richard Bentley. The American edition,
published by Harper & Brothers, New York, came out the following month.
Melville recounts the voyage of the whaler Pequod and the adventures of its crew
members led by the legendary and notorious Captain Achab.
Call me Ishmael. Some years ago ‐ never mind how long precisely ‐
having little or no money in my purse, and nothing particular to interest
me on shore, I thought I would sail about a little and see the watery part
of the world. It is a way I have of driving off the spleen, and regulating
the circulation. Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth;
whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find
myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up
the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get
such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to
prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically
knocking people's hats off then, I account it high time to get to sea as
soon as I can. This is my substitute for pistol and ball. With a
philosophical flourish Cato throws himself upon his sword; I quietly take
to the ship. There is nothing surprising in this. If they but knew it, almost
all men in their degree, some time or other, cherish very nearly the
same feelings toward the ocean with me. 102
Long sea voyages had inspired and marked the life of Melville, a central figure in the
intellectual life of the Nineteenth century. In 1929, Lewis Mumford himself, a
careful observer of American cultural experiences and literary critic, dedicated a
study 103 to him. Melville is, in fact, one of those key elements who contributed to
102 MELVILLE, Herman, Moby‐Dick or, the Whale, London‐Bombay‐Sidney, Constable and Company
Ltd, 1922 , p. 1 [first ed. 1851] (it. tr. edited by Cesare Pavese, Moby Dick o la Balena , Milano,
Adelphi, 2004, p. 1)
103 MUMFORD, Lewis, Herman Melville, New York, Harcourt, Brace and Co., 1929 (Italian translation
by Loretta Valtz Mannucci, Herman Melville, Milano, Ed. di Comunità, 1965); see by same author The
Golden Day: A Study of American Architecture and Civilization, New York, Boni and Liveright, 1926
61

Mumford’s search for the characters of the American Mind 104 . Mumford’s attempt
to clarify this was forever present in his analysis.
If we read the opening passage of Moby Dick once again, we discover how Melville
transferred “by sea” all the passions, anxieties and expectations of those who left
for America, the New Continent in which they could put their hopes and search for
fortune. The peculiarity of Melville lies precisely in this specific transliteration from
the land to the ocean. Other great American intellectuals of that time, such as
Emerson, Hawthorne, Thoreau and Whitman, had found stimuli in everyday
experiences and places (although some of them had travelled in Europe). It was
probably those very limits and sudden socio‐political changes which had occurred in
New England and the States of the Atlantic Coast, pushing migration flows towards
the West, which provided a kind of inspired source for reflection.
Marcus Cunliffe, in his book The Literature of the United States, observes how
“years at sea, however, took Herman Melville far from the familiar world of New
York and Albany" 105 and proposes a parallel with his contemporary Flaubert.
In the writers’ minds, the sea recalled the epoch of the literary classics and, more
prosaically, the treasures and mysteries lying in the abysses and men’s efforts to
recover or reveal them.
In a letter dated March 3 rd , 1849 to Evert Duyckinck, an associated editor of the
Young America Movement, Melville confessed his admiration for such researchers:
“I love all men who dive. Any fish can swim near the surface, but it takes a great
whale to go down stairs five miles or more […] but the whole corps of thoughtdivers,
that have been diving & coming up again with bloodshot eyes since the
world began” 106 .
The indirect reference was not only to men, such as Emerson, whom Melville
mentioned in his letter to his friend, but ideally also to the explorations and voyages
of the first Americans, who set out for the wild, unexplored lands of the West. It
104 See MUMFORD, Lewis, “Origins of American Mind”, American Mercury, vol. VIII, July 1926, pp.
345‐354
105 CUNLIFFE, Marcus, The Literature of the United States, Harmondsworth, Penguin Books, 1969, p.
115 (Italian translation Storia della letteratura americana, Torino, Einaudi, 1970, p. 119)
106 MELVILLE, Herman in HORTH, Lynn, (ed.), Correspondence: The Writings of Herman Melville, Vol.
14, Evanstone and Chicago, Northwestern University Press and The Newberry Library, 1993, p. 923
62

was Melville himself who wrote a symptomatic definition in White‐Jacket (1850),
which gave a significance of religious epic to the “mission” of the American
pioneers:
But in many things we Americans are driven to a rejection of the maxims
of the Past, seeing that, ere long, the van of the nations must, of right,
belong to ourselves. There are occasions when it is for America to make
precedents, and not to obey them. We should, if possible, prove a
teacher to posterity, instead of being the pupil of bygone generations.
More shall come after us than have gone before; the world is not yet
middle‐aged. Escaped from the house of bondage, Israel of old did not
follow after the ways of the Egyptians. To her was given an express
dispensation; to her were given new things under the sun. And we
Americans are the peculiar, chosen people the Israel of our time; we
bear the ark of the liberties of the world. Seventy years ago we escaped
from thrall; and, besides our first birthright embracing one continent of
earth God has given to us, for a future inheritance, the broad domains of
the political pagans, that shall yet come and lie down under the shade of
our ark, without bloody hands being lifted. God has predestinated,
mankind expects, great things from our race; and great things we feel in
our souls. The rest of the nations must soon be in our rear. We are the
pioneers of the world; the advance‐guard, sent on through the
wilderness of untried things, to break a new path in the New World that
is ours. In our youth is our strength; in our inexperience, our wisdom. At
a period when other nations have but lisped, our deep voice is heard
afar. Long enough have we been sceptics with regard to ourselves, and
doubted whether, indeed, the political Messiah had come. But he has
come in us, if we would but give utterance to his promptings. And let us
always remember that with ourselves, almost for the first time in the
history of earth, national selfishness is unbounded philanthropy; for we
cannot do a good to America, but we give alms to the world. 107
Therefore, when referring to his experiences as a sailor on board various naval
expeditions, Melville did, however, interpret the American animus of his time.
Melville not only understood the mystical fascination represented by a voyage and
the unknown, but since his first writing: Typee: A Peep at Polynesian Life (1846),
he also proposed stories, which sounded almost like calls to a free life in touch
with nature, yet with the addition of a modern documentary‐like fascination.
Melville occasionally decided to add pages which were scientific in style in order to
tell the "truth", and in Typee he also added a geographical chart. The fascination of
107 MELVILLE, Herman, White Jacket, or the World in a Man of War, London, Bombay, Sidney,
Constable and Company Ltd, 1922 (first ed. 1850) p. 189
63

the “revelation” can also be seen, however, in Moby Dick, in which as before the
reader was not spared long, technical, encyclopaedic and sometimes even
pedantic digressions, but most of all the protagonists were given names which
could suggest the significance of the entire voyage narrated. If the message in
Typee was represented by the desertion from the ship to a savage world, a new,
uncontaminated land, Moby Dick, recalled the real expeditions to the West by
using the epic allegory of the sea voyage.
It could be said, therefore, that whereas Achab looked for the meaning of his life
in the obscure depths of the Ocean, the pioneer searched for them at the frontier
and in the wilderness. Furthermore, Achab, Elijah, Gabriel and Ishmael were,
without any doubt, names taken from the Scriptures, but such names were
common in New England and Melville has legitimately taken some elements from
daily life, thus creating a tension between the narrative and news of the time.
To this sometimes candid and partially unconscious search for truth, he was able
to add both the “biblical” message and at the same time the calling, which
animated the Americans of that time, by reworking his personal experiences.
Naturally we are aware of the limits of the proposed reading. It is clear that the
voyages told by Melville are neither simple chronicles, nor a literary expedient, nor
even a naïve desire to evoke the religious world. They are understandably voyages
and adventures with a universal significance, just as a universal significance can be
ascribed to the explorers of the unknown lands of the West. All the possible
interpretations of those events show the conflict between a desire of affirmation
over nature and a fear of the unknown.
Jean Baudrillard, in his well‐known essay Amérique (1986), highlights the
relationships between social, historical and economical changes which have
formed part of the formation of the American vocation of appointing itself as a
utopia come true. A land of age‐old religious experiences and confirmations, a
symbol of the zero degree of European culture:
“In the opinion of the European, America continues to remain a latent
form of exile, a ghost of emigration and exile, and therefore a form of
internalisation of its culture. At the same time, it corresponds to a
violent extroversion and therefore to zero degree of the very same
64

culture. No other country gives rise to this process of both
discrimination and exacerbation, of radicalisation, of the essential
details of our European cultures... What had remained critical and
religious esotericism in Europe, in the New Continent transforms itself
into pragmatic esotericism, thanks to a sudden jolt, or to a twist of a
geographic exile, which imitates in the founding countries of the 17 th
century, man’s voluntary exile into his own conscience. All the American
principles respond to this twofold movement to develop moral law in
peoples’ consciences, and to radicalise the everlasting, utopian need of
the sects and the immediate materialisation of this utopia in
employment, customs and life style. To touch down in America still
means to land in this “religion” of the way of life Tocqueville spoke of 108 .
The dynamics between the moral needs contained in this visualization of America
and utopian idealizations are well founded. The vast American spaces have over the
years offered opportunities to build a complex relationship with the environment.
As we have seen before, this relationship had become clear over time as
architectural models linked to the agricultural practices were defined and as town
planning the settlements evolved.
On the basis of the reasoning followed so far, the city acquires even further the role
of a place of conflict and of a warning for the American intellectual. It was always
going to be the Europeans, who found the fascination and the disenchantment of
the contemporary myth in the metropolis, the skyscrapers and new materials.
If the city, especially Paris, is the object of cultural interests and becomes landscape
in Europe at the end of the nineteenth century, in America people show a similar
interest not so much in built‐up area, but in the unexplored territories and show the
same amazement at the wilderness as the former do at metropolitan life. Later, at
the beginning of the twentieth century, the object of interest shifted to the
“suburb”, namely to the process of decentralization and promotion of idealized
rural life.
108 BAUDRILLARD, Jean, Amerique, Editions Grasset & Fasquelle, 1986 (it. tr. by Laura Guarino,
L’America, Milano, Feltrinelli, 1987, p. 63) [english text translated by the editor from italian]; See
TOCQUEVILLE, Alexis de, De la democrazie en Amerique, Paris, 1835‐1840 (en. tr. by Henry Reeve,
Democracy in America, New York, The Colonial Press, 1900); (Italian translation La Democrazia in
America, edited by Giorgio Candeloro, Milano, Rizzoli, 2010)
65

The old vestiges of the town admired by Victor Hugo in Notre‐Dame de Paris (1831)
fell into ruin to make room for the contemporary metropolis described by
Benjamin:
The street conducts the flâneur into a vanished time […]. Like an ascetic
animal, he flits through unknown districts – until, utterly exhausted, he
stumbles into his room, which receives him coldly and wears a strange
air. Paris created the type of the flâneur […] they themselves, the
Parisians, who have made Paris the promised land of the flâneur – the
“landscape built of sheer life”, as Hofmannsthal once put it. Landscape –
that, in fact, is what Paris becomes for the flâneur. Or, more precisely:
the city splits for him into its dialectical poles. It opens up to him as a
landscape, even as it closes around him as a room 109 .
The natural landscape of the flâneur is the contemporary metropolis, that of the
pioneer is the wildness 110 , the world told by Thoreau and interpreted by Emerson.
A long, elaborate cinematography interprets this process, first with the vast
productions of westerns, followed more recently by sophisticated post‐modern
productions.
In the book La frontiera contro la metropoli (2010) [The frontier versus the
metropolis] Emiliano Ilardi analyses these phenomena from the current point of
view, lingering over the structural inconsistencies of present‐day suburbs in the U.S.
The European suburb is the result of specific social policies, nearly always the
consequence of the expulsion of the less well‐off classes from the centre of the city.
In America, the opposite process has taken place: “The [American – editor’s note]
state does not have the power to solve the internal conflicts; it may only offer new
spaces, therefore it is the rich classes that rush to the periphery raising a wall to
contain the poor and conflictual centre. In a cult film such as 1997: Escape from
New York (1981) by John Carpenter the urban centre represented by Manhattan
109 BENJAMIN, Walter, The Arcades Project, translated by Howard Eiland and Kevin McLaughin,
Cambridge, Massachusetts and London, England, The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press,
1999, cit. pp. 416‐417 (first publication of Benjamin’s papers edited by Rolf Tiedemann, Das
Passagen‐Werk, 1982; Italian translation Parigi, capitale del XIX secolo, Turin, Einaudi, 1986)
110 See SCHAMA, Simon, Landscape and memory, London, Harper Collins, 1995 (Italian translation by
Paola Mazzarelli, Paesaggio e memoria, Milano, Mondadori, 1997)
66

island is so out of control that it is closed from the outside and transformed in a
giant penitentiary” 111 .
Furthermore, Ilardi highlights the fact that one of the most widespread town
planning models in the U.S.A. in the last decades is the CID, Common Interest
development. “A series of agency put in touch a group of citizens with the same age,
the same taste or who simply share the same idea of dwelling […] at that point they
buy a plot of land and they privatise it” 112 . The idea of the Promised Land is
reflected over time with more immediate and materialistic versions. These
attempts establish a behaviour, which has to be interpreted as the umpteenth
effort to repeat the utopian experiments of the nineteenth century, typical of the
frontier era.
However, together with the particular development model recalled by Ilardi, we
have to remember those planning activities called CDP, census‐designated places,
namely the radicalization and the establishment of the dream of equality. This
generated models to organise urban space which, in reality, incorporated all the
defects of the town, creating places that simply refused social dialectical skills by
fancifully abolishing the problem. The urban shapes created by such settlements are
limited to a few stereotyped, sometimes closed and militarized variations, very
often dystopic, landscapes of the psyche and of the market more than of nature.
The phenomenon of American antiurbanism is related to these contradictions in the
relationship man‐nature‐city: it is not a simply opposition to urbanism but suggests
particular forms of association and Weltanschauung.
In his researches Michael J. Thompson shows how “antiurbanism is, then, a product
not only of certain political and economic interests, it is also a product of certain
forms of consciousness” 113 : more than an intellectual tradition or a conservative
reaction to modernity product of the fear of city (and her life‐style).
111 ILARDI, Emiliano, La frontiera contro la metropoli; spazi, media e politica nell’ immaginario urbano
americano, Napoli, Liguori Editore, 2010, p.73‐74 [English text translated by the editor from Italian]
112 Ibid.
113 THOMPSON, Michael J. (ed.), Fleeing the City. Studies in the Culture and Politics of Antiurbanism,
New York, Palgrave Macmillan, 2009, p. 12
67

At this point we should not be surprised by the film The Truman Show (1998), a
refined American cinematographic production, which goes over and merges the
themes of the gated communities with the equally relevant problems raised by the
reality shows, to propose True‐man as protagonist, who is capable of showing the
same non‐conformist reactions that stoked the souls of Thoreau or Whitman.
A similar observation could be made that the film Into the Wild (2007) shows a true
story, telling not only the real journey undertaken by the young protagonist
towards the landscape of wilderness, but also a wider story, which begins with the
vicissitudes of the pioneers and continues with the stories of true free spirits, such
as Jack London and Jack Kerouac.
In other words, the various concepts of nature as Eden or as wild lands have fired
the deep‐set, American religious feeling for the landscape, with the contradictory
results repeatedly mentioned previously.
68

Utopian experiments and perspective Eden
The idealization of biblical origin was followed by numerous episodes of settlement
and urbanization of the wild lands. As already mentioned in previous paragraphs,
America attracted a countless variety of reformers, persecuted people and fanatics.
The first to search for utopia were the Huguenots, French Protestants who started
to settle in America from the second half of the sixteenth century, creating
communities together with other victims of religious persecution, such as the
Brownists and Puritans or French Walloons.
In 1741, the Moravians founded Bethlehem, Pennsylvania, and other settlements
inspired by it (Nazareth in 1742 and Lititz in 1757), all featuring a building called
Gemeinhaus. In city of Bethlehem, as Reps claimed, "designed as a community
center, this building also served as a church, town hall, hospice and office for church
affairs. Two years later a large dormitory for single men was built, several small
houses were completed, and gradually the town began to take form” 114 .
The Lutherans also began to build numerous settlements. In 1803, a group from a
small dissident sect, the Harmony Society led by George Rapp (1757‐1847), founded
the first Lutheran settlement called Harmony, a simple checkerboard surrounded by
5,000 acres of land in Western Pennsylvania. Later, with the arrival of new settlers,
they decided to move, after having sold the land in 1814 and founded the thriving
community of New Harmony on land more suitable for agriculture along the
Wabash River in Indiana. However, in 1825 the Harmonists decided to sell their
properties to Robert Owen (1771‐1858) and founded the town of Economy in
Pennsylvania [Figure 57]. These three Harmonist towns are strictly linked with
water, as they were built close to rivers. From a town planning point of view, they
have no elements of particular interest. However, the unusual relationship
established between architecture and the green spaces was unusual.
114 REPS, John William, Town Planning in Frontier America, Princeton, University Press, 1965, p. 391
(Italian translation by M. Terni, S. Magistretti, La costruzione dell’ America urbana; introduction by
Francesco Dal Co, Milano: Franco Angeli, 1976, p. 323)
69

Economy was described by Charles Nordhoff in his book The Communistic Societies
of the United States (1875) as a small charming village devoted to breeding the silkworm:
The vicinity to Pittsburgh, and cheap water communication, encouraged
them in manufacturing. Economy lay upon the main stage‐road, and was
thus an important and presently a favorite stopping ‐ place; the colonists
found kindly neighbors; there was sufficient young blood in the
community to give enterprise and strength; and " we sang songs every
day, and had music every evening," said old Mr. Keppler to me,
recounting the glories of those days. They erected woolen and cotton
mills, a grist‐mill and saw‐mill; they planted orchards and vineyards; they
began the culture of silk, and with such success that soon the Sunday
dress of men as well as women was of silk, grown, reeled, spun, and
woven by themselves. 115
In describing the village, situated in a place sheltered from the cold winter winds,
Nordhoff spoke of the trees, which had been deliberately planted along the river,
and described the plain but pleasant houses, each with a garden. But he also dwelt
on one significant detail: “The houses, substantially built but unpretentious, are
beautified by a singular arrangement of grape‐vines, which are trained to espaliers
fixed to cover the space between the top of the lower and the bottom of the upper
windows. This manner of training vines gives the town quite a peculiar look, as
though the houses had been crowned with green” 116 .
He was so impressed by the integration of greenery in the façades of the buildings,
that he highlighted the effect in the illustrations in the chapter concerning the
Harmonists [Figure 57]. Simple pruning of the vines with some anchorage to the
wall enabled the plants to form a natural cover to the house, where small birds
frequently made their nests. The industrious inhabitants of Economy had used
limited means to obtain an effect, sought nowadays by many trendsetting architects
with the help of specialist consultants. Neither the sophisticated substrata of
contemporary vertical walls, nor the complicated irrigation systems may be
115 NORDHOFF, Charles, The Communistic Societies of the United States, from personal visit and
observation, London, John Murray, 1875, p.77
116 Ibid. p. 64 (this second quotation is also in Reps, Town Planning in Frontier America, with other
sentences previously taken from Nordhoff’s book, but Reps does not comment on landscape)
70

considered really wise and environmentally friendly choices, no matter how alluring
they may appear.
Robert Owen, a well‐known representative of the so‐called utopian socialism, was
instead the person responsible for the failure of New Harmony. His American
projects were never fully completed, but most of all they did not reap any benefit
from the typical solidarity of members of the religious movements. Several
dissident societies were thus born from his experiment, all of which failed in their
intentions to reform. Although both Owen and his followers persevered for several
decades, they proved to be merely theoreticians. These failures do not diminish the
central role played by Owen's theories as a social reformer and a forerunner of
scientific socialism.
However, the relationship which these settlements had created with the
environment and with nature di not prove to be of any significance, as the
landscape was not a theoretical condition as were the social relationships to be
built.
A destiny similar to Owen's was suffered by the followers of Charles Fourier (1772‐
1837) and Etienne Cabet (1788‐1856), whose ideas penetrated deep into American
society in the first half of the nineteenth century.
In New York at the beginning of the 1840s, Albert Brisbane (1809‐1890), an
American utopian socialist, published a journal called The Phalanx; or Journal of
Social Science, whereas Horace Greeley (1811‐1872), publisher in the same period
of the New York Tribune, was a promoter of various experimental communities
based on Fourier’s ideas. Fourier’s phalanxes found space in settlements featuring
unitary construction devices, the Phalanxes, which opposed the idea of towns based
on individual houses.
This theoretical town planning is also of unquestionable importance and many
authors, such as Lewis Mumford in The Story of Utopias (1922), Francoise Choay in
L’urbanisme: utopies et realites (1965), Leonardo Benevolo in Le origini
dell’Urbanistica Moderna (1963) [The Origins of Modern Town Planning], have
discussed the development and the description of the utopian socialists’ ideas.
71

Among the 41 Fourier‐type communities founded in the early decades of the
nineteenth century, the case of Brook Farm (1841), West Roxbury, Massachusetts,
is probably the most meaningful for our discussion, precisely for the influence it
exercised on the New England transcendentalists, the first intellectuals capable of
establishing the philosophical foundations of the concept of landscape in America.
Brook Farm was founded by George Ripley, a Unitarian minister. He envisaged a
community working as a kind of stock company, to which people contributed in
proportion of their manual and intellectual work, and they were paid on the basis of
the principles of equality between men and women.
Some of the buildings were identified with names which recalled elements of the
natural world; “the hive” was the hall for social activities and "the nest" was where
school classes were held and where some of the guests of the community were
accommodated.
Nathaniel Hawthorne was among its members for a short period. Disappointed with
the experience, the American writer used his recollections in The Blithedale
Romance (1852), a love story set in an Arcadian world, the failure of which appears
from the very first pages. The inhabitants of this blithe dale reflect Hawthorne’s
gloomy resentment for having adhered to an enterprise which satisfied the spirit
(comforted by the blossoming gardens and by the contact with nature), but which
was of no benefit to the body:
Emerging into the genial sunshine, I half fancied that the labors of the
brotherhood had already realized some of Fourier's predictions. Their
enlightened culture of the soil, and the virtues with which they
sanctified their life, had begun to produce an effect upon the material
world and its climate. In my new enthusiasm, man looked strong and
stately,—and woman, O how beautiful! —and the earth a green garden,
blossoming with many‐colored delights. Thus Nature, whose laws I had
broken in various artificial ways, comported herself towards me as a
strict but loving mother, who uses the rod upon her little boy for his
naughtiness, and then gives him a smile, a kiss, and some pretty
playthings, to console the urchin for her severity. In the interval of my
seclusion, there had been a number of recruits to our little army of
saints and martyrs. They were mostly individuals who had gone through
such an experience as to disgust them with ordinary pursuits, but who
were not yet so old, nor had suffered so deeply, as to lose their faith in
the better time to come […] Arcadians though we were, our costume
bore no resemblance to the be‐ribboned doublets, silk breeches and
72

stockings, and slippers fastened with artificial roses, that distinguish the
pastoral people of poetry and the stage. In outward show, I humbly
conceive, we looked rather like a gang of beggars, or banditti, than
either a company of honest laboring men, or a conclave of philosophers.
Whatever might be our points of difference, we all of us seemed to have
come to Blithedale with the one thrifty and laudable idea of wearing out
our old clothes. 117
Ironically we could make a parallel with the Taliesin community founded by Frank
Lloyd Wright in Spring Green (1911‐1959). Besides, the outcome of some of
Wright’s convictions, in particular the relationship between man and nature, is
probably to be attributed not only to his religious creed, but also to his cultural
references. As is well‐known, Wright, a Unitarian like George Ripley, offered hard
living conditions, and forced his collaborators and the apprentices of the Taliesin
Fellowship (established in 1932) to perform physical labour in the fields and/or in
the construction of new buildings‐pavilions: many details of these events are told by
Wright himself in his autobiography 118 .
The comparison between Brook Farm and Taliesin is suggested mainly by a fire. The
Phalanstery of Brook Farm, just built in 1846, was completely destroyed by the
flames the very evening of its inauguration. Ripley‘s community thus set out on the
sad road towards the sunset, which took place definitively in 1849, when the
buildings and the land were auctioned. Even considering the different outcomes of
the Taliesin fires, a similar destiny was reserved several times to Wright's
buildings 119 .
An experience of similar interest is that already mentioned of Fruitlands, Harvard,
Massachusetts (1843), founded by Charles Lane and Amos Bronson Alcott on the
basis of the transcendentalist principles, a few miles from Concord, a spiritual
centre of the American intellectuals of the time.
Lane, who was of English origin and an admirer of Alcott’s ideas regarding the
education of the minors, was the “preacher” and the promoter of the experiment.
117 HOWTHORNE, Nathaniel, The Blithedale Romance, Boston, Ticknor, Reed and Fields, 1852, cit. pp.
74‐76
118 WRIGHT, Frank Lloyd, An Autobiography, New York, Duell, Sloan & Pearce, 1943 (Italian
translation by Bruno Oddera, Un’Autobiografia, Milan, Editoriale Jaca Book, 2003)
119 See McCARTER, Robert, Frank Lloyd Wright, London, Reaktion Books Ltd, 2006; and WRIGHT,
Frank Lloyd, An Autobiography, New York, Duell, Sloan & Pearce, 1943
73

He purchased 90 acres of land, but his enterprise and autonomy soon caused
resentment 120 . The ideas of Fruitlands community life put respect for nature and
animals at the centre of existence in a radical and extremist manner. A harsh life
followed. By listing just some of the rules practiced, we can understand the
conditions: a vegetarian‐vegan diet, linen dresses (cotton was not used to avoid
favouring slavery indirectly), economic autarchy and animals exempted from
agricultural labour.
There were a handful of members, among whom Samuel Bower, an extrovert who
left after few months, during which he was convinced definitively to practice
nudism as an extreme act of freedom, and Joseph Palmer who fought publicly for
the right to wear a thick, unkempt beard 121 . No further comments are needed to
understand the failure of the enterprise. Louise May Alcott (1832‐1888), the
daughter of one of the founders and authoress of the famous novel Little Women
(1868), told many years after of her experience as a child at Fruitlands in
Transcendental Wild Oats (1873) 122 . By using fantasy names for her father (Mr. Abel
Lamb) and Charles Lane (Mr. Timon Lion), she recalls the birth of the community in
these words:
[…] these modern pilgrims journeyed hopefully out of the old world, to
found a new one in the wilderness. The editors of "The Transcendental
Tripod" had received from Messrs. Lion & Lamb (two of the aforesaid
pilgrims) a communication from which the following statement is an
extract: "We have made arrangements with the proprietor of an estate
of about a hundred acres which liberates this tract from human
ownership. Here we shall prose cute our effort to initiate a Family in
harmony with the primitive instincts of man. Ordinary secular farming is
not our object. Fruit, grain, pulse, herbs, flax, and other vegetable
products, receiving assiduous attention, will afford ample manual
occupation, and chaste supplies for the bodily needs. It is intended to
adorn the pastures with orchards and to supersede the labor of cattle by
the spade and the pruning‐knife. Consecrated to human freedom, the
land awaits the sober culture of devoted men. Beginning with small
120 See EDGELL, David P., “Charles Lane at Fruitlands”, The New England Quarterly, Vol. 33, N. 3 (Sep.,
1960), pp. 374‐377
121 See FRANCIS, Richard, Transcendental Utopias, Individual and Community at Brook Farm,
Fruitlands, and Walden, New York, Cornell University Press, 1997
122 See MATTESON, John, Eden’s outcasts: the story of Louisa May Alcott and her Father, New York,
Nortin & Company, 2008; and SEARS, Endicott Clara (ed.), Bronson Alcott’s Fruitlands, Boston,
Houghton Mifflin Company, 1915
74

pecuniary means, this enterprise must be rooted in a reliance on the
succors of an ever‐bounteous Providence, whose vital affinities being
secured by this union with uncorrupted field and Unworldly persons, the
cares and injuries of a life of gain are avoided. The inner nature of each
member of the Family is at no time neglected. Our plan contemplates all
such disciplines, cultures, and habits as evidently conduce to the
purifying of the inmates. Pledged to the spirit alone, the founders
anticipate no hasty or numerous addition to their numbers. The
kingdom of peace is entered only through the gates of self‐denial; and
felicity is the test and the reward of loyalty to the unswerving law of
Love”. This prospective Eden at present consisted of an old red farmhouse,
a dilapidated barn, many acres of meadow‐land, and a grove. Ten
ancient apple‐trees were all the "chaste supply" which the place offered
as yet; but, in the firm belief that plenteous orchards were soon to be
evoked from their inner consciousness, these sanguine founders had
christened their domain Fruitlands 123 .
After approximately seven months, Fruitlands was abandoned, but it was to
represent a crucial meeting point between converging ideologies. Ralph Waldo
Emerson, the main theorist of transcendentalism, not only knew perfectly the
experiment at Fruitlands, but following its failure helped Alcott in settling again in
Concord. Emerson was also aware of the decision of Charles Lane to join the
Shakers, who had several communities around Concord. 124 . The various
communities described previously reconnected directly or indirectly with the
analogous theories of the utopian socialists, and recalled the rules of daily life
already practiced by the Shakers.
An essay by Priscilla Brewer speaks of this very interweaving of theories and how
they influenced Emerson's ideas: “Searching for ways to change the system,
Emerson encountered the socialist schemes of Robert Owen and Charles Fourier,
and in trying to locate successful examples of socialism in America, he remembered
123 ALCOTT, Louisa May, “Trascendental Wild Oats” published in Silver Pitchers: and Independence, A
Centennial Love Story, Boston, Roberts Brothers, 1876, pp. 80‐81
124 Near Concord, the city where Emerson lived, there were various Shaker towns. One of these is the
community of Canterbury, 12 miles north‐east of Elms. Charles Edson Robinson writes about it:
“From this point on, for ten miles to the Shaker village, we pass up a gradual rise of land until we
reach the Shaker settlement. On the way, we pass some of the best farms in the Granite State. The
Shaker village itself has a wonderfully clean and neat appearance. The houses, church, school
building, workshops, barns, stables and sheds are kept in the best of repair, showing unmistakable
evidence in every department that the followers of Ann Lee are grounded in the faith that
"cleanliness is next to godliness". ROBINSON, Charles Edson, A Concise History of The United Society
of Believers, called Shakers, East Canterbury, 1893, p. 110
75

the Shakers. After an 1842 visit to the Harvard community with Hawthorne,
Emerson concluded, . In harmony as he was with the rapidly shifting
intellectual , Emerson gradually found more and more in
Shakerism that impressed him”. 125
We can add that the list of Emerson’s readings reveals how well he had known
Fourier’s and Owen’s publications since 1840, the year in which he published a
review of the essay Social Destiny of Man by Albert Brisbane (1840) in the October
issue of The Dial. In July two years later, he published an article entitled “Fourierism
and the Socialists” in the same magazine. 126 However, the most intense of
Emerson’s meditations regarding these social experiments remains his famous
lecture “New England Reformers”, which he gave at Amory Hall in Boston on March
3rd, 1844: “These new associations are composed of men and women of superior
talents and sentiments […] but remember that no society can ever be so large as
one man” 127 . Although he highlighted some of the merits of the utopians during the
conference, Emerson revealed his perplexities about the community life they
proposed. He thought, in fact, that a man influenced by habits and rules, searching
for alliances “external" to his spirit, could not express his own will and his own
individuality in full. This also gave rise to the theoretical justification and the
premise at the start of Thoreau’s Walden Experiment, the community of just one
man: “The union is only perfect, when all the uniters are isolated. It is the union of
friends who live in different streets or towns […] Government will be adamantine
without any governor. The union must be ideal in actual individualism” 128 .
By suggesting a provocative, anarchical solution, Emerson set the terms of the
American relationship between democracy and the individual, which was the object
125 BREWER, Priscilla J., “ Emerson, Lane, and the Shakers: A Case of Converging Ideologies”,
published in The New England Quarterly, Vol. 55, No. 2 (Jun., 1982), pp. 254‐275; p. 258
126 See FLANAGAN, John T., “Emerson and Communism”, The New England Quarterly, Vol. 10, No. 2
(Jun., 1937), pp. 243‐261
127 See EMERSON, Ralph Waldo, Essays, Boston and New York, Houghton, Mifflin and Company, 1894
(first ed. 1854 and 1876) p. 213
128 Ibid., p. 215
76

of continual reflections by Wright, or which interpreted the other side of the
relationship between city and countryside.
After all, Emerson’s interest towards the religious, socialist or transcendentalist
communities had its limit. Emerson, as were Thoreau and Whitman, was essentially
an individualist to such an extent that he never decided to embark personally on
experiences of collective life. His personal spiritual dimension found its fulfilment
not in the community, but in nature. “His interest in the Fruitlands community of
Bronson Alcott was solely intellectual; it was more probable that he would have
joined Brook Farm when it was established in 1840, due to its greater popularity
among the Transcendentalists. After refusing George Ripley's invitation, Emerson
explained, "To join this body would be to traverse all my long trumpeted theory...
that one man is a counterpoise to a city, that his solitude is more prevalent and
beneficent than the concert of crowds" (JMN, 7:408). Emerson's devotion to
solitude frustrated those Transcendentalists, like Charles Lane, who were devoted
to communal progress” 129 .
Among the other communities active in the same years, we find the Icarians,
followers of Cabet who rallied to the cry “Allons en Amérique – Allons en Icarie”.
The disagreements appeared at the first meeting in New Orleans in 1848, in the
Texan experiment of Denton County (1848) and when in 1850 they transferred to
Nauvoo (1840), Illinois, a town founded by the Mormons and abandoned by them
that same year.
A similar situation of disagreements among the inhabitants (from various European
nations, but mainly French) took place in the settlements of Corning, Iowa (1852),
and Cheltenham, Missouri (1858), founded after the death of Cabet (1856) by the
last of his supporters who had followed him to St. Louis. William Alfred Hinds
analysed the phenomena with a utopian matrix in his 1878 book American
Communities and said “No existing Community has had a sadder history than
Icaria” 130 .
129 BREWER, Priscilla J., “ Emerson, Lane, and the Shakers: A Case of Converging Ideologies”,
published in The New England Quarterly, Vol. 55, No. 2 (Jun., 1982), pp. 254‐275; p. 262
130 HINDS, William Alfred, American Communies: brief skecthes of Economy, Zoar, Bethel, Aurora,
Amana, Icaria, The Shakers, Oneida, Wallingford, and The Brotherhood of the New Life, Oneida, NY,
Office of the American Socialist, 1878, p. 62
77

Settlements, such as Vineland (1861), New Jersey, Anaheim (1857) [Figure 58],
California and Silkville Prairie Home (1870), Kansas, which Nordhoff defined as
“colonies not‐communistic”, were also of a certain interest.
In Anaheim in particular, the Los Angeles Vineyard Society appointed George
Hansen, an engineer of German origin as manager of the enterprise. Hansen
implemented a series of hydraulic works to guarantee the supply of water during
the hot Californian summers, thus radically modifying the landscape [Figure 59].
Together with 50 men 131 he committed to the enterprise of improving the 1,165
acres of land purchased in the neighbourhood of Los Angeles:
It was agreed to divide the eleven hundred and sixty‐five acres into fifty
twenty‐acre tracts, and fifty village lots, the village to stand in the centre
of the purchase. Fourteen lots were also set aside for school‐houses and
other public buildings. With the first contribution the land was bought.
The fifty associates had to pay about fifty dollars each for this purpose.
[…] Mr. Hansen, editor’s note, employed Spaniards and Indians as
laborers; and what he did was to dig a ditch seven miles long to lead
water out of the Santa Anna River, with four hundred and fifty miles of
subsidiary ditches and twenty‐five miles of feeders to lead the water
over every twenty‐acre lot. This done, he planted on every farm eight
acres of grapes and some fruit‐trees; and on the whole place over five
miles of outside willow fencing and thirty‐five miles of inside fencing.
Willows grow rapidly in that region, and make a very close fence,
yielding also fire‐wood sufficient for the farmer's use. All this had to be
done gradually, so that the payments for labor should not exceed the
monthly contributions of the associates, for they had no credit to use in
the beginning, and contracted no debts. When the planting was done,
the superintendent cultivated and pruned the grape‐vines and trees,
and took care of the place; and it was only when the vines were old
enough to bear, and thus to yield an income at once, that the
proprietors took possession. At the end of three years the whole of this
labor had been performed and paid for; the vines were ready to bear a
crop, and the division of lots took place 132 .
131 “The Anaheim associates consisted in the main of mechanics, and they had not a farmer among
them. They were all Germans. There were several carpenters, a gunsmith, an engraver, three watchmakers,
four blacksmiths, a brewer, a teacher, a shoemaker, a miller, a hatter, a hotel ‐ keeper, a
bookbinder, four or five musicians, a poet (of course), several merchants, and some teamsters. It
was a very heterogeneous assembly; they had but one thing in common: they were all, with one or
two exceptions, poor. Very few had more than a few dollars saved; most of them had neither cash
nor credit enough to buy even a twenty‐acre farm; and none of them were in circumstances which
promised them more than a decent living” in NORDHOFF, Charles, The Communistic Societies of the
United States, from personal visit and observation, London, John Murray, 1875, p. 362
132 Ibid., p. 362‐363
78

The main feature of this charming village was the enormous expanse of cultivated
vineyards, creating the basis for the renowned, Californian wine‐producing
economy [Figure 60] .
Parallel to the affirmation of a hard agricultural life, various utopian‐technological
theories also developed, which always had the natural world as their background.
This was the case of the ideas elaborated by John Adolphus Etzler (1791‐1846?) and
set out in his book The paradise within the reach of all men, without labour, by
powers of nature and machinery (1833), in which he imagined and described the
natural forces (wind, tides, waves) and the powers of the technological resources
(steam, burning mirrors, perpetual motion). From the union of these forces Etzler
dreamt of machines capable of redeeming man from agricultural labour and gave
advice on how to construct architecture, in the belief that love for nature (by
gardening) and the passion for machines were basic inclinations of human
behaviour 133 .
Etzler's theory, an author read by Thoreau, explained how religious and social
utopias (and transcendentalist ideas) were tied to the ethics of nature and labour. If
used and exploited correctly, the forces of nature could provide the key to spiritual
fulfilment of the individual. The very fact that Etzler lingers on the set up of a
correct relationship between nature and human settlements confirms the
transversality and importance of his theory.
His concepts of the possibility of the evolution of man were recalled in the vast
literary production by Herbert George Wells (1866‐1946), the genius and father of
contemporary science fiction, together with Jules Verne (1828‐1905).
Religions also offered a rather varied picture. In addition to the Shakers, there were
less influent minor groups, such as the Society of the Women in the Wilderness, The
Amana Colonies (radical German Pietists), the Perfectionists of Oneida, The Aurora
community, etc. Between 1817 and 1819, the Separatists founded Zoar, a small
town of German settlers in the middle of the wild woods of Ohio, endowed with an
entire two and a half‐acre block set aside as a garden: “a large public or Community
133 See ETZLER, John Adolphus, The paradise within the reach of all men, without labour, by poker of
nature and machinery. An Address to All Intelligent Men, London, John Brooks, 1838, pp. 234.
About natural power to see pp. 6‐32; about machinery see pp. 33‐60; about agriculture,
architecture, plan of a community, new state of human life, see pp. 61‐95
79

garden, much frequented, especially by visitors. At the center is a small circle
surrounded by a thrifty, well kept cedar hedge; from which radiate twelve triangular
beds, in which one may notice the familiar petunias, balsams, verbenas, amaranths,
dahlias, geraniums, etc. Indeed, the several acres included in the garden are mainly
occupied with flowers. There are, however, a few vines and fruit‐trees, and on one
side a green‐house of moderate dimensions” 134 .
Another religion which produced an original vision of the town and of the landscape
was Mormonism, a movement founded by Joseph Smith (1805‐1844) around 1830.
The Mormon religion, officially known as The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day
Saints, was based, among other things, on the book of the prophet Mormon,
translated by Joseph Smith after having consulted ancient, golden plates written in
"reformed Egyptian" and found thanks to the indications of an angel, who then took
them back again. On the other hand, some of Smith’s ideas closely followed
theories which had in some way or another been spread and/or elaborated by
others in those very same years. For instance, the belief that the American Indians
of the North American tribes were the descendants of the Israeli tribes, probably
took the cue from an 1826 book of Josiah Priest entitled The Wonders of Nature and
Providence, Displayed 135 .
The town planning experiments of the Mormons were just as numerous as the
persecutions they suffered and the sudden flights they made. From Kirtland, Ohio,
Smith pushed west many times in the attempt to found a city called Zion [Figure
61]. In 1833 Smith even designed a layout with a series of instructions in the
margin, which sent some of his followers‐missionaries to Missouri, close to the
town of Independence, Jackson County. Smith’s specifications were a kind of town
planning and construction regulations, giving precise numeric indications and
measurements to comply with. Smith’s design shows that Zion was centred on a
system of barycentric squares reserved for public buildings, whereas the town area,
measuring a square mile, was surrounded by agricultural fields which had to
134 HINDS, William Alfred, American Communies: brief skecthes of Economy, Zoar, Bethel, Aurora,
Amana, Icaria, The Shakers, Oneida, Wallingford, and The Brotherhood of the New Life, Oneida, NY,
Office of the American Socialist, 1878, p. 25
135 PRIEST, Josiah, The Wonders of Nature and Providence, Displayed, Albany, 1826, (see pp. 372‐408
“Proofs that the Indians of North America are descended from the ancient Hebrews”)
80

limit/prevent its growth. In fact, the pre‐established size was thought to be the
most suitable and therefore could not be improved.
On the basis of these general instructions they built the towns of the Far West,
Missouri and of Nauvoo (to be beautiful in Hebrew), Illinois (1839‐1840). After
Smith was killed, the Mormons continued their march west. In 1847 they were in
Nebraska, where they and their new leader, Brigham Young, founded the so‐called
Winter Quarters [Figure 62]. The following year they arrived instead in the Great
Salt Lake Valley of Utah, establishing the first of dozens of communities in the
desert: Salt Lake City [Figure 63]. However, the Mormons were not the only ones to
be fascinated by the desert. Throughout American history, the desert represented a
particular form of wilderness, a territory in which nature is transformed into a zero
degree landscape. The margins of the American Great Basin Desert were for many
the ultimate utopian possibility: great spaces that disappear over the horizon,
immersed in the warm, trembling light, continue to hold great fascination over
those who traverse them with a knowledge and understanding of their history.
In Scenes in America Deserta (1982), Reyner Banham regrets the indifference of the
average American towards the desert and reminds the reader of the importance it
has had over the years:
“Deserts are not a matter of indifference in the history of the U.S. Their
location athwart the institutionalized urge to
meant that it became their Manifest Destiny to be crossed. From North,
East, and South, the barrier of the Great Basin Desert was probed and
tested, explores and surveyed, from almost as soon as the Anglo Saxons
became aware that such a barrier existed. So, it was crossed –by
trappers and Mormons, the U.S. Army, the transcontinental railroad
surveyor, by wagon trains and the U.S. mails, by the Atchison Topeka
and Santa Fe, by the Union Pacific, by the old National Trails Highway,
and Route 66; and ultimately by Interstates. The ability of the railroads
and great highways like 66 to generate romantic memory and nostalgic
glamor suggest that these thin lines of transportation drawn across the
waste places represent something more in American imaginations that
merely ” 136 .
136 BANHAM , Reyner, Scenes in America Deserta, Salt Lake City, Gibbs M. Smith inc., 1982, pp. 91‐92
(Italian translation by Raffaella Fagetti, Deserti americani, introduzione di Marco Biraghi, Torino,
Einaudi, 2006, cit. pp. 83‐84)
81

Several architects of the twentieth century, who did actually look to the desert to
establish a special relationship between architecture and the landscape, suffered
the same fascination felt by the pioneers of the Old West before them. For
instance, the book Frank Lloyd Wright: Design for an American Landscape, 1922‐
1932 137 (1996) edited by David G. De Long (catalogue published for the exhibition
held at the CCA [Canadian Centre for Architecture] in Montreal and at the Library of
Congress in Washington) reconstructed Wright’s links to the desert landscape with
an analysis of five unbuilt projects: Gordon Strong Automobile Objective, Sugarloaf
Mountain, Maryland (1924‐25), Lake Tahoe Summer Colony, Emerald Bay, California
(1923), Doheny Ranch Development, Beverly Hills, California (1923), A.M. Johnson
Desert Compound, Grapevine Canyon, California (1924), San Marcos in the Desert,
Chandler, Arizona (1928‐29). It was Wright, who came to comprehend the desert by
means of new means of transportation. If the architecture of the pioneer of the
nineteenth century was subordinate to carriages, cattle and the horse, Wright’s
integrated the landscape, architecture and the automobile on a vast scale. These
projects of the 1920’s were to provide the conceptual premises for the birth of
Broadacre City. Furthermore, in this decade when he was achieving minor
professional goals, he concentrated on the meaning of architecture and on the
value of the materials used, by writing a series of articles In the Cause of
Architecture 138 , published on the pages of The Architectural Record.
As Wright himself said in his autobiography, it was Mr A.M. Johnson 139 , the sort of
man who was “a strange mixture of the fanatic and the mystic” 140 , who offered him
the opportunity of a reflection on the desert landscape: “He drove his own car, a
137 DE LONG, David, (ed) Frank Lloyd Wright: design for an American landscape, 1922‐1932, New
York, Harry N. Abrams, 1996
138 See in Italian: WRIGHT, Frank Lloyd, Per la causa dell’ architettura, introduction by Paolo
Portoghesi, Rome, Gangemi, 1989; In English see: GUTHEIM, Frederick (ed.), In the Cause of
Architecture: Essays/ by Frank Lloyd Wright for Architectural Record 1908‐1952; with a symposium
on architecture by eight who knew him by Andrew Devane, Victor Hornbein, Elizabeth Wright
Ingraham, Karl Kamrath, Elizabeth Kassler, Edgar Kaufmann Jr., Henry Klumb, Bruno Zevi, New York,
Architectural Record, 1975
139 A.M. Johnson was the client of the unbuilt Skyscraper for the National Life Insurance Company of
Chicago (1924). This project is dedicated to the memory of the Lieber Meister, Louis Sullivan, who
died in the same year, shortly after seeing the drawing of Wright’s building.
140 WRIGHT, Frank Lloyd, An Autobiography, New York, Duell, Sloan & Pearce, 1943, p. 255 (Italian
translation by Bruno Oddera, Una Autobiografia, Milan, Editoriale Jaca Book, 2003, p.238)
82

Dodge, and as I rode beside him Nature staged a show for us all the way" 141 . For
those places Wright drew up a series of ideas, including a project for a residential
complex for Mr Johnson, a private chapel and a house for himself. Of the project
made for Johnson we are left with very few drawings and two fascinating
photographs [Figure 64] on which quick notes had been written for the project,
which anticipated the lines and the approach of Taliesin West (1937).
The unforgettable spectacle offered by the desert only became, however, a
concrete building opportunity for the most ephemeral of Wright’s projects in 1927:
Ocatillo [Figure 65], the encampment built around Chandler, Arizona to improve the
drawings of the complex of San Marcos in the Desert, and never implemented due
to the economic crisis of 1929. Ocatillo, according to Wright, appears to be the story
of a utopian community of the nineteenth century, of a group of people moving
towards something revolutionary:
We had got back to Taliesin. I was at work on this project for some two
months, when a telegram came from the Doctor [Mr. Alexander
Chandler, the client of San Marcos in the Desert, editor’s note]
suggesting we all come out and make the plans for the new resort right
there. Joyful news. A swift “comeback” at last! A $40,000 fee in that
direction. And we were, at the moment, housebound at Taliesin in a
blizzard, twenty‐two degrees below zero and blowing hard.
Nevertheless, ignoring mentor La Follette ‐Phil‐ secretary now of F.L.W.,
incorporated, we broke away and went out into a blowing snowstorm
on the way to Arizona. A real blizzard. The household and workshop at
Taliesin were quickly closed and the trek by automobile to Arizona
began, fifteen of us in all […] So we finally arrived at Chandler after
extraordinary risks in […] 142
The descriptions of the landscape, in which the Ocatillo encampment was to rise,
revealed a passionate enthusiasm towards the place and the architecture that was
going to be built there 143 . Wright even quoted a sentence by Victor Hugo to explain
141 Ibid.
142 Ibid. p. 307 (Italian translation p. 274)
143 Ibid., p. 307‐309 (Italian translation pp. 275‐276) “Why not camp now? […] I took this idea to Dr.
Chandler and said that if he would give me a site somewhere we would build the camp ourselves. He
reached for his hat, led the way to the little gray Ford coupé which he drives around the mesa at an
average of fifty miles an hour and we went over toward the Salt Range. Ten miles away we came
upon a low, spreading, rocky mound rising from the great desert floor –well away from everywhere,
83

the unusual character of the place: “The desert is where God is and man is not” 144 .
The shacks of Ocatillo were built with hemp cloths and wooden boards
whitewashed in a dull rose colour, “the color to match the light on the desert
floor” 145 , in Wright’s mind were butterflies fluttering over the projecting rocks rising
from the surface, or a small fleet of sailboats rocking in the breeze.
The message from Ocatillo, which was to become architecture in Taliesin West, has
fired other experiences, rekindling the flame of the architectonic utopia. Just think
of Arcosanti, the experiment started by Paolo Soleri, 70 miles from Phoenix, in the
Arizona desert. After all, as Banham suggests, “[...] Soleri and Wright found in the
desert what other men found in the desert: an uncluttered landscape,
unencumbered by other people’s buildings and other people’s cultures, and it
offered them something very like a clean slate, on which to make a new start, and
fulfil an unhindered fantasy” 146 .
However, if the concrete results for utopias are few and far between in terms of
architectural and town planning, the spiritual heirloom of the experiences discussed
so far is still vast and unexplored. The story of the rush to the landscape during the
but within view of the site of the new resort. […] It was all too good, but it was true. Lumber began
to arrive that afternoon. […] Out here in the great spaces obvious symmetry claims too much, I find,
wearies the eye too soon and stultifies the imagination. Obvious symmetry usually closes the
episode before it begins. So for me I felt there could be no obvious symmetry in any building in this
great desert, none especially in this new camp –we later named the place Ocatillo and partly for this
reason. No, there would be nothing like obvious symmetry in the new .
The sound constitution of any entity is pregnant with graceful reflexes. Seek those, young architect!
Now by way of an architect’s work‐camp comes fresh adventure in the desert. We called the camp:
. […] The Yankee‐Hopi house is the Phoenix favourite just now. In all this weird,
colourful, wide‐sweeping terrain nothing is quite so deciduous as Arizona buildings, unless the crows
lighting on the fences of the irrigated fields only to fly away. Unspoiled native character insulted like
this. Arizona character seems to cry out for a space‐loving architecture of its own. The straight line
and flat plane must come here ‐of all places‐ but they should become the dotted line, the broad, low,
extended plane textured because in all this astounding desert there is not one hard undotted line to
be seen. The great mature‐masonry we see rising from the great mesa floors is all the noble
architecture Arizona has to show at present and that is not architecture at all. But it is inspiration. A
pattern of what appropriate Arizona architecture might well be lie there hidden in the Sahuaro. The
Sahuaro, perfect example of reinforced building construction. Its interior vertical rods hold it rigidly
upright maintaining its great fluter columnar mass for six centuries or more. A truer skyscraper than
our functioneer has built. And all these desert remarkable growths show scientific building economy
in the patterns of their construction”.
144 Ibid., p. 309 (it. tr. p. 276)
145 Ibid., p. 311 (it. tr. p. 277)
146 BANHAM , Reyner, Scenes in America Deserta, Salt Lake City, Gibbs M. Smith inc., 1982, p. 87
(Italian translation by Raffaella Fagetti, Deserti americani, introduction by Marco Biraghi, Torino,
Einaudi, 2006, p. 78)
84

twentieth century, a rush born from the thoughts and dreams begun by the
utopians remains untold. Projects such as the Sea Ranch, California (1962),
landscaped by Lawrence Halprin with architectural interventions by Charles Moore
and Joseph Esherick, demonstrate a sensitivity with distant roots. The shacks of
Drop City, Colorado (1965), the hippie community that invented a modern
aesthetics of garbage and recycling, could have never arisen without the heritage of
the revelations and fantastic visions left by the utopias. All this represents the
pendulum of the American landscape, which has since oscillated between the two
poles. On the one hand, there is an attempt to bring the town into the wilderness,
which is expressed in the projects with the utopians’ agricultural matrix and is
manifest in Wright's proposal for Broadacre. On the other, there is the equally
provocative experiment by Olmsted and Downing to transfer the wilderness inside
the metropolis and make it one of its vital organs. These are the two extreme points
of view, which in the most sensitive projects develop the care for the conservation
and development of the natural world. At the same time, another world of
industrial transformation and of technical improvement had appeared on the
American landscape.
85

Figure 57- Views of Community of Economy, Pennsylvania (1825),
Drawings from: NORDHOFF, Charles, The Communistic Societies of the United States, from
personal visit and observation, London, John Murray, 1875

Figure 58- The vineyard landscape, the trees are used to delimit estates: Bird’s Eye View of
Anaheim, Los Angeles Co., Cal. Looking North to the Sierra Madre Mountains
A lithographed bird’s eye view map of Anaheim in 1876, originally drawn by E. S. Glover and
published by A. L. Bancroft & Co., Lith., San Francisco; view is looking north to the Sierra
Madre Mountains; legend along bottom of photograph lists the following places of interest: No.
1 Presbyterian Church; 2. Episcopal Church; 3. Catholic Church; 4. City Hall; 5. Odd Fellow’s
Hall; 6. Masonic Hall; 7. Planter’s Hotel; 8. Anaheim Bank; 9. Anaheim Hotel; 10. Dr. Ellis’
Sanitarium; 11. Alden Fruit Dryer; 12. Daily and Weekly Gazette Offi ce; [handwritten in] 13. F.
Hartung’s Vineyard; four mountain peaks are listed along bottom center of photo: A. Anatonia
Mt., Altitude 10142 ft; B. Cucamunga [sic] Mt.; C. Brea Range; D. Cyota Range.
(Anaheim Public Library archive)

Figure 59- Right. Anaheim Plan and Lands.Relationship between cultivable lands and ditch
construction for irrigation. In pink Anaheim section lands, in blue-gray Orange county near the
Santa Ana river. 1888
California State Engineering Department. Detail Irrigation Map. Anaheim Sheet. Wm. Ham.
Hall, State Engineer. George Sandow, Draughtsman
The map shows areas irrigated by water from the Santa Ana River, and Canada de la Brea.
Covers the areas of La Habra, Placentia, Brea, Fullerton, Anaheim, and Orange. Water Resources
Center Archives call number mG460 B-1 No. 2 c. 2.
(David Rumsey Historical Map Collection Archive)

Figure 60- Vineyards and railroad in California. In the foreground: ranch, vineyard & residence
of A.A. Hennick, Kingsburg, Fresno County. 1891
(David Rumsey Historical Map Collection Archive)
From: Offi cial historical atlas map of Fresno County. Offi ce of the Board of Supervisors of
Fresno County, California.Compiled, drawn and published from personal examinations and
surveys by Thos. H. Thompson, Tulare, California, 1891.

Figure 61- Sketch by Joseph Smith, city of Zion, near Independence, Missouri, 1833
Image from: REPS, John William, Town Planning in Frontier America, Princeton, University
Press, 1965

Figure 62- Mormon town-planning.
Winter Quarters, or Florence, Nebraska in the winter of 1846-1847. Thomas Bullock’s “Poor
Camp Journal” of Thursday, 17 December 1846, notes: “I made a map of Winter Quarters.” It
is not known if this item is the one made on this date, but it clearly dates from this period. This
plat map of Winter Quarters (located north of Omaha, Nebraska today) reveals the basic infl u-
ence of Joseph Smith’s 1833 Plat of the City of Zion, a model used by Mormons before and
after their movement into the Great Basin. At no time did the population of Winter Quarters exceed
4,000. This suggests that more than 7,000 other westward-moving members established
themselves in the ninety other communities on the east side of the Missouri River that have so
far been identifi ed, or in a variety of Mormon settlements then spread across Iowa. The importance
of Winter Quarters was established by the presence of Brigham Young and many of the
Apostles, who had temporary homes there. Winter Quarters was abandoned in 1848.
(Image Courtesy Special Collections, Harold B. Lee Library, Brigham Young University, Provo)

Figure 63- Mormon town-planning.
Birds’ eye view of Salt Lake City (1848) in 1875
(Library of Congress Geography and Map Division Washington)

Figure 64- Frank Lloyd Wright, study for A.M. Johnson Desert Compound, 1925
Figure 65- Right: Frank Lloyd Wright, Ocatillo Desert Camp, 1927

The “middle landscape”
Close mediation with the world of nature enabled the construction of the American
industrial landscape to develop culturally. This process to define ideas made the
theoretical processing of the sensorial stimuli from the landscape extremely
complex. The boundless areas of wilderness, together with technological progress,
placed contrasting spheres of perception in contact with each other, which
American culture had, nevertheless, always endeavoured to process together.
In his analysis of the years of American Independence and the following decades of
the nineteenth century, Leo Marx, author of the book The Machine in the Garden
(1964), paid close attention to these relationships between the natural landscape
and industrial progress. In fact, Leo Marx demonstrated how the idea in America of
economic development, which consisted mainly of manufacturing in the new era,
referred back to the symbolic universe of an earthly paradise, of the
uncontaminated garden.
“The pastoral ideal has been used to define the meaning of America ever since the
age of discovery, and it has not yet lost its old upon the native imagination”. 147 The
book by Leo Marx opens with a quotation by Washington Irving, taken from The
Legend of Sleepy Hollow (1820), to clarify the emotional impact of contact with an
unexplored, uncontaminated landscape. Leo Marx believed that this pastoral trend
was rooted in radical feelings (e.g. the intellectual fantasy of “flight from the city”)
as well as popular ideas, such as the agrarian myth and rural values described in the
preceding chapters. In order to introduce the topic of the “machine” and to create a
connection with the idyll of the garden, he paused to reflect on an incident which
happened to Nathanial Hawthorne on the morning of the 27th July 1844 in a wood
near Concord, Massachusetts, known in the area as “Sleepy Hollow”.
By highlighting the similarity between the place name and Irving’s book title, Leo
Marx takes a look at and describes some of Hawthorne’s notes in his diary: “[...] a
shallow space scooped out among the woods [...] is like the lap of bounteous
147 MARX, Leo, The Machine in the Garden, Technology and Pastoral Ideal in America, Oxford, Oxford
University Press, 1979 [first ed. 1964], p. 3 (Italian translation by Eva Kampmann La macchina nel
giardino : tecnologia e ideale pastorale in America, Rome, Lavoro, 1987, p. 9)
86

Nature, filled with bread stuff. [...] But hark! There is the whistle of the locomotive
[…]”. 148 After describing the luxuriant nature of the place, disturbed only by a few
tiny sound of agricultural work in the background, Hawthorne turns his attention to
something breaking the peace: the presence of a locomotive engine. The prolonged
whistle of the train breaks the emotional tension created between the inner self
and the surrounding nature:
With the train out of earshot and quiet restored, Hawthorne continues
his observations. [...] yet, there is something arresting about the
episode: the writer sitting in his green retreat dutifully attaching words
to natural facts, trying to tap the subterranean flow of thought and
feeling and then, suddenly, the starling shriek of the train whistle
bearing in upon him, forcing him to acknowledge the existence of a
reality alien to the pastoral dream. 149
This heed of machines, understood as a novelty and a break with the natural world,
permeates the majority of American literature of the nineteenth century. A few
lines later, Leo Marx reviews some of the significant episodes which highlight the
difficult liaison between the industrial landscape and the agricultural/natural
landscape:
Our sense of its evocative power is borne out by the fact that variants of
the Sleepy Hollow episode have appeared everywhere in American
writing since the 1840’s. We recall the scene in Walden where Thoreau
is sitting rapt in a revery and then, penetrating his woods like the scream
of hawk, the whistle of locomotive is heard; or the eerie passage in
Moby Dick, where Ishmael is exploring the innermost recesses of a
beached whale and suddenly the image shifts and the leviathan’s
skeleton is a New England textile mill; or the dramatic moment in
Huckleberry Finn, when Huck and Jim are floating along peacefully and a
monstrous steamboat suddenly bulges out of the night and smashes
straight through their raft. More often than not in these episodes, the
machine is made to appear with starling suddenness. Sometimes it
abruptly enters a Happy Valley, at other a traveller suddenly comes
upon it. In one of Melville’s tales, (The Tartarus of Maids), the narrator is
trying to find a paper mill in the mountains. He drives his sleigh into a
deep hollow between hills that rise like steep walls, and he still cannot
see the place when, as he says

the large whitewashed factory>>. The ominous sounds of machines, like
the sound of the steamboat bearing down on the raft or of the train
breaking in upon the idyll at Walden, reverberate endlessly in our
literature. 150
In other words, if we can once again catch a glimpse in this special relationship of
yet another side to the relationship between town and country, we must not
underestimate the role played by the unbridled force of the machine.
Whereas a pathetic faith in America’s skills of redemption became stronger, the
first, parallel, critical reflections on its conquests began to emerge. The antagonist
theme of conflict between man and nature became more evident in nineteenth
century America during the years of Independence. Industrialisation, effectively
represented by the image of the train flying along the tracks, incorporated a force,
which threatened the pastoral image of the landscape, yet at the same time
provided the means to travel through it.
However, the train was not to completely abuse the rights of nature at first, even
though it was an element of discord.
One of the most well‐known paintings by Georges Innes (1825‐1894), a painter of
classically inspired landscapes, provides excellent food for thought [Figure 66].
When the Lackawanna Railroad Company commissioned a work by Innes in 1844 to
show the construction of the railroad in the landscapes, he was faced with the
stimulating task of being able to provide a critical interpretation of what was being
constructed. We have to imagine, as Leo Marx suggests in his interpretation of the
picture, that the painter was not exactly enthusiastic about portraying a train
bursting into the landscape. Nevertheless, he was able to match the buyer’s needs
with his own aspirations and feelings towards nature. The resulting picture, entitled
Lackawanna Valley, manages to combine a bucolic landscape and the new world,
conjured up by the railroad, without any particular clashes.
The train stands out against a pastoral landscape, in which animals graze
undisturbed in the foreground, but the new means of transport does not really
appear to be a breach, but rather it fuses everything together. Its puff of steam is
reproduced by a cloud, and the hills and trees help to define a landscape where the
150 Ibid., p. 15‐16 (Italian translation pp. 18)
88

works of man are part of a much wider context. The disturbing expanse of felled
trees opens up to a view of a human figure lying on his side, gazing calmly towards
the peaceful horizon. The solitary observer contemplates the spectacle produced by
man and nature exactly as the shepherd used to contemplate Arcadia.
In the final analysis, Innes was capable of recreating the works of landscape artists
in the 17th and 18th century. Poussin and other artists before him introduced the
disturbing presence of a skull into delicate, picturesque idylls as a warning and as a
representation of the motto Et in Arcadia Ego which means “I, too [Death] am in
Arcadia”.
The train of this period enabled the town dweller to have rapid, direct contact with
faraway, uncontaminated areas.
Thus, the machine, and especially the train, does not clash with the pastoral ideal
and contributes towards the creation of what Leo Marx called the middle
landscape 151 .
“The railroad is the chosen vehicle for bringing America into its own as pastoral
utopia”. 152 The conquest of the wild lands, the feeling of being able to improve
uncultivated nature and develop an agrarian economy as Jefferson intended, fired
the myth of the pastoral model up to the 1850s, the so‐called Golden Day years.
However, society in the “middle landscape” had found a balance strongly oriented
towards technological progress, which undermined the bucolic idea of the
development of a rural nation. Not by chance, a project was implemented precisely
in the 1850s to create Central Park in Vaux and Olmsted, a perfect, middle
landscape at the service of the metropolis. In the meantime, “[...] no‐one, not even
Jefferson, had been able to identify the point of arrest, the critical moment when
the tilt might be expected and progress cease to be progress. As time went on,
accordingly, the idea became more vague, a rhetorical formula rather than a
153
conception of society [...]”.F
151 SEGAL, Howard P., (review by) “Leo Marx's "Middle Landscape": A Critique, a Revision, and an
Appreciation”, in SegalReviews in American History, Vol. 5, No. 1 (Mar., 1977), pp. 137‐150,
published by The Johns Hopkins University Press
152 MARX, Leo, The Machine in the Garden, Technology and Pastoral Ideal in America, Oxford, Oxford
University Press, 1979 [first ed. 1964], p. 225 (Italian translation by Eva Kampmann La macchina nel
giardino: tecnologia e ideale pastorale in America, Rome, Lavoro, 1987, p. 185)
153 Ibid., p.226 (Italian translation p.185)
89

Despite the fact that the pastoral ideal remained active for many years after the
appearance of the machine, a different world of industrial America was opening on
the horizon.
90

Figure 66-The Lackawanna Valley, George Innes,1855

Industrial America
One’s‐Self I Sing, a simple separate person,
Yet utter the world Democratic, the world En‐Masse.
Walt Whitman
The expansion of the railroad and industry actually represented the landscape of
the colonial, economic capitalist/mercantilist model developed and augured by
Alexander Hamilton.
Hamilton believed the development of manufacturing to be of such importance as
to consider state support of the sector to be indispensable. His Report on
manufactures (1791) described a hypothetical society, the purpose of which was to
produce and accumulate capital by investors. Moreover, as we have hinted at
previously, Hamilton believed that certain circumstances, which would encourage
industrial development, were necessary: “1) the division of labor; 2) an extension of
the use of machinery; 3) additional employment to classes of the community not
ordinarily engaged in the business; 4) the promoting of emigration from forcing
countries; 5) the furnishing greater scope for diversity of talents and dispositions
which discriminate men from each other; 6) the affording a more ample and various
field for enterprise; 7) the creating in some instances a new, and securing in all a
more certain and steady demand for the surplus produce of the soil” 154 .
This clear idea of a society perfectly divided into classes was a forerunner of an
economic system which at the time of the Report was as yet in its early stages. For
this reason, Hamilton dwelt on certain rapidly growing sectors of production, of
which he listed 17, which in his opinion could offer encouraging guarantees of
success in their attempts to increase: the sectors of skins, iron, wood, flax and
hemp, bricks, ardent spirits and malt liquors, of writing and printing papers, hats of
fur, wool and silk, shoes, and of refined sugars, etc…
In his description of the structured proposal of rules, awards, duties and incentives,
Hamilton also dwells on cotton processing:
154 HAMILTON, Alexander, “Report on Manufactures”, published in Taussig, Frank William (ed.) State
papers and speeches on the tariff, Cambridge, Massachusetts, Harvard University Press, 1893, p. 15
91

The cotton mill, invented in England within the last twenty years, is a
signal illustration of the general pro position which has been just
advanced. In consequence of it all the different processes for spinning
cotton are performed by means of machines which are put in motion by
water, and attended chiefly by women and children, and by a smaller
number of persons, in the whole, than are requisite in the ordinary
mode of spinning. And it is an advantage of great moment that the
operations of this mill continue with convenience during the night as
well as through the day. The prodigious effect of such a machine is easily
conceived. To this invention is to be attributed essentially the immense
progress which has been so suddenly made in Great Britain in the
various fabrics of cotton. 155
The concrete result of this reflection on machines to process cotton was to cause
the radical transformation of city landscapes in the north of the United States. The
theoretical remarks advanced by Hamilton led indirectly to some entrepreneurs
convincing themselves they could dedicate their resources to the construction of a
town‐factory: urban models, which would act as “capitalist utopia”, in contrast with
the economic types, together with settlements based on land exploitation.
The myth of a “perfect” economy, as described by Hamilton in his Report, shows the
model of the company‐towns. The company‐towns interpreted the idea of a limited
urban form. In some respects, they were not inspired by egalitarian models, they
were not the result of social demands, nor did they represent town planning forms
of redemption as opposed to religious utopias. They were simply tools for capital,
entities organised for the purpose of making the workers’ job more efficient. The
myth of these manufacturing cities as purely economic models was only to be swept
away by the Civil War. As a result, the typical manufacturing economy of the
northern states during the first half of the nineteenth century was subsequently to
be reconverted using far more diversified solutions. In an essay published in the
book La città americana (1973), Francesco Dal Co sustains that “some of these
principles remain, however, in the company‐towns of the Laissez faire era, which
acquired a precise political function in the capitalist system and became an internal,
economic tool, typical of the process of accumulation” 156 . One of the last examples
155 Ibid., p. 18
156 DAL CO, Francesco, published in CIUCCI Giorgio, DAL CO Francesco, MANIERI ELIA Mario, TAFURI
Manfredo, La città americana dalla guerra civile al New Deal, Laterza, Bari, 1973, p. 218
92

of a nineteenth century company‐town was the town of George Pullman (1831‐
1897), the rich industrialist who invented the well‐known sleeping cars. The Pullman
company‐town (1880), 4000 acres of land on the shores of Lake Calumet, south of
Chicago, thought to be a model city and attraction during the World Columbian
Exposition in 1893, was designed by the architect, Solon Spencer Beman (1853‐
1914) in answer to the new demands for profit. The dreams of laissez faire were to
be abruptly interrupted, not only by contradictions within the system (which
regularly off‐loaded social costs on to the workers in times of crisis), but also by the
strikes triggered by the trade unions at the end of the century. This made Pullman’s
experiment appear to be a paternalistic experience, incapable of pacifying or
calming class conflict. Another example was the case of the company‐town of
Lowell 157 (1820s), Massachusetts, which not only preceded Pullaman’s birth by
more than half a century, but also appears to be of great interest for the
implications it presupposed for the landscape [Figure 67].
Designed as a town for the textile sector and planned to exploit the hydraulic force
of the rapids of the River Merrimack, Lowell became one of the largest industrial
complexes of the United States in just a few decades 158 , and was far more
competitive in its own right than a very large number of southern territories. The
importance of the geographical location of Lowell also explains the town’s
commercial success. The reason why no similar towns existed in the South of the
United States was tackled by Stephen Goldfarb in his essay “A Note on Limits to the
Growth of the Cotton‐Textile Industry in the Old South” (1982), in which he also
clarifies the economic motivations behind the previous affirmations:
During the antebellum period the cotton‐textile industry in the South
was far smaller than that in the North. As late as 1860 factories in
Lowell, Massachusetts, operated more cotton spindles than factories in
the eleven southern states combined.[…]The South's early
industrialization was impeded by its geography, which separated sites
157 To study the Lowell case in depth cf. COOLIDGE, John, Mill and mansion: a study of architecture
and society in Lowell, Massachusetts, 1820‐1865, New York, Columbia University Press, 1942; we
recommend referring to the bibliography in this publication. For further details, see LOWELL Trades
and Labour Council (ed.), Lowell, a city of spindles, Lowell, Lawler & Company, printers, 1900
158 See CLARK, Victor S., History of Manufactures in the United States 1607‐1860, 3 vols., New York,
published for the Carnegie Institution of Washington, McGraw‐Hill book company inc., 1916
93

containing falling water, the most suitable motive power, by
considerable distances from easy access to national markets. This
obstacle, which was overcome by the growth of the southern railroads
after the Civil War, limited large‐scale southern industry to a few
locations. In New England, where this obstacle was all but nonexistent,
the textile industry grew to be the country's first great industry,
accounting in 1860 for "about one‐sixteenth of the aggregate of all
branches of industry”. The center of the large, integrated New England
textile industry was the Merrimack River valley. Lowell, Massachusetts,
was the first of the great mill towns of the Merrimack and in 1860 the
largest. Located at the Pawtucket Falls of the Merrimack, the textile mills
of Lowell were powered by approximately 6,000 cubic feet of water per
second, which produced about 10,000 horsepower as it fell through the
wheels and turbines of the factories, guided there by a complex system
of canals. Of equal importance were Lowell's transportation links to
national and international markets by way of Boston, first through the
Middlesex Canal, opened in 1803 when Lowell was just a trading village,
and then by the Boston and Lowell Railroad, completed in 159 .
The changes carried out in the Lowell textile industry placed the productive force of
the machines in direct contact with the force of water.
The landscape of Lowell thus involved elements of the natural landscape in the
industrial process, and ideally stretched factory organisation by means of a close
network of canals to service the textile mills [Figures 68‐69].
The productive objectives remained evident for a long time, to such an extent that a
study made in 1923 by Harry Chamberlain Meserve (1868‐1925), secretary of the
National Association of Cotton Manufactures defined Lowell as “an industrial dream
come true” 160 . The territory occupied by the town of Lowell once represented
capital for an Indian settlement named Wamesit, but the rights to use the land had
already been taken from the natives in 1726 by the English. “The site of Lowell was
chosen purely for textile purposes. The definite plan grew out of its location at
available water power. Other advantages and disadvantages were weighed over
against this matter of primary importance. The practicability of textile
manufacturing at this particular place was the determining factor 161 .
159 GOLDFARB, Stephen J., “A Note on Limits to the Growth of the Cotton‐Textile Industry in the Old
South”, published in The Journal of Southern History, Vol. 48, No. 4 (Nov., 1982), pp. 545‐558, pp.
545 and 549
160 MESERVE, Herry C., Lowell‐ an industrial dream come true, Boston, The National Association of
Cotton Manufactures, Massachusetts, 1923
161 Ibid., p.45
94

A large number of works and investments followed in the wake of the site choice,
which made the original agricultural settlement, named Chelmsford, all the more
suitable for textile production. In 1793, work began to construct the Middlesex
Canal. Completed in 1804, it enabled the River Merrimack to be linked at
Chelmsford with the port of Boston. In 1797, the 1.5 mile‐long canal to bypass the
Pawtucket Falls was completed. In 1801, the first carding machine of the region was
installed. In 1813, the first cotton mill was built on the River Concord, a tributary of
the Merrimack, with an investment of 2,500 dollars 162 . However, the town
landscape was transformed, thanks to the ideas of Francis Cabot Lowell (1775‐
1817), who together with Nathan Appleton (1779‐1861) and Patrick Tracy Jackson
(1780‐1847) had founded the Boston Manufacturing Company in 1813. The Lowell
system, experimented by the so‐called Boston Associated 163 in the factory at
Waltham, Massachusetts (1814), envisaged the use of machines, which had been
improved by various devices and by the organisation of a rigorous assembly line.
The processes took place for the first time in a single building and the internal work
rules gave the women workers relief.
In fact, Lowell thought of using mainly female labour to optimise investments. The
mill girls were chosen specifically because women’s pay was much lower than
men’s. However, Lowell had also decided to offer a series of benefits, such as
housing, clothing, educational activities, a school, a newspaper written entirely by
women (the Lowell Offering), convinced that welfare and a series of on‐site
comforts could increase the workers’ interest in productivity.
On Lowell’s death in 1817, his associates named the town, which was the fruit of
their investments in the textile industries on the banks of the Merrimack, after him
in 1826. Investments based precisely on his system already applied in Waltham.
Between 1820 and 1821, Thomas M. Clark invested approximately 100,000 dollars
to purchase lands and to acquire the Locks and Canals Corporation. The following
162 This data is from MESERVE, Herry C., Lowell‐ an industrial dream come true, Boston, The National
Association of Cotton Manufactures, Massachusetts, 1923
163 The Boston Associated also included Abbot Lawrence (1792‐1855) and Amos Lawrence (1786‐
1852). They were a group of investors based in Boston, Massachusetts, to produce textile products
of cotton. The term Boston Associated was created by historian Vera Shlakmen in Economy History
of Factory Town, A Study of Chicopee, Massachusetts (1935).
95

year, Appleton and Jackson founded the Merrimack Manufacturing Company, giving
the company the lands purchased along the Pawtucket Canal and beginning a series
of works to exploit the water. A dam was constructed at a cost of 120,000 dollars
and the canal was enlarged [Figures 68‐69].
A characteristic of the Lowell Factory System was the design for the
control of the boarding houses and their inmates, as instituted in the
Waltham Manufacturing Company by Francis Cabot Lowell. These
boarding houses were long blocks of brick buildings, situated on the
banks of the river, or of the canal, a few rods from the mills at right
angles to them, and containing a sufficient number of tenements, as
they were called, to accommodate the operatives employed by the
corporation. Between the boarding houses and the mill there was
generally a long, one‐story brick building containing the Counting Room,
Superintendent's and Clerk's rooms and store rooms. The enclosure
which this arrangement of structures formed and upon which all of the
buildings opened was called the mill yard. The only access to this yard
was through the counting room and in full view of those whose business
it was to see that only those who belonged there came upon the
premises. Furthermore, the location of the Superintendent's room gave
him an unobstructed view. On one side were the boarding houses,
occupied only by known and approved tenants; on the other side were
the mills, in each room of which there was a carefully selected overseer
who was held responsible for the work, good order and proper
management of his room. In many cases, the agents and overseers were
members and sometimes deacons of the church, or, as frequently
happened, Sunday School teachers of the girls employed under them.
The interest in their welfare which this association, apart from the mill,
provided was of inestimable benefit, and, from a utilitarian point of
view, it must have caused the girls to feel a greater interest in their
work 164 .
Lowell’s commercial utopia was made possible thanks to a series of circumstances,
which encouraged a new form of industrial life. In those years, the spinning jenny,
an intermittent, multi‐spool, spinning frame, was continually being improved.
Furthermore, developments introduced by Eli Whitney and Samuel Slater’s cotton
gin (1768‐1835) enabled raw cotton to be converted into cloth in a single,
uninterrupted process. Slater, in particular, had had a number of intuitions, later
perfected by Francis Cabot Lowell, which gave rise to the textile revolution, by
164 MESERVE, Herry C., Lowell‐ an industrial dream come true, Boston, The National Association of
Cotton Manufactures, Massachusetts, 1923, p. 60
96

designing and constructing the first mills to be entirely dedicated to the
manufacture of fabrics.
Lowell soon became a tourist destination. In an essay on the industrial town,
MacDonald cites the description written by Charles Dickens:
Lowell became a curiosity and a challenge. Travellers made pilgrimages
to this shrine of industrialism […] One went through its wonders under
the direction of "a gentleman intimately connected with the
management of the factories” and saw only the bright promise of the
good. It was new, and youth was its mark. To Dickens, with his
inordinate love of the queer, shabby, and grotesque, it was a shiny and
flimsy kind of play village.

manufacturing industries held a total capital of 6,500,000 dollars, accrued in Lowell
in under ten years. This amount provided by private investors equalled
approximately the possible expenditure of an entire state. As a paragon to these
investments, the annual salary of the President of the United States, Andrew
Jackson, was 25,000 dollars in 1834, whereas that of his vice, Martin Van Buren was
5,000 dollars. In addition, there were banks, insurance offices, marshals and general
officers, various courts of justice, schools, a post office and 12 Christian churches
corresponding to the same number of religious faiths, which lived safely side by
side. This was all obviously organised to avoid any social conflicts, which could
interrupt work. Out of 12,363 individuals only 326 were over the age of 50 (the
majority being between the age of 15 and 30) and the number of women was
double the number of men (7,929 as opposed to 4,537). However, other entities
featuring the textile industry also existed in other parts of the world. In 1811, Lowell
had actually visited several factories during his stay in England and the organisation
of the English textile industries was to inspire him as regards their methods of
processing and their machinery.
In England, Manchester was the town in the cotton industry, par excellence. The
landscape created by the textile industry was the fruit of the English colonial effort,
but the city of Manchester, similar to the town of Lowell put forward new ideas,
which did not pass unnoticed and which led to new, disturbing enigmas. We refer to
the observations by Friedrich Engels (1820‐1895), contained in his book The
condition of the working class in England (1844), and above all to the careful
thoughts of Karl Friederich Schinkel, made in 1826 during his English trip 167 . The
Prussian architect undertook a long journey first through France and then England
to study the ways in which museums were organised. However, his curiosity also led
him to observe non‐institutional buildings and situations, to examine landscapes,
iron bridges and factories. Within the original industrial scene in Manchester,
looking at the large mills standing out against the sky, Schinkel wondered about
those enormous buildings which, in his opinion, appeared to promise an era of a
new architectural style and a new urban landscape.
167 See BINDMAN, David, RIEMANN, Gottfried, (eds) The English journey : journal of a visit to France
and Britain in 1826 / Karl Friedrich Schinkel, New Haven, London, Yale University Press, 1993
98

Schinkel posed the question which suggested that the old relationships between
man, town, nature and the architect were, in other words, in crisis. Something
similar was also taking place in America. In 1836, Emerson wrote the work
Nature161F161F168
, the manifesto of transcendental philosophy, in which he expressed
thoughts very similar to those of Shinkel. The incipit of Nature, which impressed
Frank Loyd Wright so deeply, exhorts man to live his time to the full by creating new
works and thoughts suited to the time in which he lived:
Our age is retrospective. It builds the sepulchres of the fathers. It writes
biographies, histories, and criticism. The foregoing generations beheld
God and nature face to face; we, through their eyes. Why should not we
also enjoy an original relation to the universe? Why should not we have
a poetry and philosophy of insight and not of tradition, and a religion by
revelation to us, and not the history of theirs? […]There are new lands,
new men, new thoughts. Let us demand our own works and laws and
worship 169 .
The effects of culture called men to reflect on the role of industry and on certain
changes due to machines in daily life, they suggested a significant shift in natural
space and towns. Emerson understood the relationship, which was being created
between man and machine and he pointed out a dualism, which had sprung from
new inventions capable of evoking or emulating provocative, anti‐conventional
experiences: “What new thoughts are suggested by seeing a face of country quite
familiar, in the rapid movement of the rail‐road car! Nay, the most wonted objects,
(make a very slight change in the point of vision,) please us most […] Turn the eyes
upside down, by looking at the landscape through your legs, and how agreeable is
the picture, though you have seen it any time these twenty years!” 170 .
According to Emerson, this new relationship highlights the distance between man
and nature resulting in “a pleasure mixed with awe” 171 , that is to say an entity with
a form of excessively refined style aiming to capture the sublime. Man realises that
“whilst the world is a spectacle, something in himself is stable” 172 .
168 The essay Nature was published anonymously by Emerson in 1836
169 EMERSON, Ralph Waldo, Nature, Boston, James Munroe and Company, 1836, pp. 5‐6 (Italian
translation by Iginia Tattoni, Natura, Rome, Donzelli, 2010, p. 19)
170 Ibid., pp.63‐63 (Italian translation pp. 52‐53)
171 Ibid., p. 64 (Italian translation p. 53)
172 Ibid.
99

The new methods of communication and the innovative infrastructures built in
America were to trigger reactions and feelings very similar to those described by
Emerson. The artists were to be the first to acknowledge this phenomenon. In fact,
the possibility of having access to spectacular, picturesque, sublime sceneries was
to come as an opportunity to be seized rapidly by the artists of the Hudson River
School.
The early decades of the nineteenth century confirmed the age of internal
improvements and public works of national importance began, such as the
construction of roads, turnpikes (toll roads), canals and ports. The infrastructural
solution to the Northwest Ordinance (1787) and to the purchase of Louisiana (1803)
was faced from a political point of view by a proposal of law, presented by Albert
Gallatin in 1807. Gallatin, Secretary of the Treasury during the presidency of
Jefferson and Madison, presented a Report on the Subject of Public Roads and
Canals, which was rejected due to a lack of funds. The Gallatin project proposed to
encourage a massive investment by the federal government to construct roads and
canals. For this purpose, he drew up a report similar to a detailed estimate and
attached a minute description of the various works to be implemented. The canals
Gallatin listed can be grouped into four categories: “1) Great canals, from north to
south, along the Atlantic sea coast; 2) Communications between the Atlantic and
western waters; 3) Communications between the Atlantic waters, and those of the
great lakes, and river St. Lawrence; 4) Interior canals” 173 . The estimated costs also
envisaged an improvement in navigation in many rivers and took into account the
benefits of investments by private companies to develop projects not financed by
the central government.
The projects would have allowed miles and miles of internal navigation. Gallatin
also thought of important road projects. One large turnpike was supposed to begin
in Maine and go down as far as Georgia along the Atlantic coast, whereas another
four turnpikes were to have crossed the country, starting from the coast, crossing
the Appalachian Mountains, to reach as far as the rivers of the West.
173 GALLATIN, Albert, Report of the Secretary of the Treasury, on the Subject of Public Roads and
Canals, Made in Pursuance of a Resolution of Senate, of March 2, 1807, Washington, R.C:
Weightman, 1808, p. 8
100

All the works came to the astronomical price of 20,000,000 dollars, which Gallatin
thought to distribute evenly over subsequent years at approximately 2 million per
year. His proposal was turned down and the problem of funding was adapted
according to the scale of individual states, so that his intuitions were considered
applicable only decades later167F167F174
. A very large number of canals were constructed,
however. Thus, even prior to the railroad and turnpikes, the first works to mark the
natural landscape were the water canals, used for transport and to exploit hydraulic
force, as we have seen in the case of Lowell. In the face of a high investment, canals
guaranteed ease and speed of transport. Moreover, they did not require the
continual maintenance needed for normal, unpaved roads, they were not the
ephemeral earthen trails followed by the pioneers and therefore did not carry the
risks of getting lost or of encroaching on Indian Territory.
One of the first to be constructed, together with a network of aqueducts, was the
Middlesex Canal (1803), which became the landmark in the development of
manufacturing in Massachusetts. A towpath was also built, which enabled horses or
men to pull the boats along the banks of the canal, which testified the strength of
the project design and engineering.
However, the most interesting engineering challenge of the early years of the
nineteenth century was the Erie Canal [Figure 76‐80]. Opened in 1825, it linked
Albany on the Hudson River to Lake Erie, via Buffalo, 363 miles (584 km) of
waterway exceeding a total elevation differential of 565 ft (169m). It measured an
average of 40 feet (12 metres) in width and 4 feet (1.2m) in depth.
The internal territories of the State of New York had been assigned in 1781 (Central
New York Military Tract) at the end of the War of Independence as a reward for the
soldiers, who had taken part in the revolution. This was the context, in which place
names of townships were given epithets from classical authors.
Therefore, the way for the “Great Western” had already been opened in three
ways: via the Indian trails, by certain means of transport, which envisaged portage
paths and via the routes of the pioneers and former soldiers. Archer Butler Hulbert,
scholar of American communication routes, highlights the lack of communication
174 See GOODRICH, Carter, Government Promotion of American Canals and Railroads 1800‐1890, New
York, Columbia University Press, 1960
101

with internal territories prior to the construction of roads and canals: “The old
Iroquois Trail […] was the landward route from the Hudson to the Great Lakes. As a
thoroughfare in its entirety, it meant much to the Indians, but very little to the
white men before the nineteenth century. Though the lower Mohawk Valley was
sparsely settled early in the eighteenth century, white men did not build their
cabins along the Iroquois Trail to the westward until nearly a century later, when
the old Genesee Road was opened. Until then the country through which the
Iroquois Trail ran had been a terra incognita where only Indian runners knew the
way through the Long House of the Iroquois” 175 .
The first idea for the Erie Canal is generally thought to be that of Senator
Gouverneur Morris (1752‐1816), who was influenced by the sight of the first canals
built in England. In fact, Hubert highlighted the suggestion and wrote that “In his
diary for October, 1795, Morris describes his feeling on viewing the Caledonian
Canal in Scotland; " 176 .
As Morris’s political career advanced, within the space of a decade the repeated
suggestions to improve and exploit the internal waterways finally influenced
politicians and the population at a time when other canals were also being built.
The first concrete steps were made with the approval of a law presented in 1808 by
Joshua Forman, a member of the New York legislature, with a funding of 600 dollars
to prepare the project data and measurements for a canal between the River
Hudson and Lake Erie. James Geddes (1763‐1838), an engineer by profession,
involved in politics in the Federal alignment (and therefore in opposition to
Jefferson’s Democratic‐Republicans), prepared the scheduled plans and as a result
became involved as promotor of the project. A few years later in 1810, Dewitt
Clinton, Mayor of New York, presented a resolution in favour of Western Inland
Lock Navigation in order to persuade public opinion about the canal construction
company. The document prepared by DeWitt Clinton began thus:
175 HULBERT, Archer Butler, The Great American Canals, Volume II (Historic Highways of America Vol.
N. 14), Cleveland, Ohio, The Arthur H. Clark Company, 1904, pp. 15‐16
176 Ibid., p. 43
102

Whereas, the agricultural and commercial interests of the state, require
that the inland navigation from the Hudson river to lake Ontario and
lake Erie, be improbe and completed on a scale commensurate to the
great advantages derived from the accomplishment of that important
object: And whereas, it is doubtful whether the resources of the
Western Inland Lock Navigation Company are adequate to such
improvements: Therefore resolved, that if the honourable the assembly
consent herein, that Gouverneur Morris, Stephen Van Rensselaer, De
Witt Clinton, Simeon De Witt, William North, Thomas Eddy and Peter B.
Porter, be and they are hereby appointed commissioners for exploring
the whole route, examining the present condition of the said navigation,
and considering what further improvements ought to be made therein;
and that they be authorized to direct and procure such surveys as to
them shall appear necessary and proper in relation to these objects ;
and that they report thereon to the legislature, at their next session,
presenting a full view of the subjects referred to them, with their
estimates and opinion thereon 177 .
At the beginning of 1812, once it was obvious that Congress had no intention of
financing the canal construction work, the proposal drawn up by the commission
chaired by Morris was finally approved by the state of New York, which authorised a
loan of 5 million dollars as state credit for the investors.
When construction had been completed, the work totalled approximately 7 million
dollars, which corresponded to the latest estimates drawn up.
Numerous advantages were guaranteed by internal canals at the time. The
waterways encouraged settlements in the areas they crossed. They created new
sources of internal trade, speeded up transport and therefore made numerous raw
materials, such as wood or agricultural products, available at lower prices [Figures
74‐75]. The works for the “DeWitt Ditch”, which quite a few people saw as a sign of
madness, began only in 1817 and ended in 1825. The project was divided into three
sections: the Western section between Lake Erie and the River Seneca, the central
section between the River Seneca and the town of Rome on the River Mohawk, and
the Eastern Section from Rome to Albany on the River Hudson. The first stretch was
assigned to the design and measurements of the engineer, William Peacock,
followed by James Geddes (1763‐1838). The second, longest stretch was supervised
177 Ibid., pp 52‐53
103

y the engineer Benjamin Wright (1770‐1842), a professional expert and head of
the project design company, whereas the third stretch was completed by the
engineer, Charles C. Broadhead.
At the time, the “frontier” line ran along the River Ohio and came to an end behind
other natural barriers. A few years later, the opening of the canal changed the
situation [Figures 76‐80]:
Such was substantially the situation in 1825, the year when "Clinton's
big ditch" was opened its entire length, and the historic cask of water
brought from Lake Erie was solemnly emptied into New York harbor. A
glance at the map of settlement in 1830 will show in a graphic way the
changes in the frontier line since 1820. The Erie Canal was not
responsible for it all, but it was a potent factor. The rise of such cities
and towns as Buffalo, Black Rock, Tonawanda, Lockport, Middleport,
Medina, and Albion was due directly to their relation to the canal, as the
names of two of them indicate. But many villages sprang up in
the "back country" as the adjuncts of increasing farming communities,
where the difficulty of transporting household goods and food, in the
first place, and later to market grain or cattle, had been a deterrent to
anything but the sparsest population 178 .
During the construction of the waterways, lateral canals were built and other works
were begun to serve the towns, which could now expand. This was the case of the
Rochester aqueduct, built on the River Genesee as a copy of the arches in Roman
bridges according to a project, which was obviously influenced by romantic ideas,
evoked by the surrounding, picturesque forests. Many stretches of the Erie Canal
were improved and widened in the decades which followed, until it became an
extremely complex, infrastructural work, the symbol of national pride and American
entrepreneurial ability [Figure 81].
In 1826 approximately 19,000 boats used the “big ditch”, as the Erie Canal was
called, and the company successfully recovered construction costs in less than ten
years. Thanks to the canal, the costs for goods travelling between Buffalo and New
York decreased from 100 to 15 dollars per ton and the time required from 20 to 8
days 179 .
178 MATHEWS, Lois Kimball, The Erie Canal and the Settlement of the West, Buffalo, 1910, p. 193
179 For this data cf. JONES, A., Maldwyn, The Limits of Liberty American History 1607‐1992, London,
Oxford University Press, 1995 [first ed. 1983] (Italian translation Storia degli Stati Uniti d’America.
Dalle prime colonie inglesi ai giorni nostri, Milan, Bompiani 2011; p. 106)
104

Furthermore, the Erie Canal was a pipeline for ideas used not only by migratory
flows from the Atlantic, but also by religious and utopian communities, which used
it to move around to reach chosen places or to carry out missions within the states.
Nowadays, numerous parks and museums along the canal give added value to a
system which crosses 23 counties and includes approximately 4,800 square miles.
Since the year 2000, the United States Congress has recognised the great historic
and cultural value of the work and now the Erie Canal Way Corridor belongs in the
National Heritage list.
The waterway scenarios of the Mid‐West were not limited to the territory between
Lake Erie and the Hudson. Additional canals, which penetrated still further to the
west and south, were added to this system. Mention should be made of the Miami
and Erie Canal, 301 miles in 1845 from Cincinnati, Ohio, to Toledo, Ohio; the
Wabash and Erie Canal, 460 miles in the 1850s from Toledo, Ohio to Evansville,
Indiana; the Ohio and Erie Canal, 308 miles in 1832 from Akron, Ohio to
Portsmouth, Ohio.
The main canals usually merged with rivers and lakes, and sometimes ran parallel to
them or joined them wherever possible. The secondary canals, on the other hand,
either joined the main canals as “tributaries”, or they linked up other canals to each
other to create an extremely vast, waterway landscape.
Another important water infrastructure was The Chesapeake and Ohio Canal,
opened in 1831, 184 miles long, which connected Cumberland, Maryland to
Washington, D.C. It ran parallel to the River Potomac, whereas the elevation
differential was overcome by locks. The history of Chesapeake is linked to the
Potomac Company. This company was founded in 1785 by George Washington in
order to enable and improve the navigability of the Potomac, but it was not
particularly successful. Work only began in 1828 according to a project prepared by
Benjamin Wright, head engineer of the Erie Canal. At the same time, the state of
Pennsylvania also began numerous public works to construct canals, dams, locks
and aqueducts.
In the early 1840s, The Pennsylvania Canal consisted of a canal system of
approximately a thousand miles of navigable water, of which the most important
105

stretches included the Delaware Division (60 miles), the Beaver Division (31 miles)
and the Susquehanna Division (41 miles), named after the rivers involved, and the
Eastern Division (69 miles) which, together with other canals and works,
represented the main line totalling hundreds of miles.
Occasionally, inclined planes were built alongside the canals, which helped
overcome the elevation differentials, which would otherwise have been too long
and too expensive for a canal to overcome, as well as short railroad stretches.
In the first half of the nineteenth century, the canals became a transport symbol
and the most effective and most used communication road. Canals were built in all
the states, from the Atlantic coast to the Mississipi and they created innumerous
combinations between the various routes. Therefore, the canals represented the
symbolic infrastructure of this period and made up the vast and little explored
landscape of American waterways, a landscape often ignored by the average
European. For this reason, if we consider the vast implications and relapses in
landscaping, we believe that the recording of this phenomenon is more than a
simple piece of encyclopaedic data. The landscape of the canals [Figures 76‐80]
shows an unexpected America, which has had the opportunity to interact with the
territory in different ways, which are nevertheless important to be able to form an
environmental conscience towards nature.
The cowboy epic and the myth of the railroad did not yet represent a dominant
entity in the first half of the century, and they developed only after the years of Civil
War when, by the twentieth century, they had become the often stereotyped
legend of the great American spaces.
Not by chance was the boat the principal means of transport until the 1860s.
In particular, the steamboat came to play a significant, dominant role alongside the
prolific construction of canals.
The steamboat became the icon of the industrial face of the America that travelled
on water. North River by Robert Fulton (1765‐1815), commonly known as Clermont,
was completed in 1807 and was the first boat to enjoy a certain commercial
success. It sailed up the River Hudson from New York to Albany in 32 hours and
106

sailed downstream in 30. 180 Fulton had the idea to mount James Watt’s (1736‐1819)
steam engine, and to exploit the driving force it generated to move boats over the
water. Experiments of the kind had also been attempted in Europe, even by Fulton
himself in Paris, from the end of the eighteenth century, but they proved to be
either financial or engineering failures. Fulton’s boat was, on the other hand,
powerful enough to sail upstream. Moreover, the journey lasted but a few hours in
contrast with the several days and substantial difficulties overland. Fulton and his
financial backer, Robert Livingston (1746‐1813), known in France when the latter
was ambassador, were able to build a small commercial empire thanks to contracts
and favours from politicians. As a result of their wave of success, the two men were
also nominated members of the Eric Canal commission in 1811.
Daniel R. Headrick describes the history of the supremacy of the steamboat on the
waters of American rivers as follows:
In 1816 another competitor, Henry Shreve, built the Washington from a
radically new design. Until then, the engines of the boats constructed by
Fulton and French were located in the hull with a 90 or more centimetre
draught. On the contrary, the hull of Shreve’s boat was wide and flat like
a barge and drew a maximum of 60 centimetres. As the engine would
not fit into the hull, it was placed on the bridge and a second bridge was
built above for the passengers and cargo. Instead of side wheels it had a
single, large wheel astern which could be raised to avoid obstacles.
Shreve had the audacious and even dangerous idea of installing a high
pressure engine which took up little space and worked at 150 pounds
per square inch to provide the necessary power to get the better of the
strong current of the River Ohio. This boat was able to sail on the Ohio
and Mississippi all year, and remained afloat on sandbanks which would
have caused a deeper hull to run aground. The Washington was capable
of sailing up the Mississippi and the Ohio from New Orleans to Louisville
in twenty‐five days, a journey which would have required several
months by barge or canoe. From that day onwards, Shreve’s design was
used as the model for the classic river boat on the Mississippi Later there
was a sensational increase in the number of steamboats. In 1820 sixtynine
sailed the Ohio and Mississippi; in 1830, there were 187; in 1840,
557, and in 1850, 740. The historian, Louis Hunter, calculated that their
engines produced three fifths of all the steam used in the United States
and made a decisive contribution to the industrialisation of the country.
180 Cf. HEADRICK, Daniel R., Power over Peoples. Technology, Environment, and Western Imperialism,
1400 to Present, Princeton‐Oxford, Princeton University Press, 2010 (Italian translation by Giovanni
Arganese, Il predominio dell’occidente. Tecnologia, ambiente, imperialismo, Bologna, Il Mulino, 2010,
p. 161)
107

Until coal was introduced, they were fuelled by wood cut from the river
banks. The boats of the Mid‐West consumed over one hundred and fifty
square kilometres of forest a day at the height of their splendour. 181
The steamboat [Figures 73] had not only modified the perception of the landscape,
but it also left a physical mark on the transformation of the natural environments
along the rivers, and enabled the transition of means of transport sparked by the
revolution to be implemented in the territories further inland. The United States
were transformed from an Atlantic nation to a continental nation.
The boat, as symbolised in the film Fitzcarraldo (1982) by Werner Herzog, was the
epitome of the conquest, of the “civilisation” of a wild territory. It expressed the
possibility of dominating a vast, remote territory. The arrival of the force of steam
made it possible to exploit the natural resources of the lands crossed. The contrast
between the opulent interiors, the ballrooms, the highly decorated cabins and the
natural wilderness of the territories crossed symbolised a conflict rather than a
mediation between two different worlds.
Without the success of river transport, towns, such as Cincinnati, Louisville,
Memphis and Baton Rouge, would have remained little settlements.
The steamboat’s “imperialism” became an everyday, tangible presence, yet another
reason of conflict between the natives and pioneers. As regards the town, the
topography of the river became extremely important and the urban image mirrored
a world of work flows and industriousness.
Images of the river towns highlight a panorama featuring the smoking funnels of the
boats, the river banks crowded with people and goods [Figures 70‐72]. The
steamboat is the earth shattering, vitalising element. The outline of the towns
highlights this aspect, without which the river scenes would not hold any special
interest.
Suffice it to look at the lithograph showing the city of St. Louis in 1859 [Figure 70]on
the eve of the Civil War. The print portrays a good 31 steamboats, which completely
occupy the lower part of the scene. The large boats like floating palaces leave no
free space, as they line up closely along the river bank, where hundreds of people
181 Ibid., pp. 162‐164
108

on foot and on horseback animate the waterfront. Other moving boats complete
the scene both close‐up and in the distance, sailing up and down the river. In other
words a bird’s eye view that mainly shows a picture of the city, illustrates the
fundamental role played by the river economy. You realise that without boats there
would not even be any development for the city.
The scene portrayed must have been so common that a similar reasoning can be
made when thinking of images of New Orleans [Figure 71] and other river towns
along the lengths of the great waterways. Of the old pastoral world there remain
only a few rafts dragged along by the current. However, the raft makes a strong
contrast which American culture will attempt to mediate and heal. The freedom of
a wild, rough world featuring only traditional tools and moved by natural
mechanisms, clashes with the sophisticated, technological world of the steamboat.
The success of the individual, who discovers himself in contact with nature,
becomes an ideology which competes, as Whitman’s poems explain so well, with
“the word Democratic, the word En‐Mass” 182 . It is essentially the same idea of
American democracy, which is based on this contradiction between the individual
and the crowd and is fostered in the pair formed by democracy and nature.
Whitman’s effort consists precisely of an evocation of the spirit of the nation and of
its transformation into the muse of Democracy. The ideal of freedom converges
with the umpteenth projections of the “I myself‐poet”.
It should not appear strange that the pioneer’s dream/myth becomes ideally
stronger in Whitman’s poem, just when he is partially broken by the means of
transport, which enable many to share his experience. Where once the pioneer
stood alone, now there is no longer any wilderness, but only the institutions of a
democratic government organised on a federal scale: “These States are the amplest
poem, / here is not merely a nation but a teeming Nation of nations 183 .
182 WHITMAN, Walt, Foglie d’erba, [Leaves of grass] preface by Giorgio Manganelli, selection,
introduction and notes by Biancamaria Tedeschini Lalli, translation by Ariodante Marianni, Milan,
BUR, 2010 (the English text published in the Italian book is from Leaves of Grass, edited by Harold W.
Blodgett and Sculley Bradley, New York, NY University Press, 1965; first ed. of Leaves of Grass is in
1855), p. 6
183 Ibid., p. 382
109

The image of an old and a new world that clash appears even more clearly in the
allegory described by Mark Twain in The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, published
in 1884, but set at least thirty or forty years before. In their journey in search of
freedom on board their raft, Huck and Jim actually crash with a steamboat. The
machine shatters and drags with it the impossible dream of an independent life for
Huck and Jim. It will be possible to continue the journey, but as the raft gradually
continues southwards, further into slave territory, it becomes clearer that this
fuggitive existence is intollerable. Just as Thoreau’s cabin or Melville’s ship, the raft
represents a flight from society, a race for freedom beginning with restriction.
The alliance, which is established between the old Arcadia and the transformations
caused by the advancing frontier, shapes the man of the West with the typical
humour of transitory, unstable situations. If the West lacked a heroic tradition, the
natural reaction had been to create highly detailed stories, far from the truth but
capable of imparting a certain eccentricity to the environment of life at the frontier.
The landscape, animated by Kit Carson (1809‐1868), Buffalo Bill (1846‐1917), Wild
Bill Hickock (1837‐1876) and by Calamity Jane (1852‐1903), people famous for their
adventures in the wild West and for their loose living, originated in the improbable
stories of men, such as Mike Fink (1770?‐1823?), an American semi‐legendary, antiheroe.
Fink was the prototype of a man coming from the old world, travelling on a
raft, who nowadays would just make us smile. Nicknamed the “king of the
keelboaters”, he was a “brawler”, a hard‐drinking man, famous for his extraordinary
aim with a shotgun. Travellers like him, on the river and on horseback, soon fired
the imagination in this part of America. A pioneer, such as Davy Crockett (1786‐
1836), a popular hero and American politician owes his description as a “half‐horse,
half‐alligator” man to stories such as the one about Fink. Many men of the West
were given similar nicknames, which became a contradiction in terms as they later
went on to give their services to the civilisation of technology, although they lived in
the wild.
Boasting and fraud soon became so typical of the frontier, as to inspire the
literature of the Dime Novels, which became the folk culture of the West [Figure
129]. Public imagination created not only improbable men and situations, but also
110

non‐existent places, such as rivers full of gold or rich, flourishing towns. In his
description of the birth of the West and its link with American humour, Marcus
Cunliffe comments on some of these curious episodes:
The element of fraud, indeed, permeated American life and was a
conspicuous element in American humour, from the Yankee pedlar with
his wooden nutmegs to Bret Harte’s poem of the Heathen Chinese who
had twenty‐four jacks stuffed in his sleeves […] The ugliness of fraud was
made into a joke, and then even into a delight in deception. Humour
softened a swindle as moonlight beautified the shapeless streets of the
Western town. If everyone was something of a showman, nobody
ultimately was victimized […] this was one more of the hilarious
incongruities of America. Who could help but laugh at them: at the nonexistent
towns, for instance, advertised with pictures that portrayed the
long‐established communities? Laurence Oliphant visited one in
Wisconsin: . Or
who could resist the comedy of American names (except Matthew
Arnold, whom they offended)? Abraham Lincoln, for instance, when on
his way to the Black Hawk War (which he burlesqued in Congress)
paddled in a canoe from Pekin to Havana –and all in the state of Illinois.
Western humour was bound to reflect these incongruities 184 .
But if the kingdom of rafts was soon to be replaced by that of the steamboats, the
latter was no less ephemeral, although longer lasting. A few decades after the Civil
War, the steamboat left the river landscape. The frontier was directed way beyond
the horizon of navigable waters and moved on land along the railroad tracks. In fact,
the waterways and the steamboats underwent a crisis for two reasons. The
turnpikes improved over time and thus became a favourite, and the train was able
to count on a close network of internal connections from the 1860s onwards [Figure
184 CUNLIFFE, Marcus, The Literature of the United States, Harmondsworth, Penguin Books, 1969, p.
164‐165 (Italian translation Storia della letteratura americana, Turin, Einaudi, 1970, pp. 171‐172)
111

72]. The Philadelphia and Lancaster Turnpike 185 (1795), 62 miles long, was the first
paved road in the United States. This road, like many others built later, was run by a
private company. Paying roads had bridges and toll houses, and were organised
with precise tariffs, applied according to the different types of transport and the
journey covered. They were used either by the Conestoga wagons, a typical
German means of transport, pulled by oxen or horses, or by the prairie schooners, a
smaller version more suitable for crossing into the prairies [Figures 82‐84]. “[…]
most of the transportation of the plains and the Great American Desert was done
by ox‐teams. These were run in trains of ten to fifty or sixty teams, the teams
consisting usually of five to seven yokes of oxen and lead and trail wagons built for
the purpose” 186 .
The turnpike system was inspired by some similar experiments already carried out
in England, where they had shown they could guarantee the feasibility and
economic success of the enterprise. The first large road constructed by the Federal
government was the Cumberland Road 187 , from Cumberland, Maryland to Vandalia,
Illinois. Construction began in 1811, and ended due to the panic of 1837. President
Jefferson authorised the road project in 1806 and thirty years later it remained
partially incomplete. The road ran for a total of 620 miles to connect the River
Potomac with the River Ohio. This road had military origins, as the original route of
1755 nicknamed Braddock Road was built according to an idea of the English
general, Edward Braddock and his aide‐de‐camp, George Washington, during an
expedition against the Indians and the French. However, the military route was little
more than a path. Numerous distinctive constructions were built along the
Cumberland Road, such as toll houses, mile markers, inns/hotels, as well as
important infrastructures, such as the Casselman Bridge, Grantsville, Maryland, an
arched masonry bridge, or in 1849, the 310 metre‐long Wheeling Suspension
Bridge, which made it the longest suspension bridge in the world. The Wheeling
185 See LANDIS, Charles, The first Long Turnpike in the United States, Lancaster, The New Era Printing
Company, 1917; WITMER, A. Exton, The Old Turnpike, Lanacaster, Reprinted from The New Era, 1897
186 See HOOKER, William Francis, The Prairie Schooner, Chicago, Saul Brothers, 1918, p. 29
187 See HULBERT, Archer Butler, The Cumberland Road, (Historic Highways of America Vol. N. 10),
Cleveland, Ohio, The Arthur H. Clark Company, 1904; RAITZ, Karl B. (ed.), The National Road,
Baltimore, Johns Hopkins University, 1996
112

Bridge is a good example of the industrial and technological level the United States
had reached in just a few years. The first American iron bridge had appeared only
ten years before. Dunlap’s Creek Bridge (1839) in Brownsville, Pennsylvania was a
modest work which appeared late on the scene, when compared to the iron
structures built in England from 1775 onwards (an example is the Iron bridge over
the River Severn). The Wheeling Bridge was designed by Charles Ellet (1810‐1862),
an engineer specialised in suspension bridges and involved in the project design
team of the contemporaneous Niagara Falls Suspension Bridge [Figures 86‐87],
which John Roebling 188 also took part in (1806‐1869). These two bridges showed
not only surprising engineering progress, but were also spectacular landscape
machines of the time, as they enabled the territory to be enjoyed by creating
privileged observation points of charming sceneries.
Road expansion led to the development of fences [Figure 85], one of the main
problems for farmers and communities 189 . The first pioneers and colonists allowed
their herds to move freely in the woods and each one protected his own crops from
wandering animals. When many farmers began to settle and started to create the
first villages, the problem became so great that they had to request special
legislative measures. The herds created a problem for vegetable and flower
gardens, their manure dirtied the roads, which soon became muddy and
impassable 190 . In the 1860s, the States began to create the first fence/herd laws.
John Jackson Brinckeroff speaks of the results obtained immediately after the laws
were applied and observed: “[…] roads which were safer and cleaner and more
agreeable to travel. And once cleared of cattle, they were soon cleared of rubbish
188 John Augustus Roebling (1806‐1869) with his son Washington (1837‐1926), is the architectdesigner
of the Brooklyn Bridge in New York (1883)
189 See JACKSON, John Brinckerhoff, American Space: the Centennial Years, 1865‐1876, New York,
W.W. Norton, 1972, pp. 64‐67
190 JACKSON wrote: “Here is the lament uttered by a farmer in upper New York State before a local
fence law was passed in the 1860s. ”, Ibid. p. 65
113

[…] Thus there gradually evolved in villages and on farms throughout the Midwest
the uninterrupted lawn stretching from the house to edge of the street or road; and
along the street or road trees were soon planted. It was thus that a familiar feature
of the American rural landscape came into being, a feature so familiar indeed that
few inquire as to its origin. As they were enacted across the country, the herd laws
not only freed farmers from an increasingly burdensome expense, they transformed
the rural environment” 191 . At the same time, the railroad became the fastest and
most efficient means in the advance westwards. In 1828 the Baltimore & Ohio was
built, the first railroad with carriages pulled by horses. The first steam locomotives
appeared a few months later. From the 1830s onwards, small stretches of railroad
developed in the East of the country. In 1840 the United States had 5,360 km of
railroad, but by 1860 the network had been extended to approximately 50,000 km.
Enthusiasm for the railroad in the first thirty years was such that private individuals
invested 1,250 million dollars into their construction 192 . The idea of a
transcontinental railroad only came later in 1845 after the Californian gold rush. The
Pacific Railway Act was passed in 1862. This measure authorised the construction of
the railroad across the American continent and awarded free lands along the route
to the contracting companies. The first Transcontinental Railroad was built between
1863 and 1869 by the Union Pacific Railroad and Central Pacific Railroad of
California, from which it got its name of Pacific Railroad. It connected Council Bluffs,
Iowa and Omaha, Nebraska (via Ogden, Utah, and Sacramento, California) with the
Pacific Ocean, at Oakland, California [Figures 130‐131]. As for the toll roads, rivalry
between companies led to a duplication of the route. The route of the Southern
Pacific Transportation Company ended decades later by joining operations with
Central Pacific, to then merge with them only in 1885. There was a proper challenge
between investors to construct the railroad infrastructures. Whoever arrived first at
the final goal could count on lands awarded by law, but also on guaranteed profits,
as well as the publicity from the success of the enterprise. Telegraph lines were
built at the same time as the railroad and these brought about the decline of the
191 Ibid., pp. 66‐67
192 For this data see JONES, A., Maldwyn, The Limits of Liberty American History 1607‐1992, London,
Oxford University Press, 1995 [first ed. 1983] (Italian translation Storia degli Stati Uniti d’America.
Dalle prime colonie inglesi ai giorni nostri, Milan, Bompiani 2011, p. 107)
114

job of Pony Express. They confirmed once and for all America’s numerous
technological potentials and prepared the way for California’s economic success.
The first experimental telegraph line was constructed by Samuel Morse (1791‐1872)
between Washington and Baltimore in 1844. By 1861, the first transcontinental
telegraph line had been constructed by the Western Union Company in association
with the Californian telegraph companies to found the Overland Telegraph
Company. Private competition was also considerable in this field as it had been for
the railroads. The railroads played an incredible role in the cultural unification of
the United States and showed considerable effort of engineering linked to the
colonisation of the West. If the railroads were to create a scenario linked with
transport speed by bringing the power of the machine into the wilderness, it has to
be remembered that they destroyed some of the more genuine prairie landscapes
[Figure 128]. We are not going to mention the direct consequences of railroad
construction, but we will be referring to the indirect results that construction
brought about. The buffalo hunt from a moving train is among the most moving
scenes and was portrayed in various pictures of the period [Figures 133‐134].
Episodes of this type symbolised a culture clash, that of the people, who killed for a
hunting trophy and the Indian culture of the prairies, which depended on the
buffalos for food and a great number of their possessions. At the beginning of the
nineteenth century, the American Fur Company traded furs with the Indians and
from the 1830s onwards many furs were transported by steamboat. Immediately
after the war, that is to say with the large expansion of the railroads, the turnover
on furs made it one of the most important trades. The historian, Frederick Jackson
Turner (1861‐1932) himself, wrote his doctorate thesis on this very topic and began
the first lines of argument, which led him to his fundamental study on The
Significance of the Frontier in American History (1893). A mass of dedicated hunters
were rendered fearless by the first appearance and diffusion of a new concept of
arms, such as the Colt pistol and the Winchester rifle and increased their arrogance
towards the Indians.
Daniel Headrick dedicates some pages of his previously mentioned book, Power
over Peoples. Technology, Environment, and Western Imperialism, to these
115

events 193 . From 1870, when the railroads had already reached the land of the
buffalo, west of the Mississipi, the American army was working to control the
territories and to ensure the submission of the prairie Indians and supplied the
professional hunters with free bullets. The entire economy linked to the buffalo,
which allowed the Indians to survive and to purchase small everyday goods, was
wiped away in a few years. Headrick reports the disconsolate words of Colonnel
Doge; “Where the year before myriads of buffalo roamed, there was now a myriad
of carcasses. The area gave off a nauseating stench and the endless prairies, [...]
were a solitary death, a putrid desert” 194 [Figures 128‐134].
The rapid transformations begun in the first half of the century were accelerated
and occasionally caused by the Civil War itself, and opened the doors to the period,
which Mumford defines and describes as the Brown Decades. “The growth of steel
mills, the mechanization of agriculture, the substitution of petroleum for whale oil,
the development of the trade union movement, and the concentration of great
fortunes, built up by graft, speculation, war‐profits, or the outright donation of
priceless lands to great railway corporations” 195 , had finally put a system into a
difficult position, one which the war had simply overcome by untying the political
knot of the abolition of slavery. Similarly, material progress introduced had been
overvalued to such an extent that the improvement in living conditions had hidden
what was being lost. Enormous amounts of land were placed in the hands of a few
owners, and natural landscapes were destroyed under a veil of asphalt soot. The
railroad brought with it the filth of the city, the mines, and steelworks. “[...] At first
the advantages and the defilements were so closely associated that people even
prided themselves on the smoke of the thriving town [...] But this assault on the
landscape was not confined to the industrial city: a parallel ruin went on the
193 HEADRICK, Daniel R., Power over Peoples. Technology, Environment, and Western Imperialism,
1400 to Present, Princeton‐Oxford, Princeton University Press, 2010 [English text translated from
Italian by the editor] (Italian translation by Giovanni Arganese, Il predominio dell’occidente.
Tecnologia, ambiente, imperialismo, Bologna, Il Mulino, 2010, pp. 246‐254)
194 Ibid., p. 253
195 MUMFORD, Lewis, The Brown Decades, New York, Dover Publication, 1971 [first ed. 1931], p. 2
(Italian translation edited by Francesco Dal Co, Architettura e cultura in America, dalla guerra civile
all’ultima frontiera, Venice, Marsilio, 1977, p. 34)
116

countryside” 196 . Moreover, the conscience of individuals was removed from civil
commitment, which appeared to exhaust itself with its experience of firearms and
to encourage the anonymity of the crowds.
Whitman’s cry of “O Captain! My Captain” not only recalled Lincoln’s death, but
also highlighted the changes in a framework of universal bereavement for the
United States.
New values gradually replaced old ideologies in a complex mutual relationship.
Colonisation of the West via the industrial revolution highlighted what had been
previously ignored. Up until then, the natural landscape had been no more than an
opportunity to build a town, to dig mines, a tool to let lease the power of the
machine and a testing bench for technological experiments. These very contrasts
brought the landscape to the attention of the Americans and used urban parks to
introduce the wilderness into the town.
Industrial America broke the spirit of the pioneer and his practical relationship with
nature. At the same time it allowed a summary and critical revision to be made. The
landscape took on a public significance and together with the value of the
relationship between man and nature, led to a line of collective thought, to which
men, such as Emerson and Thoreau, were the first to contribute, showing a
sophisticated, very modern sensitivity, free from any residual romanticism.
196 Ibid., p. 28 (it. tr. p. 65)
117

Figure 67- View of Lowell, Massachusetts, 1850. Note along the river the manufatures buildings
(mills).
(Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division Washington)
Figure 68- Map of Chelmsford, early settlement of Lowell, 1821
Digital Map Collection of Lowell (The University of Massachusetts Lowell, Center for Lowell
History in conjunction with the Lowell Historical Society, Lowell National Historical Park and
Northern Middlesex Regional Library System)

Figure 69- The industrial change of a manufacture city: canals and mills are built in a few
years to develope and improve the production. Map of of Lowell, 1832
Digital Map Collection of Lowell (The University of Massachusetts Lowell, Center for Lowell
History in conjunction with the Lowell Historical Society, Lowell National Historical Park and
Northern Middlesex Regional Library System)

Figure 70- Waterfront of St. Louis, Missouri, bird’s eye view of river life with steamboats and
city buildings, lithograph by A. Janicke & Co, 1859
(Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division Washington)

Figure 71- Birds’ eye view of New-Orleans, drawn by J. Bachman, 1851
(Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division Washington)
Figure 72-The steam power: particular of a lithograph that represents a panoramic view of St
Louis, Missouri, by Leopold Gast & Brother, 1855
(Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division Washington)

Figure 73-Two steamboats race on the Mississippi. In foreground a raft,1859
(Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division Washington)

Figure 74- The map shows character and extent of settlement in 1820
(From the book: The Erie Canal and the Settlement of the West, by Lois Kimball
Mathews, 1910)

Figure 75- The map shows character and extent of settlement in 1840 after the construction of
many canals. The frontier line is along the Mississippi river.
(From the book: The Erie Canal and the Settlement of the West, by Lois Kimball
Mathews, 1910)

Figure 76- Articifi al landscape of Erie Canal: Deep Cuttin Lockport, 1825
Note the height of the towpath on the right side and the horse drawn boat.
(Image from the Book: Memoir prepared at the request of commitee of the common council of
the city of New York, and presented to the Mayor of the city, at the celebration of the completion
of the New York canals, by Cadwallader D. Colden, 1825)
Figure 77- A horse-drawn boat in the Erie Canal, 1883
Image from the Book: America illustrated, Boston, DeWolfe, Fiske & Company Publishers, by
J. David Williams, 1883 (illustration at page 88)

Figure 78- The Locks of Lockport, View at the completion of the original canal,1825
Image from the Book: Memoir prepared at the request of commitee of the common council of
the city of New York, and presented to the Mayor of the city, at the celebration of the completion
of the New York canals, by Cadwallader D. Colden, 1825
Figure 79- View of te Erie Canal from the locks of Lockport, 1840
Image from the book: American scenery, or Land, lake and river illustrations of transatlantic
nature, from drawings by W. H. Bartlett, London, by Nathaniel Parker Willis, 1840

Figure 80- The natural landscape and Erie Canal, 1883
Image from the Book: America illustrated, Boston, DeWolfe, Fiske & Company Publishers, by
J. David Williams, 1883 (illustration at page 90)

Figure 81- Map of the various channels for conveying the trade of the north west to the Atlantic
sea-board exhibiting the tributaries & drainage of the trade into each and the effect of the
enlargement of the Erie Canal,1853
Outline map of the eastern half of the United States showing canals, fi nished railroads, railroads
in progress of contruction and proposed lines. Trade areas are indicated by line symbols
and added brown and red color.
(Library of Congress Geography and Map Division Washington)

Figure 82- Pioneer family in front of two Conestooga wagons on a plain with mountaind in the
background c.1870
(Denver Public Library - Digital Collection)
Figure 83- Covered wagon train in the prairie. The last large bull train on its way from the
railroad to the Black Hills, 1890
(Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division Washington, D.C.)

Figure 84- Mormon pioneers about to enter Salt Lake Valley, (1847?)
(Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division Washington, D.C.)

Figure 85- Roads and fences in Winona County, Minnesota (Note orchards, road, railway in the
pairie landscape transfomated to cultures; the animals are in lands border with fences): Residence
and fruit farm of Stephan Eldridge, 3 miles south west of Winona, Minnesota. (with) Bird’s
eye view of the farm & residence of E.S. Harvey Esq., Saratoga Tp., Winona County. (with)
Bird’s eye view of the farm of Jas. Monk Esq., Rolling Stone Tp., Winona Co., 1876
(David Rumsey Historical Map Collection Archive)
From the book: “An illustrated historical atlas of the State of Minnesota”. Published by A.T. Andreas,
Lakeside Building, Chicago, Ills. 1874. Chas. Shober & Co. Prop. of Chicago Lith. Co”

Figure 86 - Picnic near Niagara Suspension Bridge, 1859, Ialbumen silver print by William
England (Museum of Modern Art Collection, New York)

Figure 87- John Augustus Roebling:The Rail road suspension bridge: near Niagara Falls,
1856 (Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division Washington)

Manifest Destiny
Go West, young man, go West and grow up with the country 197 .
Horace Greeley
The revolution begun by the means of transport created a collective feeling of
euphoria. The speed at which journeys could be made and the dynamism with
which the new settlements developed in wild territories were the logical
consequences of this revolution. Certain cultural impulses provided by foreign
politics were added to these experiences, which marked the highest moment of
intense territorial expansion. Once the territories of Louisiana had been annexed
and the plains of the Mid‐west of the United States had been occupied, attention
was turned to relationships with Mexico, which been granted independence from
Spain in 1882. In the decade from 1840‐1850, politics were disturbed by an ideology
called Manifest Destiny, which led to the annexation of Texas, Oregon, California,
New Mexico and Utah (some of which only subsequently became states).
The doctrine of Manifest Destiny can be described as a sort of popular belief, which
encouraged people to have faith in the resources of the United States. It believed
that the United States of America were destined to fulfil great tasks, beginning with
the control of the North American continent.
The basic conditions for these changes were evident from the 1820s, the time when
a very popular, direct politics was developed. The first presidents of the United
States came from rich, aristocratic families from the East and were well‐educated,
well‐read men. Following the election of Andrew Jackson (1767‐1845) in 1828,
ironic nicknames became common and, as the historian, Morton Keller, has shown,
a political slang caught on, which was a direct reminder of frontier life: Jackson was
the Old Hickory, Martin Van Buren the red fox of the West, whereas an unknown
candidate was nicknamed “unpredictable horse […] the awardings of funds

arrels of pork meat>>, often approved , i.e. with political
manipulation 198 .
Andrew Jackson’s presidency polarised popular instincts by playing on his fame as a
heroe, which he had acquired during his military career and during the battles
against the English and the Indians. Jackson’s politics during his presidency from
1829 to 1837 had widened the Republican ideas of Jefferson. Jackson’s egalitarian
propaganda did not evoke the land (and therefore property), but had identified the
citizens’ right to vote and to express their feelings, which enhanced his role as
president of humble origins, elected by popular will. His policies, which focused on
the line to restrict action by the federal government in favour of initiatives by
individual states, made a decisive contribution to the push towards the West. One
of the most significant episodes was when Jackson decided not to intervene in the
dispute concerning the removal of the Cherokee Indians from their lands in Georgia.
According to a series of treaties dating back to 1791, the United States had
recognised, the Cherokees as the inhabitants of a true nation, with its own laws,
rights and customs. Recognition of this status was also linked to the civilised
condition of these Indians, who were part of the so‐called “Five Civilized Tribes”
(Cherokee, Chictaw, Creek, Chickasaw, Seminole). However, in 1828, following the
discovery of gold in their lands, the state of Georgia ignored the previous
agreements and deprived the Cherokees of their property. Despite an appeal by the
Indians to the Court of Appeal and their subsequent victory, Jackson did nothing to
bring the sentence in their favour into effect. On the contrary, he used the Indian
Removal Act of 1830 to encourage the removal under the threat of firearms of all
the Indian tribes to beyond the borders of the Mississipi, along what was known as
“the trail of tears (or literally “Trail Where They Cried”). Therefore, if on the one
hand, Jackson was the assertor of autonomy for the individual states, on the other
he proved to be a decided supporter of the Union, especially during protests by the
southern states, caused by the introduction of protectionist policies, which
198 JONES, A., Maldwyn, The Limits of Liberty American History 1607‐1992, London, Oxford University
Press, 1995 [first ed. 1983] (Italian translation Storia degli Stati Uniti d’ America. Dalle prime colonie
inglesi ai giorni nostri, Milan, Bompiani, 2011, p. 125)
119

favoured the manufacturing system and put the agricultural economy of the lands
used for intensive cultivation to the test.
However, Jackson’s policy of laissez faire was particularly intended to oppose the
financial and banking system. In fact, he believed that the central government
should not favour social imbalance by financing or encouraging the creation of
banks. On the contrary he believed it should guarantee an increased number of
opportunities for individuals and should incentivise social mobility. The Bank War
was supposed to have been identified as the primary element and was at times
becoming an unmotivated obsession for the Jackson movement.
The presidency of Martin Van Buren (1782‐1862), the first president born in the
independent republic of the USA, was also founded on the same political basis. Van
Buren found he was facing the problem of a request for annexation by the newly
created republic of Texas (proclaimed in 1836). However, he never tackled the
question and delayed recognition of the new state, due to complex reasons of
foreign policy (recognition of Texas would have been a declaration of war against
Mexico) and internal politics (the American colonists who had settled in Texas
practised slavery). Tensions regarding the recognition of the Republic of Texas
exploded with the Mexican‐American War, fought between 1846 and 1848, which
also involved the Mexican provinces of California and New Mexico.
Behind all these political upheavals lay the ideology of Manifest Destiny, sponsored
by local politicians and publicised by the newspapers. The citizens of the United
States became convinced their actions were predestined and this corroborated and
fired expansionist aims and the rush towards the West.
This was a collective, mass phenomenon, which had a profound effect on the young
American nation and crept into political action like a genetic aberration over a
number of decades in the nineteenth century.
Various hypotheses exist regarding the appearance of the expression of Manifest
Destiny. The most reliable one insists on the term having been adopted in 1845 by
the journalist, John Louis O’Sullivan (1813‐1895), an influential ideologist of
Jackson’s supporters at the time. In one of his articles entitled “Annexation”,
published in United States Magazine and Democratic Review 17, no.1 (July‐August
120

1845), he incited the United States to annex the Republic of Texas, since it was
“manifest destiny to overspread the continent allotted by Providence for the free
development of our yearly multiplying millions”.
As a result, a disturbing and at the same time expressive scenario was created,
against which only one voice arose to contradict it, that of Henry David Thoreau, a
passionate supporter of non‐intervention in Mexico, that is to say of Resistance to
Civil Government.
If American morals were saved only thanks to Thoreau’s ideas expressed in his essay
on Civil Disobedience published in 1849, American progress identified itself in a
strange ideological tangle. The numerous facets of the landscape included new
means of transport, pioneers, farmers, technological inventions, the struggle
against the Indians and the conquest of new territories. In the context of material
progress, the cultural elements were the result not so much of political initiative,
but more of individual initiative.
The work by John Gast (1842‐?), American Progress (1872) [Figure 88], is picture,
which summarises very well the salient features of those years and at the same
time portrays a famous allegory of Manifest Destiny. Although Gast was a painter of
modest artistic talent, he has given us a work which represents the most evident
signs of the aforementioned climate. The scene is well‐known, as coloured prints
were made of it. The painter uses the canvas to freeze a scene, which immediately
appears to be alive and communicates the idea of a continually evolving present.
The dominant figure in the centre of the picture is a modern goddess, Columbia,
who represents the personification of America herself. She moves lightly forward
with a book in one hand, while she extends telegraph cables with the other. In the
distance, on the right‐hand side ships can be seen arriving on the new continent
and railroad tracks depart from the coast, carrying trains which fly across the
territories of the United States. The locomotives run at full steam with smoke rising
from the boiler stack. Nothing can prevent the advance of the new means of
transport, even though the tracks appear to stop a few metres in front of the train.
The coach and Pony Express appear to launch themselves at the same speed
towards the centre of the picture, but they can only perform where the power of
121

the machine has not yet reached. This picture is totally allegorical. If the animals
represent the wild world, then the book held tightly by the goddess symbolises the
civilising mission and awareness of America. The groups of people also have to be
interpreted in the logic of the advance of progress from East to West, similar to the
movement of the sun. The human figures in the bottom right‐hand corner are
typical colonists. They have bordered their property with a fence, they have built a
house on their own land and they are ploughing the fields in order to start sowing
their crops. A little further on are the pioneers on horseback and the hunters who
open up the road. Where a prairie schooner has passed lie the carcasses of the
buffalo, the tragic remains of the passage of the white man, signs of the advancing
frontier. At the foot of the mountains, amidst the mist vague forms appear which
make us think of troops of soldiers on the move or of stable settlements which
blend into the horizon. To the left of the picture, between the fleeing buffalo and
wild animals, are the Indians, portrayed as incapable and reluctant to adapt to
progress. The only threat is suggested by the dust roused by the buffalo, which
envelops the left‐hand side of the landscape in an aura of mystery. This does not
really intimidate, but is rather a setback which arouses the explorer’s curiosity.
Gast’s landscape, full of familiar scenes of frontier life, is powerfully descriptive and
engrossing, even though it is based on stereotypes and summons up the symbols of
the culture of Manifest Destiny. The conquest of new territories proved essential in
the development of the ideology of the frontier and the American economy.
At first, expansion was a simple affirmation of backward, predatory systems to
exploit the soil and the natural resources. In other words, expansion reflected the
needs of the landowners of the Deep South, who had used the plantations to create
an effective driving force to conquer the territories. Agricultural production costs
remained low and consumed land capital. At a later stage, colonisation of the West
began to create a conscience in people, which became part of the American
ideology. The Dimes novels by Erastus Flavel Beadle (1821‐1894) and the paintings
of the West helped to make a world of pioneers, outlaws, stage‐coaches, buffalo
hunters and Indians generally familiar [Figures 128‐134]. Without any awareness,
the Americans were destroying the landscapes, for which they had fought so dearly.
122

Manifest Destiny began the period of the West, but it also highlighted its
ephemeral, transitory side. These years blew out the pioneer’s flame of hope of
finding redemption in the wild life and inaugurated the work of the cowboy in
territories where agriculture was impossible due to adverse weather conditions.
The Mormons’ dream of founding their own nation, named Desert, also had to
make way for the political drive for expansion. The call of nature conjured up by
Thoreau, Whitman and Emerson combined with the complex ideology of the
frontier, until it all merged with the adventurous romanticism of the cowboy, who
with his herds followed in the opposite direction to the advance of colonisation.
The cattle trails, such as the Goodnight‐Loving Trail (1866), named after two
adventurers and cattle owners, closed the era of Manifest Destiny. They retraced
their steps to sell their animals. Thousands of Texas Longhorns roamed the
territories, which had so far been the domain of wild animals, so that the plains
became a huge ranch without borders. A different landscape had by now replaced a
world, which was just as precarious as that of the first settlers as they pushed
westwards.
123

Figure 88- American Progress, John Gast, 1872, (Chromolithography)
(Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division Washington)

First experiences of landscape gardening
Landscape culture entered the United States via the experiences of the plantation
homes of the Antebellum South and the development of horticulture in the states
of New England in the East. Anglosaxon, Dutch, French and Spanish influences
characterised the colonial period and defined the years immediately afterwards.
These historic influences represented the founding nucleus of American landscape
gardening, however, English romanticism did not fail to make some important
contributions. The relationships between American and Anglosaxon culture had
been open to dialectic debate on the topic of the landscape since the second half of
the eighteenth century. On the one hand, there was the tradition of gardening and
the proposals of European Romanticism, which found fertile ground in the United
States. On the other, there was a society which was rapidly consuming its imported,
cultural baggage from overseas to satisfy its need to find a national culture. The
reasons for this rapid absorption (and the consequences of the review of the English
tradition) were at the basis of the originality of American landscape gardening. The
rapid pace of the frontier and the scientific and naturalistic explorations of wild
territories were peculiar to America. Frederick Law Olmsted was the figure who
best summarised these aspects by including in his work the anti‐geometric theories
of the English garden, as well as the American need for the rift between wilderness
and contemporary metropoli. Not by chance did the so‐called Conservation
Movement begin in the 1850s, to guarantee protection for the spectacular natural
scenaries highlighted by the geographical and geological discoveries in the lands of
the wilderness. This movement became so specific as a result of the opposite
European preoccupation. During the same period in the old continent, the main
problem in the topic of landscape was the question of how “to improve” nature.
In England, for example, Capability Brown (1716‐1783) had been one of the first to
introduce the lesson of picturesque into the concept of the garden. His project
design method envisaged the rejection and neglect of geometrical and straight
solutions and preferred a different approach, as Norman T. Newton claimed
“somewhat unsteadily in a visual sense, in an oversoft surrounding of undulant
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meadow” 199 . Brown’s experiments had found the way to exploit and support some
of the scenic aspects already present in nature’s own skills. The basic concept was
to study and create within the garden project some views capable of conjuring up
the landscapes portrayed in contemporary painting of the period. Brown’s ideas as
regards the landscape could be summed up in the words: “like a picture”. The
improvements Brown made to nature soon began the controversy on the question
of picturesque 200 , which allowed his very own method to evolve. In fact, shortly
afterwards, Humphrey Repton (1752‐1818) perfected Brown’s ideas by using the
practices described in detail in his Red Books 201 , a series of texts which explained
the theory and practice of English landscape gardening. Repton’s ideas entered
America indirectly thanks to Bernard McMahon (1775‐1816), an American
horticulturist and botanist of Scottish origin. McMahon, as mentioned during our
explanation of the Monticello project, was not merely Jefferson’s passionate
gardening mentor, he was also the author of the book The American Gardner’s
Calendar (1806). McMahon’s Calendar was modelled on the English formula of the
typical gardening handbooks and gave instructions month by month on how to
plant, take care of the flora and prepare the garden soil. Furthermore, McMahon
used his books to introduce the theoretical and practical coverage of the subdivision
of the spaces in the garden, according to a consolidated English method: kitchen
garden on one side, fruit garden on the other, orchard, nursery, pleasure (flower)
garden, etc, these were all conceived as separate entities, to distinguish the
utilitarian from the aesthetic purposes. In the chapter entitled “The pleasure, or
flower garden. Ornamental designs and planting”, McMahon especially seized the
typical elements of gardening and added new theories introduced by Repton. In the
pages of the Calendar, McMahon affirms that
199 NEWTON, Norman T., Design on the Land. The Development of Landscape Architecture,
Cambridge, Massachusetts, The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 1971, p. 212
200 Think of Uvedal Price (1747‐1829), author of the Essay on the Picturesque, as compared with the
Sublime and the Beautiful (1794)
201 Repton’s Red Books are three texts on garden design, so called because each volume was bound in
red: Sketches and Hints on Landscape Gardening (1795), Observation on the Theory and Practice of
Landscape Gardening (1803), Fragments on the Theory and Practice of Landscape Gardening (1816).
These books incorporate numerous sketches that show the difference between what existed and
what he proposed (before and after flaps). Repton’s work was also illustrated in the book Landscape
Gardening and Landscape Architecture of the Late Humphry Repton (1840) by John Claudius Loudon
(1783‐1843), eminent English botanist and garden designer.
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In designs for a pleasure‐ground, according to modern gardening,
consulting rural disposition in imitation of nature, all too formal works
being almost abolished, such as long straight walks, regular
intersections, square grass‐plats, corresponding parterres quadrangular
and angular spaces, and other uniformities, as in ancient designs;
instead of which are now adopted rural open spaces of grass‐ground, of
various forms and dimensions, and winding walks, all bounded with
plantations of trees, shrubs, and flowers, in various clumps; other
compartments are exhibited in a variety of imitative rural forms, such as
curves, projections, openings and closings in imitation of natural
assemblage; having all the various plantations and borders open to the
walks and lawns 202 .
To complete his instructions, he also published a ground plan for the “design for a
villa garden” [Figure 90], and provided precious advice on garden design and on the
selection of trees to plant. Jefferson changed all these ideas in his project at
Monticello to highlight some of the unusual features of the park around the house,
such as the operations to clear the natural wood, the use of roundabouts, oval
flower beds and the lawn in front of the villa [Figure 5]. Such choices in Jefferson’s
project are to be stressed to show his knowledge of the practice of landscape
gardening and his desire to leave behind the simple utilitarian logic which Jefferson
appeared to use in his own estate of Monticello.
Jefferson knew how to combine the elements of English landscape gardening with
numerous other stimuli into his projects. The fascinating hypothesis, that his
admiration for Native Americans had led Jefferson to reproduce some of the
“landscaping” they used, is probably one of the most complex, cultural intertwining
that the work of Jefferson, the landscape designer, had ever proposed. His
dedication in the Entrance Hall at Monticello to Indian culture and the reproduction
in the Poplar Forest project of the mounds, the typical monuments of the natives,
are more than a mere hint. The mounds, used to complete the Neo‐palladian design
of the villa, are witness to Jefferson’s knowledge of Indian culture, and the
incredible resemblance between the shape of the curtilage and of the other areas
202 MCMAHON, Bernard, The American Gardner’s Calendar, adapted to the climate and season of the
United States, Philadelphia, J.B. Lippincott and Co., 1857 (first ed. 1806) p. 74
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with specific transformations of the landscape carried out by the Indians, confirms
this hypothesis 203 .
However, the common feature of the first interventions of landscape gardening in
America appears to be the use of the lawn 204 as the central area in garden
composition and the privileged viewpoint of the architecture. The lawn is the
natural space, which acts as counterpoint to the building. It encourages the
discovery of the surrounding garden and offers views in perspective of both. In the
architecture of the colonial period, the layout of the gardens envisaged simple,
geometric shapes 205 , many of the plants used came from England and the
architecture reflected a style which came to be known as Georgian Colonial, with
differences in the use of materials between North and South. The preparation of
the plantation landscape, especially in Virginia along the James River, saw the first
changes and began to give a major role to the lawn in front of the owner’s villa. The
gardens and house of the plantation owned by Colonnel John Tayole (1721‐1779) at
Mount Airy, Richmond County, near Warsaw, Virginia (1758‐62) [Figure
89]represent the landscape at the stage, which was to lead to new elements of
design to define the landscape. The architecture of Mount Airy was undoubtedly
inspired by the Vitruvius Scoticus 206 by William Adam (1689‐1748) and by other
English sources, and it was probably the first Neo‐palladian building to be built in
the United States. The gardens of the house follow geometric shapes, however, we
find a large rectangular lawn directly linked with the architecture according to a
previous experiment in the Westover plantation at Charles City County, Virginia
(1730s).
203 See: SQUIER, Ephraim George, and DAVIS, Edwin Hamilton, Ancient Monuments of the Mississippi
Valley: Comprising the Results of Extensive Original Surveys and Explorations, Washington,
Smithsonian Institution, 1848, and the essay by KENNEDY, Roger, “Jefferson and the Indians”,
Winterthur Portfolio, Vol. 27, No. 2/3 (Summer ‐ Autumn, 1992), The University of Chicago Press, pp.
105‐121, mentioned in a previous note about Poplar Forest Plantation.
204 See TEYSSOT, George (ed.), The American lawn, New York, Princeton architectural press;
Montreal, Canadian Centre for Architecture, 1999
205 See NEWTON, Norman T., Design on the Land. The Development of Landscape Architecture,
Cambridge, Massachusetts, The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 1971, pp. 246‐251
206 The name Vitruvius Scoticus (Scottish Vitruvius) recalls the title of the previous book Vitruvius
Britannicus, or the Brithish Architect (1715‐25), the major work published by Colen Campbell (1676‐
1729). The Vitruvius Britannicus was a famous book containing engravings of English buildings by
Inigo Jones and Sir Christopher Wren, Campbell himself and other architects.
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By irony of fate, the first President of the United States provided the first completed
model of a garden capable of highlighting the importance of the lawn. George
Washington’s (1722‐1799) house at Mount Vernon, Fairfax County, Virginia [Figures
91‐92] was built in 1743 by Lawrence Washington, the young George’s “half‐brother
and guardian”. A fact little known by the great European public, George
Washington’s fame as general and politician was overtaken by his fame for his ideas
on gardening. His career as a surveyor in his youth is well‐known among specialists,
who have examined his writings and discovered the ecological value of his notes on
the subject of trees and his knowledge of tree species 207 . The mansion of Mount
Vernon was situated on the banks of the River Potomac and enjoyed a view
overlooking the water. The lawn stretches from the opposite side towards the river
and is edged by a curved line of trees. There are ornamental gardens on each side
of the lawn. The Upper Garden is near the Greenhouse, the gardener’s house and
slave quarters, and was used for botanical experiments and formal beds (Box
Garden). The Lower Garden is on the opposite side and, as its name suggests, was
connected to a lower level to act as a wide terrace resting on descending curves.
The Lower Garden contained an English Kitchen Garden, which followed the typical
layout of colonial gardens. Next to the Lower Garden, on an even lower level
towards the river, there was a horse paddock and a fruit garden (originally a
vineyard which had been abandoned during the revolution). There were, and still
are, numerous buildings surrounding the mansion to support the gardens and 208 the
cultivations practised on the property [Figure 92]. No precise information as to any
interventions by the architects to define the architectural prospect on the estate
have been handed down. However, we know that Washington himself took a
personal interest in the design of the buildings. As regards the upkeep of the
garden, this was usually carried out by experts. Among the many documents which
have been handed down, is the account by Philip Bater, whom Washington
appointed as head gardener. Every week from 1785 onwards until the end of
207 See SPURR, Stephen H., “George Washington, Surveyor and Ecological Observer” published in
Ecology, Vol. 32, No. 3 (Jul., 1951), pp. 544‐549
208 See POGUE, Dennis J., “The Domestic Architecture of Slavery at George Washington's Mount
Vernon” published in Winterthur Portfolio, Vol. 37, No. 1 (Spring 2002), The University of Chicago
Press, pp. 3‐22
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Washington’s life, the gardener prepared and sent a written report describing the
activities he had carried out himself, as well as those by his assistants. In April 1787,
Washington drew up a document, which established the rights and duties of the
gardener as he carried out his tasks. 209 However, the de‐stabilising element in the
project design remained the lawn, also known as the Bowling Green [Figure 92]. The
latter was bordered on one side by a large circular bed, fixed by the access road to
the house, and on the opposite side it ended in a small, low, wooden gate. The gate
opened on to a circular‐shaped road to enclose the gardens and lead any visitors to
the entrance of the house without crossing the more private areas. Beyond the
gate, there was a large meadow‐lawn, which continued to a rectangular cut in the
wood, as if a sort of avenue came directly from nature straight to the house. The
curved shaped of the Bowling Green did not stem from the English school of
gardening according to Norman T. Newton. However, we can doubtless consider it
an element, which would be introduced very clearly and formally into subsequent
projects to become the precise archetypal way of relating to the landscape. To give
an example, “dear Mount Vernon”, as Washington was accustomed to call his own
estate, was somehow the inspiration for landscape projects, which Thomas
Jefferson created with greater skills and greater creative results. Furthermore, the
lawn at Mount Vernon represented, perhaps unwittingly and despite the skilfully
concealed symmetry of its trapezoidal layout, the beginning of new picturesque
theories in America.
The landscape of Mount Vernon is a significant testimony of the transition of
colonial gardening practices to new, unexpected contributions, far beyond the
historic importance of the estate
On the other hand, American construction itself never slavishly followed the fashion
of architectural styles, on the contrary it adapted to the multiple technological and
material resources, which had been made available over time. The traditional
English wooden house in America was transformed into the floorboard
209 See FISHER, Robert B., The Mount Vernon Gardens, Mount Vernon, Virginia, The Mount Vernon
Ladies Association of the Union, 1960 and the article by SYKES, Meredith and STEWART, John
“Historic Landscape Restoration in the United States and Canada: An Annotated Source Outline”
published in Bulletin of the Association for Preservation Technology, Vol. 4, No. 3/4 (1972), pp.114‐
158
129

construction, deriving from the balloon frame, and subsequently materials, such as
stone and bricks were added to the unusual use in civil construction of iron
structures. America acknowledged the stimuli from overseas and then rapidly
adopted or avoided the imported fashions. The problem of seeking a paternity for
American architecture is evident in the very original layout of the campus of the
University of Virginia, designed by Jefferson in 1817 [Figures 93‐98]. The project did
not create the layout for one single building, but rather it followed a layout set in a
U shape [Figure 93], in which ten different shaped pavilions follow one another on
slightly sloping ground. A large lawn [Figure 94] lies at the heart of the academic
village, bordered on its shorter side by the library, The Rotunda (1822‐1826) [Figure
96] , and on the other two sides by a series of classroom pavilions connected by a
sort of high level path between the colonnades [Figure 97‐98]. The classical and
Neo‐Palladian style used is the least important aspect of the wonderful organisation
of the landscape. The ground floor of the various pavilions, where student
dormitories were located, had a colonnade to create a space for mediation between
the buildings and nature, whereas at the back there was a succession of private
gardens, which placed nature in the centre of the design. The space in which to
socialise was the lawn, whereas the gardens behind acted as elements in which to
study. They all differed from one another, as did the architecture of the pavilions
themselves, to reflect a hypothetical subdivision of knowledge [Figure 95]. The
same ground plan design was to be used by Wright in his project for the Como
Orchard Summer Colony 210 (1909) [Figure 99], a similar, only partially completed
experiment in Wright’s production. If we compare the general perspective and the
plan published in the catalogue of the Wasmuth edition, we can immediately
210 This project consisted in a Master plan, a Club‐house and Inn, Cottages and the manager’s office.
Developed for vacation of University of Chicago Professors, the project was implemented by Wright
with Marion Mahoney, William Eugene Drummond and Walter Burley Griffin (husband of Mahoney
and landscape architect). Indeed, Wright worked only a few months on the project because he went
to Europe and the office was entrusted to the hands of Herman von Holst, expert businessman and
friend of Wright, but a mediocre architect. There are some studies on this project but no researcher
has pointed out the analogy with the Jefferson’s project. See WRIGHT, Frank Lloyd, Ausgefuhrte
Bauten un Entwurfe von Frank Lloyd Wright, Berlin, Ernst Wasmuth, 1910 (see: plate XLVI and plate
XLVII); the article by HILDEBRAND, Grant and BOSWORTH, Thomas, “The Last Cottage of Wright's
Como Orchards Complex”, published in the Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians, Vol.
41, No. 4 (Dec., 1982), pp. 325‐327; the essay by CIUCCI, Giorgio “La città nell’ideologia agraria e
Frank Lloyd Wirght” published in CIUCCI, Giorgio, DAL CO, Francesco, MANIERI ELIA, Mario, TAFURI,
Manfredo, La città americana dalla guerra civile al New Deal, Laterza, Bari, 1973
130

discern a careful study of the landscape and of the surrounding topography in
relation to the planned cottages. The large open space at the centre of the layout
consists of a rectangular Lawn on slightly sloping ground, edged along its long sides
by ten small pavilions, as in Jefferson’s project. A club house acts as a communal
building for the colony. Since it is in a central position and extends in various
directions into the surrounding space, it allows the master plan to develop
according to the typical organic principles of Wright’s architecture.
From Jefferson’s project onwards, the lawn, as Therese O’Malley wrote, came to
play the role of “convention in the visual representation of prestigious or prominent
institutions, whether they were private, religious, academic, or cultural” 211 .
Washington and Jefferson’s projects represent the most obvious archetypes in the
use of the lawn, but the fascination played by the use of grassy surfaces also goes
back to the pastoral ideas which were becoming common in those years. Important
for American landscape gardening was the development of the first public green
spaces, in which the designers could best experiment their picturesque theories,
without following the architectural fashions or the utilitarian needs imposed by
agriculture. As Norman T. Newton sustains, as regards the landscape and Early
American Backgrounds
In contrast to the dearth of reliable information about the form of the
private gardens, examples of typical New England public open spaces
can still be seen in such village greens as those of Ipswich and Lexington
and in Commons like those of Boston and Cambridge. Of course these
public green spaces offered no signs of design intent, nor could they
accurately be called parks. They were originally intended as common
cow‐pastures (hence the name) and for drilling the local militia, but they
provided a strong background of tradition when the time came for
fostering the new notion of 212 .
Furthermore, the most interesting aspect of the first green spaces designed as parks
within the towns is that they were designed specifically for public use. This purpose
211 O’ MALLEY, Therese, “The Lawn in Early American Landscape and Garden Design” published in
TEYSSOT, George (ed.), The American lawn, New York, Princeton Architectural press; Montreal,
Canadian Centre for Architecture, 1999, p. 75
212 NEWTON, Norman T., Design on the Land. The Development of Landscape Architecture,
Cambridge, Massachusetts, The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 1971, p. 249
131

was to be clarified during the first half of the nineteenth century. The most wellknown
example is Boston Common, dating back to 1634, 213 where in around 1830
cows were forbidden to graze and during the same period various transformations
were made to set the perimeter and pathways within the park spaces. Boston
Common clearly illustrates the connection between pastoral aspirations and the
first experiences of landscape gardening. In this case, the area did not merely
conjure up a pastoral picture; it was actually part of it. However, the concept of
public use and public ownership of the parks remained an American prerogative in
the history of gardens, which merits a brief comment. The legislative measures,
which ratified this trend, began in 1847 with the Rural Cemetery Act, passed by the
state of New York to regulate the use of burial lands, which were actually the first
examples of American public parks. In 1851, the restrictions and development of
public parks designed explicitly for citizens’ wellbeing and pleasure were set out by
a law, known as the First Park Act, once again by the state of New York, one of the
most advanced as regards landscape gardening. The difference between this and
the previous experiences on the old continent was basically outlined by the
following factors: the right of use, ownership of the park and the project
commission. In Europe, large town parks were usually owned by their respective
national monarchies and the reigning Crown would grant the population their use; a
right occasionally restricted to public holidays or at preset times. The French case
provides us with even more information to clarify another aspect. The royal gardens
only became public property after the revolution, but the design and development
of the parks had undisputedly been created under the aegis of the King. Although it
differed from the point of view of “public right”, the American trend found similar,
contemporary experiences only in England. The homeland of landscape projects
only conceived the first park with public ownership, purposes and project design in
1847, despite its long history of English gardening, 214 when the opening of
213 This date is related only to the transfer of land ownership from private to the Municipality of
Boston
214 Birkenhead Park is usually considered the first public Park because the Borough of Birkenhead was
the first to ask the UK Parliament for permission to use public funds to build a town park. There were
some previous, similar projects: Victoria Park, London (1842‐46), Peel Park, Salford (1846), Derby
Arboretum (1840),
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Birkenhead Park was celebrated in Birkenhead, a suburb of Liverpool. Designed by
Joseph Paxton (1803‐1865), this park was so important it could not pass unnoticed
in the New World, where landscape gardening was engaging with the numerous
stimuli and new requirements of metropolitan life. In his book Walks and Talks of
an American Farmer in England (1852), Frederick Law Olmsted was deeply struck by
the innovative aspects of the park designed by Paxton:
The baker had begged of us not to leave Birkenhead without seeing their
new park, and at his suggestion we left our knapsacks with him, and
proceeded to it. […]The gateway, which is about a mile and a half from
the ferry, and quite back of the town, is a great, massive block of
handsome Ionic architecture, standing alone, and unsupported by
anything else in the vicinity, and looking, as I think, heavy and awkward.
There is a sort of grandeur about it that the English are fond of, but
which, when it is entirely separate from all other architectural
constructions, always strikes me unpleasantly. […]There is a large
archway for carriages, and two smaller ones for those on foot, and, on
either side, and over these, are rooms, which probably serve as
inconvenient lodges for the labourers. No porter appears, and the gates
are freely open to the public. Walking a short distance up an avenue, we
passed through another light iron gate into a thick, luxuriant, and
diversified garden. Five minutes of admiration, and a few more spent in
studying the manner in which art had been employed to obtain from
nature so much beauty, and I was ready to admit that in democratic
America there was nothing to be thought of as comparable with this
People's Garden. Indeed, gardening, had here reached a perfection that I
had never before dreamed of. I cannot undertake to describe the effect
of so much taste and skill as had evidently been employed; I will only tell
you, that we passed by winding paths, over acres and acres, with a
constant varying surface, where on all sides were growing every variety
of shrubs and flowers, with more than natural grace, all set in borders of
greenest, closest turf, and all kept with most consummate neatness 215 .
He dedicated several pages to describing this project. 216 Some stratagems from the
landscape of Birkenhead Park can be found in the design of Central Park in New
York (1857).
215 OLMSTED, Frederick Law, Walks and Talks of an American Farmer in England, Vol. I, New York,
George P. Putnam, 1852, p. 78‐79
216 According to Olmsted this project “placed in the hands of Mr. Paxton, in June, 1844, by whom it
was laid out in its present form by June of the following year” (in OLMSTED, Frederick Law, Walks
and Talks of an American Farmer in England, Vol. I, New York, George P. Putnam, 1852. p. 80),
however contemporary sources established it was opened on 5 April 1847.
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Olmsted was particularly impressed by the use of large, grassy surfaces surrounded
by thick vegetation. The purpose of such a choice of project design was to increase
the scenic effect of the appearance of a vast open space intended as a playground,
which could only be reached by passing through a little wood. Olmsted also
commented extremely positively on other projects, believing that “probably there is
no object of art that Americans of cultivated taste generally more long to see in
Europe, than an English park” 217 . Nevertheless, despite Olmsted’s report, there was
no lack of experiments in landscape gardening in America. In just a few decades,
attention moved from rural parks to the interpretation of rural cemeteries, that is to
say cemeteries which were conceived as proper public spaces, which could be used
thanks to specifically designed pathways through the park. Although Olmsted
showed no enthusiasm for rural cemeteries and did not mention the phenomenon
in his comparisons to enhance the English experiments, contemporary historians of
the garden agreed that the movement to promote rural cemeteries 218 was of
extreme interest in America. Norman T. Foster, in particular, believed the rural
cemetery to be directly connected to the development of landscape gardening in
urban parks: “It should not be overlooked that a completely American invention,
the , may possibly have influenced public interest in park‐like
scenery” 219 . The first of such cemeteries was Mount Auburn, Cambridge,
Massachusetts (1831) [Figure 100], designed by Henry Alexander Scammel
Dearborn (1783‐1851) with Jacob Bigelow (1787‐1879) and Alexander Wadsworth
(1790‐1851). The role of Bigelow 220 was, however, decisive as regards the planning
in 1825. As he was a doctor, he believed it necessary to get rid of the traditional
practice of burial next to urban churches. He was supported in his theory by
217 Ibid., p. 133
218 See BENDER, Thomas, “The "Rural" Cemetery Movement: Urban Travail and the Appeal of
Nature”, Published in The New England Quarterly, Vol. 47, No. 2 (Jun., 1974), pp. 196‐211
219 NEWTON, Norman T., Design on the Land. The Development of Landscape Architecture,
Cambridge, Massachusetts, The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 1971, p. 268; as regards
the history of the cemetery in 19th century in Europe, see the article by CURL, James Stevens, “The
Architecture and Planning of the Nineteenth‐Century Cemetery”, Garden History, Vol. 3, No. 3
(Summer, 1975), pp. 13‐41
220 Jacob Bigelow (1787‐1879) is the author of the one of first American medical‐botanical book:
American medical botany, being a collection of the native medicinal plants of the United States,
containing their botanical history and chemical analysis, and properties and uses in medicine, diet
and the arts, with coloured engravings, Boston, Cummings and Hillard, 1817
134

Dearborn who arranged the purchase of 70 acres of land, on which to create the
cemetery, thanks to the Massachusetts Horticultural Society, of which he was the
president.
The report drawn up by the Massachusetts Horticultural Society in October 1831
explained in detail the meaning of death and the historic and ritual significance of
cemeteries (extolling a series of ancient and contemporary examples, such as the
contemporary project of the cemetery Père‐la‐Chaise in Paris) and gave reasons for
the choice of area and the operations to be carried out in these words:
The design is, to teach the community to pay more respect to the dead.
[…] We cannot but hope that the cemetery about to be established will
put our cities and villages to shame, and spread a better taste and
feeling in this respect throughout the whole country. The place selected
for the cemetery is Mount Auburn, in Cambridge, about three miles
from Boston, and easily approached either by the road or the river which
washes its borders. It affords every variety of soil and elevation, which
trees or flowers would require, with streams and meadows, from which
ponds may be made for plants which love the water. The plants of every
climate may find there a suitable home. It might be thought that it
would require many years to cover it whit verdure; but Nature has
anticipated this objection; it being already cloche with trees and shrubs
of almost all description, which grow in this part of the country. The
most striking part of this tract is a conical hill of considerable height,
which commands an extensive and beautiful prospect […] There is
something unpleasant to many, in the idea of cultivating the place of
death. This may be owing to the old prejudice, which regards nature and
arts as opposed to each other. Nature, under all circumstances, was
meant to be improved by human care; it is unnatural to leave it to itself;
and the traces of art are never unwelcome, except when it defeats the
purposes and refuses to follow the suggestions of nature 221 .
Therefore, the gardens were prepared using existing trees and planting new tree
species, whereas paths were made by using architectural furniture and small
monuments. Mount Auburn soon became an attraction for visitors, tourists and
families, who took advantage of the peace offered by the gardens to spend quiet
moments far from the confusion of the city.
221 “Mount Auburn Cemetery, Report of Massachusetts Horticultural Society upon the Establishment
of an Experimental Garden and Rural Cemetery” The North American Review, University of Northern
Iowa, Vol. 33, No. 73 (Oct., 1831), pp. 397‐406
135

The search for an ancient landscape for the dead, as described by Virgil and other
classical authors, became an imaginary landscape, which recalled the picturesque
garden and the landscapes created by European and American artists.
Following the success of Mount Auburn, numerous other rural cemeteries
developed, such as Laurel Hill Cemetery, Philadelphia (1836) [Figure 103‐104],
Mount Hope Cemetery, Rochester, New York (1838), Greenwood Cemetery,
Brooklyn (1838) [Figure 101], Green Mount Cemetery, Baltimore, Maryland (1838),
Allegheny Cemetery, Pittsburgh (1844), and Albany Rural Cemetery, Menands, New
York (1844). In 1849 the cemetery of Bellefontaine was opened in St. Louis, 222 the
first rural cemetery west of the Mississippi [Figure 102]. The 138 acres were
designed by Almerin Hotchkiss (1816‐1903), landscape designer and creator of the
well‐known project for Greenwood Cemetery, and interest was highlighted by the
opinion expressed by Andrew Jackson a few years after its opening. Greenwood
Cemetery had put Hotchkiss’ landscape gardening skills to the test 223 and had
proved to be “grand, dignified, and park‐like” 224 . Despite the outbreak of a cholera
epidemic in St. Louis, which required a rapid solution to the problem (approximately
100 funerals a day were held in June 1849), the authorities in charge of cemetery
affairs decided not to make provisional choices, as they wanted to exploit an area,
which could be used for future landscaping purposes. Following Hotchkiss’
nomination as superintendent of the cemetery, the project design and construction
of curved, undulating pathways suited to the undulating topography were begun.
Hotchkiss remained as cemetery superintendent for the next 46 years, taking care
of a further development of approximately 200 acres, and paying close attention to
the layout of precise, scenic areas. After a few years, the construction of funeral
222 See DARNALL, Margareta J., “The American Cemetery as Picturesque Landscape: Bellefontaine
Cemetery, St. Louis” Winterthur Portfolio, The University of Chicago Press, Vol. 18, No. 4 (Winter,
1983), pp. 249‐269
223 David Bates Douglass (1790‐1849), engineer and cemetery designer drafted the original expansion
design, subsequently developed by Hotchkiss as superintendent. Hotchkiss worked with Zebedee
Cook on the definitive plan of the cemetery.
224 DOWNING, Andrew Jackson, cit. in NEWTON, Norman T., Design on the Land. The Development of
Landscape Architecture, Cambridge, Massachusetts, The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press,
1971, p. 268
136

monuments 225 created a picturesque atmosphere, which conjured up the landscape
scenarios portrayed by well‐known American artists from the Hudson River School,
such as Thomas Cole (1801‐1848) and Frederic Church (1826‐1900). The cemetery
represented a moment of reflection, in which man showed his respect for nature
and, at the same time, his thoughts of death and passion for the ancient world. The
reproduction of tombs in past styles (especially Greek, Roman and Egyptian) set in a
seemingly natural, but skilfully designed scenario, offered an opportunity to fulfil
the imaginary scenes of the most famous landscape artists, even though on a
reduced scale.
In this sense, the movement of public opinion linked to American rural cemeteries
appeared as something really innovative, of which Europe had no comparable
examples of intentions or needs, with the partial exception of England. As Thomas
Bender observed, the American “rural cemetery” not only denoted the idea of a
cemetery situated outside the town, according to the romantic conventions of
English landscape gardening, but it also expressed an ideological background “in the
emerging urban culture” 226 . In The Making of Urban America, John William Reps
showed his surprise at the recreational purpose the first rural cemeteries were used
for, but in both the culture of that period and often in current practice, “a visit to
the local cemetery was considered de rigueur for the tourist, and the popular press
carried numerous articles on these romantic burial grounds” 227 . Such ideas were not
applied to rural cemeteries at a later date, but rather they began at the same time:
“a month after the consecration of Mount Auburn, Henry Bellows, in his oration at
the Harvard Exhibition on October 18, 1831, declared that rural cemeteries . Writing in 1849, Andrew Jackson Downing
asserted that thirty thousand persons visited Mount Auburn in a single season.” 228
The trend, which encouraged the construction of new rural cemeteries in the
225 Many monuments were built in the Bellefontaine Cemetery of St. Louis and notables figures were
buried there: William Clark, explorer of the Louisiana Territory, Brig. Gen. Richard B. Manson, first
American governor of California, Thomas Hart Benton, politician, Sara Teasdale, poet. Louis Sullivan’s
Wainwright Tomb (1892) is also to be found here.
226 BENDER, Thomas, “The "Rural" Cemetery Movement: Urban Travail and the Appeal of Nature”,
The New England Quarterly, Vol. 47, No. 2 (Jun., 1974), pp. 196‐211, p. 196
227 Ibid.
228 Ibid., cit. p. 197
137

country, enabled Hotchkiss to become quite famous in their design and in landscape
gardening. Around 1850, he was commissioned to design the Chippianock Cemetery
at Rock Island, Illinois, on the banks of the Mississippi, in a place of Indian origin,
which recalled its original use as a burial ground. In 1856, he committed himself to
preparing the project for Lake Forest, a new outlying settlement for the city of
Chicago (27 miles from the town centre). This project was the link between the
experience of the rural cemeteries and the new demands of town planning and
landscape gardening. Lake Forest anticipated on a grand scale some of the concepts
later used by Olmsted and Vaux to design Riverside (1869) [Figure 54]. The project
envisaged a well‐defined, residential and commercial area, a university campus
placed in the centre and a rural cemetery. This all stretched over approximately
1,200 acres on the shores of Lake Michigan, along an area, through which a railroad
line passed. The majority of the project was completed, despite the economic crisis
of 1857, and subsequently other project designers, such as Adler, Olmsted, Wright
designed projects for Lake Forest, while William Le Baron Jenney (1832‐1907) and
Ossian Cole Simonds (1855‐1931) tried their hand at developing the cemetery
landscape, which was enlarged and redesigned by the same people in two stages in
1882 and 1901, respectively.
The town of Lowell, Massachusetts[Figure 67], the “American Manchester” founded
a few years earlier, was also given a rural cemetery. Thomas Bender made a
perceptive observation that, in the early decades of the nineteenth century, the
relationship between nature and industry of the new‐born, American nation eluded
people into thinking Lowell was a sort of perfect middle landscape. The clean aspect
of the town and its contact with the natural element of water had known how to
mediate between nature’s resources and the new industrial needs:
When Lowell was founded in 1821, the dominant concept of the
American landscape was that of "an immense wilderness [turned] into a
fruitful field. Art and Nature were blended to define the landscape.
Americans assumed that something artificial could be "introduced into
the natural order [showing] that man has interposed in some way to
improve the pro‐ cesses of nature." However, an extreme departure
from nature could not be accommodated within this ideology without
up‐ setting the balance by shifting from the "cultivated" and the good, to
the "dissipated and corrupt." Lowell and other early factory towns were
138

merged within this framework through the use of a factory‐in‐the‐forest
image. In 1825, the editor of the Essex Gazette emphasized the harmony
between the factories and the natural landscape at Lowell. "It seemed,"
he wrote, "to be a song of triumph and exultation at the successful
union of nature with the art of man, in order to make her contribute to
the wants and happiness of the human family." After two decades of
urban growth, however, it appeared that instead of blending with
nature, the city was about to overwhelm it. In 1841, a mill‐girl poet
wrote: "Who hath not sought some sylvan spot/ where art, the spoiler,
ventures not." 229
Cracks in the system and in the speculative layout of the town would only become
visible at a later stage. Meanwhile, in the 1840s, the idea of a Lowell capable of
mediating between the industrial and the natural world had finally declined by
then, and the ideas for a cemetery park rapidly became popular in the most
industrialised and most technologically advanced town of America. In 1841,
celebrations were held for the opening of the cemetery/park near the River
Concord, built according to a layout of romantic inspiration prepared by George P.
Worcester. The project envisaged roads and paths winding among existing oak trees
and newly planted flowers and trees. The benchmark was once again Mount
Auburn cemetery [Figure 100]and the Père‐Lachaise cemetery, a garden later used
only for burials.
All these experiences connected to the so‐called rural cemeteries movement are
also indirectly linked to the transcendentalist culture. It is especially important to
note how Ralph Waldo Emerson, in those very same decades, turned his attention
to the world of nature, in the belief that man could experience the truth directly
from nature. He recognised Nature as a useful, spiritual essence for man, both from
a philosophical and practical point of view. To confirm this, Emerson spoke in 1838
to the final year students of the Faculty of Theology of Cambridge (The Divinity
School Address delivered before the Senior Class in Divinity College),
a short
distance from Mount Auburn, and expressed a radiant analogy between the “breath
of life” and nature. Therefore, a religious meaning of American Protestant origin can
also be identified in the way more importance is given to the elements in the
cemetery, which are connected to the life of the visitors rather than to memories of
the dead.
229 Ibid., pp.199‐200
139

The prospects and developments of the rural cemetery were also carefully studied
in England by John Claudius Loudon (1783‐1843), one of the greatest landscape
designers of the first half of the nineteenth century and disseminator of the ideas of
Capability Brown. Loudon was, above all, a prolific author of publications on
horticulture, gardening, agriculture and botany, in which he developed a precise
idea of how to treat the landscape. He was probably one of the first to combine the
architectural problem with gardening problems, and understood how the project
design of a landscape required multiple aspects to be taken into careful
consideration. For this purpose, in 1833 he was to write The Encyclopedia of
Cottage, Farm and Villa Architecture, a collection of over 1,400 pages, containing
approximately two hundred illustrations of rural architecture and the descriptions
of numerous styles to be used depending on the situation. He intended his works to
illustrate the advantages of having a method of project design, which differed from
the geometric models and which was an evolution of the picturesque design: “[…] is
the gardenesque style, characterised by distinctness in the separate parts when
closely examined, but, when viewed as a whole, governed by the same general
principles of composition as the picturesque style, the parts, though not blended,
being yet connected” 230 . The most rapid vehicle for his ideas was the publication of
the Gardener’s Magazine and register of rural and domestic improvement, printed
in London from the beginning of 1826 until his death. The first issues discussed
various topics, from a horticultural point of view to give practical advice for “[…]
improving the knowledge of gardeners” 231 understood “[…] as an art of design and
taste” 232 . These were publications known and read by those in the trade on both
sides of the ocean. From his very first writings, Loudon bore in mind the originality
of the social role of landscape gardening and the landscape architect. As time
passed, he not only contained his use of these terms, but he also defined the
creative contribution of the discipline and the purposes of entertainment of the
park:
230 LOUDON, John Claudius, The Gardener’s Magazine and register of rural and domestic
improvement, London, Longman, Brown, Green and Longmans, 1843, p. 166
231 Ibid., p. 3
232 Ibid., p. 5
140

The modern art of laying out grounds is, indeed, considered by many as
an anomalous business, practised by a set of empirics without principles;
but the truth is […] [that, editor’s note] its principles as an art of
imagination are those of painting, and as an art contributing to the
convenience and comfort of man, it is directed by those of fitness and
utility. The principles of architecture are precisely the same; indeed the
principles of composition are the same in all the arts of taste; and
whether an artist compose a poem, a piece of music, a building, a
painted or a real landscape, he is alike guided by unity of expression as
to the whole or general effect, and by the connection and co‐operation
of the component parts 233 .
In 1843, he also showed an interest in the problem of the cemeteries and tried his
hand at designing three burial sites: Bath Abbey Cemetery, Histon Road Cemetery,
and Southampton Cemetery. Until then, there were no texts, which had dealt with
the topic in detail, giving examples and specific thoughts. The fashion and
experiments, which had developed in the United States, imposed a theoretical
analysis of the topic within the landscape project. 234 In his The Gardener’s
Magazine, Loudon develops a chapter entitled The principles of Landscape‐
Gardening and Landscape‐Architecture applied to the Laying out of Public
Cemeteries and the Improvement of Churchyards, in which he systematically faces a
series of problems: the project, planting, architecture, general jobs to be carried
out, maintenance work to be predicted [Figure 105]. He also included information
concerning public health, a list of suitable trees, shrubs and herbaceous plants for
cemeteries, and naturally a series of illustrative drawings. When he specified the
purposes of the cemetery, he excluded the recreational use of the garden cemetery,
as was customary in America: “The main object of a burial‐ground is, the disposal of
the remains of the dead in such a manner as that their decomposition, and return
to the earth from which they sprung, shall not prove injurious to the living; either by
affecting their health, or shocking their feelings, opinions, or prejudices. A
secondary object is, or ought to be, the improvement of the moral sentiments and
general taste of all classes, and more especially of the great masses of society” 235 .
233 Ibid., p. 7
234 See CURL, James Stevens, “John Claudius Loudon and the Garden Cemetery Movement”, Garden
History, Vol. 11, No. 2 (Autumn, 1983), pp. 133‐156
235 LOUDON, John Claudius, The Gardener’s Magazine and register of rural and domestic
improvement, London, Longman, Brown, Green and Longmans, 1843, p. 93
141

Despite the fact that Loudon knew of the American experiences thanks to his
correspondents or reports sent by readers of his magazine, 236 he concentrated on
what he believed to be the core of a cemetery project: “Churchyards and
cemeteries are scenes not only calculated to improve the morals and the taste, and
by their botanical riches to cultivate the intellect, but they serve as historical
records” 237 . This conviction had nothing especially innovative in the description of
the landscape of the English garden cemetery. The publication of the ground plans
attached to Loudon’s essay showed a self‐censored approach compared to the
236 In the 1841 number of The Gardner’s Magazine there is a report by Alexander Jackson Downing
about “Additional Notes on the Progress of Gardening in the United States”, pp.146‐147:
“In my notes to you on the progress of gardening in the United States (Vol. for 1840, p. 642.), I
accidentally omitted any allusion to the taste for cemeteries or rural burial‐grounds which has lately
sprung up among us. Some of these are exceedingly beautiful, displaying much of the beauty of
landscape gardening in the natural style. Mount Auburn, near Boston, is one of the finest examples,
and has been pronounced by good judges, superior in many respects to the celebrated Père la
Chaise. The area embraced is about seventy acres, and its characteristic beauty consists in the very
great natural variety of the surface, clothed with a profusion of fine trees of indigenous growth.
Open smooth glades are followed by shady and secluded dingles, and these by wild and picturesque
hills, all so rapidly presenting themselves in succession, and so ingeniously displayed by winding and
irregular carriage roads and footpaths, that the whole appears two or three times as large as it really
is. There are a great number of elegant monuments in marble and granite, in the form of columns,
obelisks, sarcophagi, &c., some of them highly elegant, and a few imported from Italy at very large
cost. Portions of the place exhibit all the floral beauty of highly kept pleasure‐grounds, while other
parts have all the wildness of rude nature. It is a favourite resort of the citizens of Boston, and one
can hardly conceive a lovelier place of repose for the dead. In the neighbourhood of New York, the
Greenwood Cemetery lately laid out for the purpose bids fair to eclipse Mount Auburn. In size it is
much larger, and if possible exceeds it in the diversity of surface, and especially in the grandeur of
the views. Every advantage has been taken of the undulation of surface, and the fine groups, masses,
and thickets of trees, in arranging the walks; and there can be no doubt, when this cemetery is
completed, it will be one of the most unique in the world. Laurel Hill, about two miles from the city,
is the boast of the Philadelphians. Instead of having been formed upon a picturesque natural surface,
covered with natural forest trees, this cemetery was formerly an elegant country residence,
bordering on the Schuylkill River, and displaying a kind of garden‐like beauty in the trees, shrubs, &c.
Since the grounds have been applied to the purpose of burial, a pretty entrance gate and cottage for
the superintendant, and also a neat Gothic chapel, have been built. There are innumerable
monuments tastefully disposed in various parts of the place, and many of the small enclosures
surrounding these are filled with the most beautiful flowering shrubs and plants. The variety of China
and Noisette roses in particular is very great; and these, as well as many rare exotics, are trained and
kept with the greatest care. Beside these three principal cemeteries, there are at least a dozen
others in progress in the neighbourhood of other cities. It is remarkable that these cemeteries are
the first really elegant public gardens or promenades formed in this country. In point of design,
keeping, and in so far as respects the variety of rare flowering shrubs and plants introduced, they are
much superior to the majority of country residences here, and may therefore be considered as likely
to affect in a very considerable degree the general taste for laying out and embellishing grounds.
Hundreds of the citizens who ramble through them form perhaps their first acquaintance with many
species of plants there, and apply the taste thus acquired to the improvement of their own gardens.
Botanic Garden and Nurseries, Newburgh, near New York, Nov. 29. 1840”.
237 LOUDON, John Claudius, The Gardener’s Magazine and register of rural and domestic
improvement, London, Longman, Brown, Green and Longmans, 1843, p. 105
142

luxuriant urban or country house parks [Figure 105]. Basically, Loudon proposed
cemeteries which confirmed American progress in landscaping for this particular
area. However, many events and editorial initiatives, which encouraged garden
culture, took place during the years prior to the rural cemetery movement.
After the appearance in America of the book by McMahon, one of the most popular
publications on gardens was The Practical American Gardener, 238 of an “Old
Gardener”, published in 1819, whereas the New England Farmer, published in
Boston by Thomas Green Fessenden (1771‐1837) in 1822, was one of the first
magazines to dedicate a great deal of space to horticultural problems. This
magazine later became a tool linked to the organisation of associations, which had
gardening as its minimum common denominator.
Beginning with the Agricultural Museum (1810), magazines in the sector became
increasingly numerous. 239 In 1819, John S. Skinner, a famous lawyer and editor from
Baltimore, began to print the American Farmer, which he only gave up after ten
successful years of sales to dedicate himself to the Journal of Agriculture (1845‐48).
In Boston in 1835, J.E. Teschmacher published the Horticultural Register and
Gardener’s Magazine, with coloured illustrations. In the same year, Fessenden
began a work devoted to the popular sericulture, entitled Fessenden’s Silk Manual
and Practical Farmer. These publications were conceived in the same way as today’s
specialist magazines, full of advertising publishing nurseries, associations and stores
specialised in the sale of agricultural tools. They offered informative sections,
theoretical essays and space for reviews by publishing companies in the sector.
In New England, Boston was the town which, at the time, was to become the
benchmark for cultural initiatives linked to agricultural practices and to the
landscape. In 1829, the Boston Horticultural Society, later to become the
Massachusetts Horticultural Society, was founded on the model of homonymous
English associations. As we have already seen, its lands provided the necessary
space to develop and manage Mount Auburn Cemetery, for which the association
had been the prime mover.
238 OLD, Gardener, The Practical American Gardener, Baltimore, Fielding Lucas Jr., 1819
239 See MOTT, Frank Luther, A History of American Magazines: 1741‐1850, Harvard University Press,
1930
143

At the same time, studies attempted to improve agricultural practices, imperative
premises, in Europe as in America, for a true development of gardening. In 1828,
William Prince (1766‐1842) published a Treatise on Horticulture and in 1838 Robert
Manning (1784‐1842) his Book of Fruits, being a descriptive catalogue of the most
valuable varieties of the pear, apple, peach, plum, and cherry for New England
culture. From 1830‐1840, publications and articles regarding vine growing began to
appear. This had already been widely practised on both the Atlantic and the Pacific
coast in the first half of the century. In fact, the vineyards offered handsome profits.
In 1846, Nicholas Longworth, (1783‐1863), well‐known for his wine production,
exploited his success in viniculture to write a pamphlet entitled The Cultivation of
the Grape and Manufacture of Wine. Amongst the colourful Babel of agricultural
amateurs and expert gardeners of New England, the top landscapers could be
boiled down to three key people: André Parmentier 240 (1780‐1830), Alexander
Jackson Davis 241 (1803‐1892) and Andrew Jackson Downing 242 (1815‐1852).
Parmentier was a landscape designer in the widest sense of the word. He imported
from his native Belgium his European knowledge of the picturesque garden and put
his project design skills to the test in the vicinity of New York. On his arrival in
America in 1824, he settled in Brooklyn, Long Island, and in only six years became
an authority on landscape gardening. First, he created a horticultural nursery, which
aroused public curiosity in the layout, which mirrored the scientific nature of the
choice and combination of plants and tastefully recreated natural situations and
scenes. This activity gave him considerable publicity and repaid him by the
commission of a wide range of landscape gardening projects not only along the
banks of the River Hudson but also, as Downing himself witnessed, in the southern
states and near Montreal in Canada. He published a regular plant catalogue with
the indirect purpose of advertising his nursery, and in 1828, he wrote an essay
entitled Landscape and Picturesque Gardens. Unfortunately no precise information
240 See NEWTON, Norman T., Design on the Land. The Development of Landscape Architecture,
Cambridge, Massachusetts, The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 1971
241 See PECK, Amelia (ed.), Alexander Jackson Davis: American architect, 1803‐1892, New York, The
Metropolitan Museum of Art, Rizzoli, 1992;
242 See YGLESIAS, Caren, The complete House and Grounds, Learning from Andrew Jackson Downing’s
domestic architecture, Chicago, Center for American Places at Columbia College, 2011;
144

about his numerous projects remain, but he undoubtedly ensured his services for
both the project design and supply of plants to develop the property of David
Hosack, president of the New York Horticultural Society and well‐known expert on
plants. Hosack had considerable horticultural experience. In 1801 he purchased
some land and designed the Elgin Botanical Garden in New York, devoted mainly to
American autochthonous plants. After selling his botanical garden in the state of
New York in 1810 (this was the first botanical garden in the state), in 1828 he
decided to dedicate himself to the estate he had purchased along the banks of the
Hudson. The property landscape, known in those days as Hyde Park, 243
developed together with Parmentier (the site is currently known as the Vanderbilt
Mansion Historic Site 244 , after the name of the following owner, who built a Beaux‐
Arts style house there at the end of the nineteenth century, which today is an
appreciable tourist attraction). Among the numerous mansions and country houses
built along the Hudson, the estate landscape of Hyde Park [Figures 106‐107]was
considered by Downing as “justly celebrated as one of the finest specimens of
modern style of Landscape Gardening in America” 245 .
Downing was the undisputed authority on Landscape Gardening in the first half of
the nineteenth century and the benchmark for a maestro, such as Frederick Law
Olmsted. His cultural role as father of American Landscape Gardening can be
243 See O’DONNEL, Patricia M., “Cultural Landscape Analysis: The Vanderbilt Estate at Hyde Park”,
APT Bulletin, Vol. 24, No. 3/4, Conserving Historic Landscapes (1992), pp. 25‐41;
244 A complete historic resource study developed by National Park Service documentation about
Vanderbilt Mansion Historic Site is at this link (the study is edited by Peggy Albee, Molly Berger, H.
Eliot Foulds, Nina Gray, Pamela Herrick):
http://www.nps.gov/history/history/online_books/vama/vama_hrs.pdf URL visited June 15, 2012
245 DOWNING, Andrew Jackson, A Treatise on the Theory and Practice of Landscape Gardening
Adapted to North America, New York, Saxton, Barker & Co., sixth edition, 1860, p. 29
Here the following part of the Downing’s description about Hyde Park: “Nature has, indeed done
much for this place, as the grounds are finely varied, beautiful watered by a lively stream, and the
views are inexpressibly striking from the neighbourhood of the house itself including, as they do, the
noble Hudson for sixty miles in its course, through rich valleys and bold mountains. But the efforts of
art are not 'unworthy so rare a locality ; and while the native woods, and beautifully undulating
surface, are preserved in their original state, the pleasure‐grounds, roads, walks, drives and new
plantations, have been laid out in such a judicious manner as to heighten the charms of nature. Large
and costly hot‐houses were erected by Dr. Hosack, with also entrance lodges at two points on the
estate, a fine bridge over the stream, and numerous pavilions and seats commanding extensive
prospects; in short, nothing was spared to render this a complete residence. The park, which at one
time contained some fine deer, afforded a delightful drive within itself, as the whole estate
numbered about seven hundred acres. The plans for laying out the grounds were furnished by
Parmentier, and architects from New York were employed in designing and erecting the buildings.
For a long time, this was the finest seat in America, but there are now many rivals to this claim”.
145
was

compared to that of John Claudius Loudon in England. The intentions and contents
of his book A Treatise on the Theory and Practice of Landscape Gardening Adapted
to North America (1841) and his magazine The Horticulturist (1846) were inspired by
the publications of Loudon, with whom he had corresponded. 246 . He sets out
precise theses, focalising first and foremost on the theoretical significance of
landscaping which, in his opinion, “is an artistic combination of the beautiful in
nature and art –an union of natural expression and harmonious cultivation‐ is
capable of affording us the highest and most intellectual enjoyment to be found in
any cares or pleasures belonging to the soil” 247 .
The conceptual heart of Downing’s ideas revolved around the romantic notion of
beauty, but did not move to search for the sublime, as did the artists of the Hudson
River School. Downing never lost sight of the pragmatic side and kept a balance
between romantic impulses and scientific, horticultural and botanical research.
From the preface of his work he clarified the way in which the taste of rural
improvements [Figures 108‐112] had silently and at the same time rapidly taken
over in the United States. However, it has to be specified that accounts of this
cultural and economic wealth had nothing to do with the life of the pioneer and
contact with the wilderness: “While yet in the far west the pioneer constructs his
rude hut of logs for a dwelling, and sweeps away with his axe the lofty forest trees
that encumber the ground, in the older portions of the Union, bordering the
Atlantic, we are surrounded by all the luxuries and refinements that belong to an
old and long cultivated country” 248 .
Downing’s publications are witness of this sophisticated, elegant approach to
landscape practised by the north‐eastern states.
If, on the one hand, Downing declared that the purpose and soul of the landscape
was its beauty, on the other, his reflections were almost always turned to the
country house [Figures 113‐114]: “In it we seek to embody our ideal of a rural
246 During the review of the second edition of his Treatise Downing wrote in the next edition a note in
praise of Loudon the following words: “His herculean labors as an author have at last destroyed him;
and in his death we lose one who has done more than any other person that ever lived, to
popularize, and render universal, a taste for Gardening and Domestic Architecture”, Ibid., p. 21
247 Ibid., p. 18
248 Ibid., p. vii
146

home; not through plots of fruit trees, and beds of choice flowers, though these
have their place, but by collecting and combining beautiful forms in trees, surfaces
of ground, buildings, and walks, in the landscape surrounding us. It is, in short, the
Beautiful, embodied in a home scene” 249 .
Downing’s intellectual efforts focused on the rural landscape as an escape from
metropolitan life. According to Downing, the town was incapable of offering real
opportunities to develop the landscape. “In a city or town, or its immediate vicinity,
where space is limited, where buildings stand crowded together, and depends for
their attractions entirely upon the style and manner of their construction, mere
architectural effect […] is of course the only point to be kept in view” 250 . The
country house is, therefore, an experience which is in complete antithesis to the
town, and yet somehow is part of it, even though it sets out to be a refuge from the
crowd and confusion. Downing’s innovation was to imagine architecture could be
part of the landscape and at the same time it could speak the language of nature.
The country house is:
a dwelling, as from its various accommodations, not only gives ample
space for all the comforts and conveniences of a country life, but by its
varied and picturesque form and outline, its porches, verandas, etc., also
appears to have some reasonable connexion, or be in perfect keeping,
with surrounding nature. Architectural beauty must be considered
conjointly with the beauty of the landscape or situation. Buildings of
almost every description, and particularly those for the habitation of
man, will be considered by the mind of taste, not only as architectural
objects of greater or less merit, but as component parts of the general
scene; united with the surrounding lawn, embosomed in tufts of trees
and shrubs, if properly designed and constructed, they will even serve to
impress a character upon the surrounding landscape 251 .
In other words, Downing believed that improvements, that is to say rural
embellishment, fall into the field of architecture and include notions of gardening.
This was undoubtedly a complex, innovative vision, partly of Anglo‐Saxon origin, but
which enabled the United States to take the first step along the road to using the
term landscape architect and to the legal recognition of the profession. His books
249 Ibid., p. 18
250 Ibid., p. 319
251 Ibid., p. 320
147

convinced many architects to dedicate themselves to and develop a passion for the
discipline of landscaping.
In his Treatise, Downing not only took the trouble to work out a theory of the
landscape and to share his knowledge of it, he also tried to follow the example of
Repton and Loudon and provide captivating, educational illustrations.
Thus, he involved Alexander Jackson Davis, a promising architect from New York
and John Notman (1810‐1865) of Philadelphia, also an architect and project
designer of Laurel Hill Cemetery in 1836 [Figures 103‐104]. From England, Loudon
provided pictures and descriptions of the English Suburban Cottage. His partnership
with the two young, American project designers was not a casual choice, nor was it
dictated by the need to print the volume.
In the 1840s, Davis was already involved in the search for a rural, picturesque,
architectural style which was basically Neo‐Gothic, contaminated by various formal
etymons, at the time when the “national” style, the federal‐style, which he himself
had skilfully tried, was at its height. In other words, he had taken on a commitment,
which implied that the Jefferson‐type classicism had to be overcome in order to
experiment cultural choices, which were closer to the new, romantic demands.
Moreover, Davis was a skilled illustrator, as he had eclectically prepared numerous
drawings of country houses for a book published in 1836, entitled Rural Residences.
This publication was only part of a wider publishing project, which had been
interrupted by the economic crisis of 1837.
John Notman, on the other hand, was a successful architect, known above all for
Laurel Hill cemetery in Philadelphia, one of the most important rural cemeteries in
the United States. With a neo‐classical entrance and gardens delineated by winding
paths, Laurel Hill was set a few miles from the town, in true rural garden style, in an
attempt to offer residents a picturesque park for trips out of town. Laurel Hill was
“more than just a cemetery”, a place for walks, for tours to see the gardens and
sculptures and for picnics. A phrase printed in the advertising material of the
company running it continues to invite today’s visitors to do the same activities. The
illustrations provided by these architects helped pass on Downing’s message. They
were not illustrations designed in the typical, harsh style of architecture, which used
148

plans, perspectives and cross‐sections to describe the details of the building. These
illustrations were designed to represent more complex scenes, often with
perspective and axonometric projections, in which nature plays a leading role and
where flora is drawn with scientific accuracy. In 1842, the year following the
publication of the Treatise, Norman and Davis continued to work together. Downing
decided to entrust Davis with the general review of the architectural drawings and
details for his new book, Cottage Residences or A Series of Designs for Rural
Cottages and Cottage‐Villas, and their Gardens and Grounds adapted to North
America, published simultaneously in New York and London. Cottage Residences
appears to be a catalogue of solutions. In it, Downing described the relationship
between the house, garden and landscape and he dwelt on the architecture by
means of accurate drawings.
Downing believed the relationship between landscape and architecture to be based
on architectural styles and revealed a complex, methodical approach at the same
time. The recurring terms Downing used suggested solutions, which were the fruit
of an excessive and sometimes fairy‐tale imagination: Tudor style, irregular mansion
in the Italian style, irregular cottage in the old English style, villa in the Italian style,
cottage in the Italian or Tuscan style [Figures 113‐114]. All styles are made from
details, from a preference for vertical lines, for the slope of the roof pitch, from the
shapes and dimensions of the windows, from the arrangement of volumes as a
reminder of Gothic revival, tainted with sudden, personal passions. In 1843, he
edited the American edition of Gardening for Ladies by Jane Loudon, a popular book
of practical gardening. A few years later in 1845, Downing published Fruits and Fruit
Trees of America, another book from the very successful publishing project, which
reached the substantial number of fourteen reprints by 1852, the year he died. The
final years of his life were dedicated to improving and reviewing his publications.
Thus, a new title appeared on the market, The Architecture of Country Houses
(1850), with revised and enlarged contents compared to his previous works on the
same topic. He formulated the details of the architectural trends and taste for the
picturesque of the time, and these writings made Downing extremely popular
among the ranks of experts and the wider public. His fame, however, was not
149

estricted to his theoretical works. Downing was frequently called by rich, private
individuals to give landscaping and architectural advice, work in which he used his
vast repertory of solutions he had described in his texts. Almost nothing remains of
these interventions as a result of transformations over the years, 252 and his analysis
of the project for the layout of the Mall in Washington [Figures 115‐117].
Downing was invited by the President of the United States, Millard Fillmore (1800‐
1874) to prepare the general plan for a large L‐shaped area between the Capitol
Building and the White House, at the time known as the public grounds [Figure
116]. The intention was to design and draw up a proposal for a layout to be
developed on a large portion of the city, which had yet to be determined.
Washington was founded on the basis of guidelines prepared by Pierre Charles
L’Enfant in 1791 and attention at the time had focused on the geometric design of
the blocks. The ground plan had created a design featuring alternating streets on a
grid, with wide diagonal boulevards converging on the government buildings.
L’Enfant’s idea was that the area of the Mall should accommodate a scenic Grand
Avenue of extraordinary magnificence [Figure 115]. Downing’s proposal, however,
rejected this rigid geometric design and was set out as a picturesque utopia, a town
planning experiment aiming to mediate the relationship between the architecture
of power, the city and the countryside.
Downing’s project for the Mall in Washington was not merely a landscape project,
but rather it sparked the emerging problem of large scale town planning. So, for the
first time, landscaping played a part in a proposal to develop the city.
The solution to adopt a landscape plan, moreover, gave the opportunity to soften
some of the incongruent styles of the buildings overlooking the public grounds. The
construction of the headquarters of the Smithsonian Institution, nicknamed The
Castle as a result of the project designed by James Renwick Jr. (1818‐1895), had
undermined the uniform style of the area which was based on the Neo‐classical
codes of the federal (Greek) style.
252 Springside, Poughkeepsie, New York, (1850) remains the only surviving landscape work by Andrew
Jackson Downing, which he followed from creation to completion. The landscape of Springside
embraced the natural forests and environment and designed the architectures and the layout of
farm and cultivated grounds. At least two of Downing’s planned buildings were built (a barn and a
gardener’s cottage) and the main house planned remained only a drawing.
150

Thus, Downing’s ideas endorsed the aesthetic renewal at a time when landscape
gardening was no longer restricted to private, rich individuals or to initiatives by
horticultural societies. However much Downing distanced himself from the
naturalistic scenes of the frontier, he was undoubtedly aware of the existence of
the “sublime” landscapes of the wilderness, which sparked the demand by citizens
of the American metropolis for green areas in the heart of the large, built‐up, urban
areas. Therefore, the chance to tackle a large public project also brought to light the
possibility of blending nature and the metropolis. However, the relationship
between town and park was the part Downing investigated least, and perhaps he
intentionally refused to include thick barriers of vegetation along the perimeter of
the area [Figure 117].
Downing dreamt of a project organised into a succession of five large gardens,
crossed by winding paths flanked by an existing waterway. A sixth area sloped
gently down towards the River Potomac and was the culmination of undulating
ground [Figure 116]. The obelisk in memory of Washington, a work by Robert Mills
(1781‐1855), was placed at the beginning of this area, opposite the White House, in
line with the Capitol Building, the construction of which had begun a few years
earlier.
Downing’s project was only partially completed due to lack of funding and it was
completely destroyed when the public grounds were used to station troops during
the Civil War.
Unfortunately, very few of Downing’s projects have survived and he was not as
successful professionally as Alexander Jackson Davis, many of whose works are still
to be seen.
Davis not only worked with Downing, he was also an architect, talented designer
and expert builder. After a profitable period of experimenting with the classical
style, he decided to dedicate himself to projects for country houses. Among his
many house projects, one of the most famous from an architectural point of view
was most certainly Lyndhurst Mansion, Tarrytown, New York (1838) [Figure 118], an
example of Gothic Revival, built along the banks of the Hudson. Davis’ ideas on
landscape followed in the footsteps of Downing’s, but showed a strong feeling for
151

architecture. Davis’ landscapes featured mainly scenes created by various
architectural issues following one after the other. For example, in the project to
extend the main mansion on the estate named Montgomery Place, Barrytown, New
York, (1844), Davis lingered over the design of a series of architectural outbuildings,
such as the coach house and a Swiss cottage, built to support a landscape gardening
project, fine tuned after informal advice from Downing.
The project for Locust Grove, the “Italian style” house, designed in 1851 for his
friend Samuel F.B. Morse, 253 followed the model of previous buildings in the
“Italian” Revival style, such as Blandwood Mansion, Greensboro, North Carolina
(1844). The taste for rural houses, which Davis supported both in theory and in
practice, became the planning model for Llewellyn Park, West Orange, New Jersey
(1853‐57) [Figures 119‐120]. Llewellyn Park was without any doubt Davis’
masterpiece of landscape planning. The most striking feature of the project, begun
on the initiative of the rich entrepreneur from New York, Llewellyn Solomon
Haskell, was the picturesque nostalgia for life in close contact with nature. Llewellyn
purchased approximately 40 acres of land and asked Davis to prepare a project for
the property. In 1853, the initial proposal only envisaged the renovation of an
existing farmhouse on the land and the use of 15 acres for a picturesque garden,
leaving the remainder of the property in its natural state [Figure 120]. In 1857,
Llewellyn purchased a further 350 acres, as he foresaw that his private park could
stimulate the development of a model suburb immersed in nature [Figure 55]. Davis
planned the area leaving a common property in the centre of the park on an
irregular shaped piece of ground, and divided the remainder of the land into
exclusive lots of varying size. Finally, he designed a gate house [Figure 119]at the
park entrance. The general ground plan excluded any form of grid or geometric
rigidity and the rural character was guaranteed by his particular refusal to repeat
the orthogonal shapes of the large cities to the scale of the individual lots. It was
such a success that the park was enlarged in the following decade, even though it
253 Samuel F. B. Morse (1791‐1872) was the inventor of the telegraph. Morse was also a painter
interested in landscape gardening. During 1826, he delivered four “Lectures on the Affinity of
Painting with the Other Fine Arts” and he asserted that gardening is a fine art. Cf. the book by
MORSE, F.B. Samuel, Lectures on the Affinity of Painting with the Other Fine Arts, edited with intr. by
Nicolai Cikovsky, Columbia, Missouri and London, University of Missouri Press, 1983
152

was the first of its kind, proof that the landscape could now become the key to the
development of the American town. The Llewellyn settlement had distinct
advantages: a short distance from the city of New York, privacy guaranteed by full
immersion in nature, the emulation of the experience of the wilderness reproduced
according to the fashion of the picturesque garden and enjoyable without the
dangers of the frontier. The transcendentalist ideas and the experiences of
community life were absorbed and programmatically revised into an urban model
that was to permeate American culture in the following years.
Now it was nature, which wormed its way into the metropolis according to the
needs and procedures that were to be improved with great sensitivity in Olmsted’s
projects. Downing and Davis went ahead with hypotheses, which were to constitute
the premises for the use of the landscape as a tool for town planning. Without their
work, the creation of a landscaping symbol, such as Central Park in New York, would
never have been able to take place.
153

Figure 89- Mount Airy Plantation (Colonel John Tayloe Plantation), Richmond County, Virginia.
1758-1762 Group Plan, Buildings and Gardens; Drawing by architect John Ariss
(Cornell University Library, Collection A. D. White Architectural Photographs)

Figure 90- McMahon’s plan for “design for a villa garden”: A) House, B) Barn, C) Hose clumps,
D) Central fi gures of fl ower garden, E) Lawn, F) Grape-arbor, G) Vegetable grounds H) Fruit
department, K) Yard, L) Piazza, S) Rustic seat V) Vase. (The ground measured 120 feet by 200
feet). The following named trees are placed as indicated by the fi gures on the plan : 1. Magnolia
purpurea, Purple Magnolia. 2. Magnolia conspicua, Chandelier Magnolia. 3, 4. Cedrus Deodar,
Deodar Cedar. 5, 6. Abies canadensis, Hemlock Spruce. 7. Liquidambar styracifl ua, Sweet
Gum. 8. Fagus sylvatica purpurea, Purple Beech. 9. Acer campestre, English Maple. 10. Chionanthus
Virginica, Virginia Fringe Tree. 11. Magnolia tripetala, Umbrella Magnolia. 12. Rhus
cotinus, Mist Bush. 13. Cytisus laburnum, Golden Chain. 14. Virgilea lutea, Yellow Wood. 15.
Halesia tretraptera, Silver Bell. 16. Larix Europa, European Larch. 17. Celtis occidentalis, Nettle
Tree. 18. Acacia julibrissin, the Julibrissin Tree. 19. Juglans regia, Madeira Nut. 20. Berberis
purpurea, Purple Berberry. 21. Pyrus Japonica, Japan Quince. 22. Buxus sempervirens arborea,
Tree Box. 23. Euonymus Japonica, Evergreen Euonymus. At D in the fl ower-garden, a plant
of the weeping cherry, and the * shows the position of sugar maples for shade.
Image from the book: The American Gardner’s Calendar, adapted to the climate
and season of the United States, Philadelphia, J.B. Lippincott and Co., 1857 (fi rst ed.
1806) p. 86 by Bernard McMahon

Figure 91- Mount Vernon Plantation, George Washington’s house, Fairfax County, Virginia,
measured and drawn in 1931
Image from the book by NEWTON, Norman T., Design on the Land. The Development
of Landscape Architecture, Cambridge, Massachusetts, The Belknap Press of
Harvard University Press, 1971

Figure 92- The immediate surroundings of the house atMount Vernon: the Bowling Green in
the center, the Box Garden on the left, the Kitchen Garden on the right.
Image from the book by NEWTON, Norman T., Design on the Land. The Development
of Landscape Architecture, Cambridge, Massachusetts, The Belknap Press of
Harvard University Press, 1971

Figure 93- Plan scheme of the Jefferson’s University of Virginia. The building on the top is
“The Rotunda”. The buildings numerated with Roman numbers are the Academic Pavilions,
ant the others are service buildings and the hotels for students and professors. In green the
private gardens and in the center of the project The Lawn.
(Plan by Luca Guido derived from 1822 Peter Maverick’s engraving)
Figure 94- Thomas Jefferson-View of the University of Virginia, Charlottesville:
the Lawn and “The Rotunda”, 1856
(Library of Congress Geography and Map Division Washington)
Figure 95- Right: View of the University of Virginia, Charlottesville & Monticello, taken from
Lewis Mountain. The main building is “The Rotunda” the others buildings are the Academic
Village, note the layout of the private gardens and The Lawn,1856
(Library of Congress Geography and Map Division Washington)

Figure 96- Thomas Jefferson-View of the University of Virginia, Charlottesville:
the Lawn and “The Rotunda”, 1856
(Library of Congress Geography and Map Division Washington)

Figure 97- Thomas Jefferson-View of the University of Virginia: lawn and pavilions , 1856
(Library of Congress Geography and Map Division Washington)
Figure 98- Thomas Jefferson-View of the University of Virginia: lawn,pavilions, and The Rotunda,1856
(Library of Congress Geography and Map Division Washington)

Figure 99- Frank Lloyd Wright Como Orchard Summer Colony, 1909
The plan scheme remember the Jefferson’s project of University of Virginia
(Image from the book WRIGHT, Frank Lloyd, Ausgefuhrte Bauten un Entwurfe von
Frank Lloyd Wright, Berlin, Ernst Wasmuth, 1910, plate XLVI)

Figure 100- Henry Alexander Scammel Dearborn, Jacob Bigelow, Alexander Wadsworth:
Mount Auburn Cemetery, Cambridge, Massachusetts, plan of 1850
(Boston Public Library, Norman B. Leventhal Map Center)

Figure 101- Almerin Hotchkiss: Birds eye view of Greenwood Cemetery. Brooklyn, New York,
1838 (view by John Bahmann)
(Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division Washington)

Figure 102- Almerin Hotchkiss: Bellefontaine Cemetery plan (1848), St. Louis, Missouri, 1875
(Library of Congress Geography and Map Division Washington)

Figure 103- John Notman, Philadelphia Laurel-Hill Cemetery, Plan of North section
(Drawn from the book : SMITH, R.A., Smith’s illustrated guide to and through Laurel Hill cemetery,
Philadelphia, W.P. Hazard, 1852)
Figure 104- John Notman, Philadelphia Laurel-Hill Cemetery, 1836; Drawn from nature by
Aug. Kölllner ; lith. by Deroy Print showing path leading to gatehouse entrance to cemetery,
with cemetery, superintendent’s house, and chapel behind it; two men ride horses on road in
foreground. (Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division Washington)

Figure 105- John Claudius Loudon’s Design for a laying out planting a cemetery on hilly
ground, 1843
Image from: LOUDON, John Claudius, The Gardener’s Magazine and register of rural
and domestic improvement, London, Longman, Brown, Green and Longmans, 1843

Figure 106- Andrè Parmentier and David Hosack: Hyde Park, New York, 1828; Note in the
background the Hudson river.
Image from: DOWNING, Andrew Jackson, A Treatise on the Theory and Practice of
Landscape Gardening Adapted to North America, New York, Saxton, Barker & Co.,
sixt edition, 1860
Figure 107- Andrè Parmentier and David Hosack: Hyde Park, New York, 1828; Note in the
background the Hudson river. Present-day image.
(Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division Washington)

Figure 108- Above: Plan of a common Farm, before any improvements
Figure 109- Below: Plan of the foregoing grounds ad a Country Sear, after ten years’ improvement
Images from: DOWNING, Andrew Jackson, A Treatise on the Theory and Practice of
Landscape Gardening Adapted to North America, New York, Saxton, Barker & Co.,
sixt edition, 1860

Figures 110- In the previous page: example of irregular fl ower garden; English fl ower garden;
Groupinng to produce the “Beautiful”; Grouping to produce the Picturesque;
Figures111/112- In this page: (above)Plan of a Mansion Residence, laid out in the natural
style;(below) View of a Picturesque farm.
Images from: DOWNING, Andrew Jackson, A Treatise on the Theory and Practice of
Landscape Gardening Adapted to North America, New York, Saxton, Barker & Co.,
sixt edition, 1860

Figure 113- Andrew Jackson Downing, Rural residences
Images from: DOWNING, Andrew Jackson, A Treatise on the Theory and Practice of
Landscape Gardening Adapted to North America, New York, Saxton, Barker & Co.,
sixt edition, 1860

Figure 114- Andrew Jackson Downing, Cottage residence
Images from: DOWNING, Andrew Jackson, Cottage Residences; or a series of designes
for rural cottages and cottage-villas and their gardens and grounds
adapted to North America, New York and London, Wiley and Putnam, 1842

Figure 115- The situation before Downing’s project: 1815 map exhibiting the property of the
U.S. in the vicinity of the Capitol: colored red, with the manner in which it is proposed to lay off
the same in building lots, as described in the report to the Suprintendentt of the city to which
this is annexed.
(Library of Congress Geography and Map Division Washington)
Figure 116- Downing’s project for the public grounds of Washington (The Mall) 1851: Plan
showing proposed method of laying out the park. In the Corner at left there is the Capitol building,
at right below the White House.
(Library of Congress Geography and Map Division Washington)

Figure 117- Downing’s project for the public grounds of Washington, with projected improvements,
1852 (litograph by Benjamin F. Smith, 1830-1927)
(Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division Washington)

Figure 118- Alexander Jackson Davis, Lyndhurst Mansion, Tarrytown, New York, 1838
(Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division Washington)
Figure 119- Alexander Jackson Davis, Llewellyn Park, view of the gate
Images from: DOWNING, Andrew Jackson, A Treatise on the Theory and Practice of
Landscape Gardening Adapted to North America, New York, Saxton, Barker & Co.,
sixt edition, 1860

Figure 120- Alexander Jackson Davis, Llewellyn Park, plan of the common area; around this
the private grounds
Images from: DOWNING, Andrew Jackson, A Treatise on the Theory and Practice of
Landscape Gardening Adapted to North America, New York, Saxton, Barker & Co.,
sixt edition, 1860

Landscape as a principle of urban planning
In the summer of 1850, before receiving the commission for the Mall project in
Washington, Andrew Jackson Downing travelled to England to study English
landscape design for himself. During a visit to London, Downing met Calvert Vaux
(1824‐1895), a young apprentice architect in the office of Lewis Nockalls
Cottingham (1787‐1847), a leading figure in the Gothic movement. At an exhibition
of watercolour landscapes, Downing was deeply struck by Vaux’s artistic talent and
was convinced he had found a man to help him put his landscape theories into
practice and apply them to architecture. Vaux followed Downing to the United
States, where they worked together for two years as partners and built several
Gothic style houses.
On Downing’s death in 1852, Vaux decided to continue his own professional career
in New York and complete some housing projects he had begun with his old
partner, to become a benchmark in the field of landscape design. The tragic end of
the father of the American landscape occurred when a steamboat went up in flames
and finally destroyed the romantic dreams personified by the work of the
protagonists of the first half of the century. It had become necessary to reconcile
the metropolis and nature. The picturesque impulses of landscape gardening had to
face up to the new needs of the expanding city.
Vaux and Olmsted were the interpreters of these new demands. After the death of
Downing and the commemoration of his genius, his lesson was revised and the
mythical elements around his person disappeared. The landscape was to take a
decisive step forwards to become a modern tool of urban planning and
fundamental premise for the development of the American city.
The opportunity to test the renewed aesthetic needs was provided by the
competition to design Central Park in New York [Figures 121‐127], an urban park for
which Downing himself had battled during his final years.
New York was the ideal city in which to experiment any relapses in town planning in
a large landscape project.
154

Its vicinity to the Hudson valley with its magnificent estates and uncontaminated
landscapes had developed a cultural life in the light of the most interesting
experiments in the field of landscape. Nevertheless, New York had few, unbuilt,
green spaces mainly due to casual, accidental policies. The area of Battery Park, in
the part south of Manhattan, had been used for military purposes until the end of
hostilities with the English (1812), whereas the nearby Bowling Green and the socalled
City Hall Park to the north, although they appeared to be “happy
interludes” 254 as Norman T. Newton defined them, were simply undersized scraps
of land, compared to the dense structure of the city.
This delicate urban planning situation brought about a general awareness, geared
to develop and upgrade areas of public interest, intended as green spaces for
recreational purposes, in the wake of contemporary English experiments and of the
rural cemeteries. The main advocates for a press campaign in favour of urban parks,
also called the park movement, were Downing from the pages of the Horticulturist,
and William Cullen Bryant 255 (1794‐1878), a poet and journalist for the New York
Evening Post. Before Bryant took part, as Olmsted sustained, 256 nothing had been
done to prevent the chaotic atmosphere of the city and the string‐pulling of the
speculators. Bryant had highlighted how nature could become of primary interest
for technological civilisation and for civilised man. He explicitly asked for the
creation of a system of public parks and gardens in the centre of the island of
Manhattan. In 1851, via the Evening Post, he supported the election of the mayor,
Kingsland, who undertook to approve the First Park Act in the New York Legislature.
Once the administrative act had been approved, the Municipality of New York was
able to purchase an area named Jones’s Wood, on land between Third Avenue, the
East River, and between the 64th and 75th street. However, both Downing and
Bryant understood that the area identified by the politicians was not large enough
254 NEWTON, Norman T., Design on the Land. The Development of Landscape Architecture,
Cambridge, Massachusetts, The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 1971, p. 268
255 William Cullen Bryant (1794‐1878) was interested in natural landscape. In 1872 and 1874 he
edited two volumes entitled Picturesque America, publications describing and illustrating the scenery
of America. These books are considered very important in the development of tourism and the
historic conservation movement in the United States.
256 NEWTON, Norman T., Design on the Land. The Development of Landscape Architecture,
Cambridge, Massachusetts, The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 1971, p. 269
155

and did not come up to the expectations of the construction development they
envisaged. Subsequently, the borders of the area were extended from the 59th
street to the 106th, to include the area of the Croton Reservoir, an artificial water
basin, the final part in the Croton System, a major work of hydraulic engineering to
exploit the waters of the River Croton. It was only in 1859 that the area planned for
in the project took on the current shape, which goes from the 59th street as far as
110th street, and in 1863 the city administration bought the remaining portions of
land between the 106th street and the 110th [Figures 121‐122].
As Lewis Mumford said, the cultural movement in favour of public parks gained the
support of the general public in the 1860s and the numerous works by Frederick
Law Olmsted gave the cause the decisive push, despite the fact that during the
period following the Civil War there were heated discussions about less exploitation
of natural resources. 257
Olmsted was the person who revised the passionate demands for romantic nature,
expressed by the Conservation Movement and by the Park Movement, and gave
them a statute of method, which aimed to redress the incongruencies and
rebalance the deficiencies of industrial development.
It was Lewis Mumford, who highlighted the precise, cultural role played by the
landscapes architects in the fight against blackguardly development, begun by a
system of territorial government based on the grid. Olmsted, for example, proved
with projects such as Riverside [Figure 54] that alternative solutions were possible
and popular prejudice in favour of monotony dictated by the anonymous repetition
of rectangular lots could be broken.
Up until 1857, the year of the competition to design Central Park, Olmsted had
shown interest in agriculture and had taken care of a farm committed to
experimental cultivation techniques. He had written numerous observations of the
landscape in a series of journeys through Europe and in the southern regions of the
United State as a newspaper correspondent.
257 MUMFORD, Lewis, The Brown Decades, Harcourt, Brace and Company, New York, 1931, pp.35‐36
(Italian translation edited by Francesco Dal Co, Architettura e cultura in America, dalla guerra civile
all’ ultima frontiera, Venice, Marsilio, 1977, pp.73‐74)
156

The result of these journeys were the previously mentioned books, Walks and Talks
of an American Farmer in England (1852) and a series of writings published
between 1856 and 1857, and gathered in a collection entitled Journeys and
Explorations in the Cotton Kingdom (1861), 258 which were an analytical description
of life on the southern plantations without the melodramatic stereotypes of the
anti‐slavery novels. However, the importance of his English account is most
significant in his history of the beginnings of contemporary landscape design.
When Olmsted published the books Walks and Talks of an American Farmer in
England, he dedicated the first volume to George Geddes 259 (1809‐1883), a wellknown
politician from New York and his mentor for agriculture, whereas the second
volume paid homage with a less personal reference to the figure of Andrew Jackson
Downing.
Olmsted’s training, therefore, was influenced by his direct experiences and firsthand
observations, which convinced him to follow the popular ideas of the
picturesque, thus definitively endorsing the passage from rigid geometry to
inherent, winding shapes. Olmsted’s approach was not, therefore, prone to
theoretical or profane enthusiasm and for this very reason he was not lured to join
in with the fashion of the time.
In 1857, he had acquired sufficient authority to present his own curriculum to the
commissioners in charge of the creation of Central Park. With the support of
people of the calibre of Washington Irving, Horace Greeley and William Cullen
Bryant, he was elected Park superintendant and was able to edge closer to the
world of landscape design. As soon as he heard of the design competition (1858) to
develop the Park, he decided to ask permission from the head engineer, his
superior, to take part and joined forces with Calvert Vaux.
258 Journeys and Explorations in the Cotton Kingdom (1861) by Olmsted is an abridged version of his
dispatches to the New York Times collected in three volumes: A Journey in the Seaboard Slave
States (1856), A Journey Through Texas (1857), A Journey in the Back Country in the Winter of 1853‐
1854 (1860)
259 George Geddes (1809‐1883) was an engineer, agronomist and politician from New York. He was a
member of the New York Senate and was well‐known in agricultural circle for his model farm at
Fairmount. He also built the first plank road in America (1846) an interesting model of a wooden
road covered with a series of planks, which was very common in the Midwest and Northwest of the
US during the 1850s.
157

Vaux complemented Olmsted, he had a good knowledge of the theories of the
picturesque garden, and in addition, he was a skilled designer with varied
experiences and projects behind him. After the death of Downing, Vaux had been
able to personally revise the ideas of his old partner and friend. Without betraying
the spirit underlying the first American experience, he had also dedicated himself to
the publication of a book entitled Villas and Cottages (1857), which appeared to be
an amalgamation of the ideas of Emerson and Ruskin.
In the Central Park project, together with Olmsted for whom this was his very first
project, Vaux attempted to reintegrate nature into the city on the basis of
principles, which the work of men, such as Henry David Thoreau or George Perkins
Marsh, had disseminated. Olmsted and Vaux conceived an urban park, which was
not just an unbuilt area intended as a green space to meet the recreational needs of
the citizens of a large city like New York, but which was a project capable of
endorsing the recognition of some of nature’s rights and the public aims of
landscape design [Figures 121‐122]. The “regressive utopias”, designed at the
beginning of the century in both town planning and literature could be seen to have
clearly evolved in the daily debate to become a political and city management
problem. There was no longer space for the picturesque dreams of Downing’s Mall
project [Figure 117]. Although there were analogies between the two projects,
what became clear immediately was the different conception of the relationship
between city and park. Downing’s separatist project aimed to build a parallel world
as an alternative to that of the city, in an attempt to soften the contradictions. The
Central Park project followed the logic of an innovative style, which featured
winding paths. The programmatic separation between pedestrians and carriages or
for horse riding [Figure 127] implied an awareness that the city could flow into
fragments of a specially created, natural and pastoral world. Having won the
competition, Olmsted was nominated “Architect in Chief of the Central Park”, the
preceding offices of head engineer and superintendant were abolished, and
between 1859 and 1861 the main landscape work began.
As his first job in his new office, Olmsted gave permission for Vaux and other
assistants to be called in. The two project designers won with a project they called
158

Greensward. The 800 acres of rough land, ponds and pastures, which the city
administration had made available, were transformed into a modern urban park.
However, the work by Vaux and above all by Olmsted represented something more,
at a time when the city of New York was about to reach a decisive moment in its
town planning congestion. Lewis Mumford effectively explained the significance of
this effort> “[...] But Olmsted had done something more than design a park, battle
with politicians ‐ he resigned at least five times – struggle with insolent and rascally
city appointees, and protect his plantations against vandals: he had introduced an
idea ‐ the idea of using the landscape creatively. By making nature urban, he
naturalised the city” 260 . In May 1863, when relationships with the park Board of
Commissioners began to deteriorate due to their “political” interferences, Olmsted
and Vaux handed in their resignation. On this occasion, the two designers used the
title of Landscape Architect in an official document for the first time. 261 From then
on until the 1870s, the intricate events to construct and manage the park only help
to reconstruct the thread of events, rather than to really understand the project.
To paraphrase some of Olmsted’s thoughts, Central Park was not an isolated event
in the general context; on the contrary, it was created by a close consideration of
the context which had generated it. Olmsted did not see the park as an element to
correct the development of the city. Localisation and size had to depend on careful
urban analyses. Olmsted began with these thoughts in mind and continued with a
very large number of projects throughout the United States. His first experiences
gave rise to the idea of Parkways, green systems and landscapes designed to allow
parks to communicate with each other and with the towns which supported
landscape design interventions
The Central Park project also introduced innovative ideas concerning the natural
site topography, which Olmsted held in great respect. He demonstrated that the
260 MUMFORD, Lewis, The Brown Decades, Harcourt, Brace and Company, New York, 1971 [first ed.
1931], p. 40 (Italian translation by Francesco Dal Co, Architettura e cultura in America, dalla guerra
civile all’ ultima frontiera, Venezia, Marsilio, 1977, pp.78)” […] Olmsted had done something more
than design a park, battle with politicians ‐ he resigned at least five times – struggle with insolent and
rascally city appointees, and protect his plantations against vandals: he had introduced an idea – the
idea of using the landscape creatively. By making nature urbane he naturalized the city”.
261 NEWTON, Norman T., Design on the Land. The Development of Landscape Architecture,
Cambridge, Massachusetts, The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 1971, p. 273
159

landscape designer could intensify enjoyment of a landscape without making any
radical changes and that the value of a landscape park should be appreciated as
such, that is to say as an element of nature, from which to find pleasure in the
simpler things. In fact, the park was not a place exclusively for the “entertainment”
of the crowds [Figures 125‐126], but was created by studies, which wanted to
demonstrate the healthy benefits of moments of relaxation in contact with nature.
The pathway effectively separated the park to create areas for pleasure, events or
parades as a playground, and others set aside for rest and contemplation. This idea,
among others, became a model for the development of other contemporary
projects of urban planning concerning the separation of pedestrian and vehicle
traffic to ensure safety and comfort. The ideology of an urban park went on to
represent the basic ideals of American democracy, and at the same time became
the mouthpiece of both economic and social demands, such as the suburb‐park,
since landscape projects were the product of the needs of the middle class and the
high‐flying, American bourgeoisie. The public park retraced the experiences and
passion for nature, which years earlier were within reach only of the rich aristocracy
and the contemptuous pioneers.
Central Park gave Olmsted a certain amount of notoriety and New York’s role as city
port enabled news to travel rapidly.
In the early years of the Civil War, Olmsted alternated his work in New York with the
role of executive director of the U.S. Sanitary Commission, engaged at the front in
the Civil War on behalf of the Union. However, between 1863 and 1865, he was also
to find time to go to California as land administrator for the Mariposa Mining
Company, a mining company acquired by investors from New York, which was
committed to the search for gold. At this point, he fine tuned his ideas as regards
the protection of natural environments. Olmsted was able to witness the splendid,
naturalist scenery of the Yosemite Valley, right at the historic moment in which
President Lincoln signed a law (1864), which turned the Yosemite Valley and the
Mariposa Grove of Big Trees into a large public park. At this point too, Olmsted
showed great sensitivity towards the conservation of the magnificent natural
scenery he had to manage and became involved in the work by the Yosemite
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Commission, which resulted in the creation in 1872 of the Yellowstone National
Park, the first Nature Reserve in the world.
On his return to New York, he was to begin a profitable career as a landscape
designer. The Central Park project was followed by major projects, such as Prospect
Park in Brooklyn (1867), Riverside Park and Morningside Park in New York (1873),
Belle Isle Park in Detroit (1880s) designed together with Charles Eliot (1859‐1897),
one of Olmsted’s greatest apprentices, who died prematurely at the age of 38. In
the final decades of the century, he was committed to the project design for
Franklin Park in Boston, a large pastoral scenario, which was eventually extended
into the Emerald Necklace, the system of parks, parkways and waterways designed
for that same city. There was no lack of consultancy work to protect important
natural areas, such as the case of the Niagara Reservation project (1885), a tourist
destination easily reachable from New York. However, we will not be referring to
these projects, as their implications and town planning results go far beyond the
time limit set for this research on the birth of the landscape and its theories in the
United States.
The years following the Civil War were a moment of maturity and reflection on the
hypotheses which people, such as Jefferson, Downing and Olmsted, had put
forward since the first half of the century. Olmsted, who, for obvious reasons of
age, ‐ he was to die in 1903‐, was the only one of them to see the end of the
nineteenth century and to prepare the landscape plan for the World’s Columbian
Exposition in 1893. After the Civil War everything had changed. Olmsted himself
had organised the office according to contemporary, professional requirements,
thus losing the vitality and experimental nature he had poured into creating Central
Park. The project for the Biltmore Estate (1889‐95), an enormous private estate
belonging to George Washington Vanderbilt in North Carolina, looked back to the
models of the formal, eighteenth century, French gardens and was an insincere
support of the classical style out of mere opportunism or tiredness. After his
professional retirement in 1893, the firm continued its activities under the guidance
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of his two sons and of Charles Eliot. 262 However, already in the 1860s, new project
designers, such as Horace Cleveland (1814‐1900) and Robert Morris Copeland
(1830‐1874), had appeared on the horizon of the profession of landscape architect.
The same idea of the system of parks in Boston, created by Olmsted, had been
described in the analyses in Copeland’s book The Most Beautiful City in America:
Essay and Plan for the Improvement of the City of Boston published in 1872.
The tragic epilogue to the death of Downing recalls Olmsted’s stage exit from the
world of landscape project design. Downing was to see his romantic ideals
shattered by a “machine”, whereas Olmsted was to live long enough to step aside
and observe the triumph of landscape design bent to the academic requirements of
the City Beautiful movement. His frequent professional collaboration with Henry
Hobson Richardson (1838‐1886) in reality highlighted his distance from the classicist
revival of the turn of the century. Ironically, the World’s Columbian Exposition in
Chicago in 1893 definitively ended the fascinating careers of the two fathers of
American landscape and architectural design. The Exhibition was a significant event
from every point of view. If, on the one hand, it endorsed one of Olmsted and Louis
Sullivan’s (1856‐1924) highest professional recognitions, on the other it was the
farewell to the epic moments of the “avant‐garde”, to the times when the search
was for aesthetic beauty, which would mirror America.
262 The name of the firm was Olmsted, Olmsted and Eliot. After the death of Charles Eliot in 1897,
Olmsted’s two stepbrothers, John Charles Olmsted (1852‐1920) and Frederick Law Olmsted Jr.
(1870‐1957), founded the firm Olmsted Brothers, which remained in operation until 1980.
162

Figure 121- Frederick Law Olmsted, Calvert Vaux, bird view of Central Park, 1860
(Library of Congress Geography and Map Division Washington)

Figure 122- Right: Frederick Law Olmsted, Calvert Vaux, Hinrichs’ guide map of the Central
Park, 1875 (Library of Congress Geography and Map Division Washington)

Figure 123- Frederick Law Olmsted, Calvert Vaux, Central Park
(Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division Washington, D.C.)

Figure 124- Frederick Law Olmsted, Calvert Vaux, Central Park
(Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division Washington, D.C.)

Figure 125- Frederick Law Olmsted, Calvert Vaux, “Ornamental” sheeps in Central Park
(Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division Washington, D.C.)
Figure 126- Frederick Law Olmsted, Calvert Vaux, Central Park, a grass fi eld used for tennis
courts (Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division Washington, D.C.)

Figure 127- Frederick Law Olmsted, Calvert Vaux, Central Park. Note the walkway for pedestrian,
near the Lake and in foregorund the road for carriages
(Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division Washington, D.C.)

The Wilderness, The Westland and the Significance of the Frontier
When Alexis de Tocqueville (1805‐1859) went to America in 1831 to carry out a
survey on the American penitentiary and judiciary regime, many of the initiatives
and experiments described in the preceding pages had not yet been completed. The
first part of the account of his journey was published a few years later in his book
De la démocratie en Amérique (1835). Tocqueville did not merely analyse the
complexity of America, he also attempted to face his task with a modest spirit of
comparison, by comparing the American institutions and context with similar
French situations.
Tocqueville saw a prevalently agrarian nation, in which the towns were scarcely
populated and large areas were being colonised, as the United States had greatly
expanded its territories, starting from the date of the Declaration of Independence.
His careful study of the democratic institutions, the social policies in place and the
culture of the period enabled him to put forward a few hypotheses regarding the
future of the newly founded Republic. It was immediately clear to Tocqueville that
the destiny of the American nation was to take “equality of conditions” to the lands
of the Far West, to territories where objects and ideas could circulate freely.
With great perspicacity Tocqueville observed the effects of the internal
improvements [Figures 74‐81] and correctly prophesied a large increase in the
population. He sensed the inhabitants’ commercial ambitions and summed up the
striking features of those years in but a few words: “The post, that great instrument
of intellectual intercourse, now reaches into the backwoods; and steamboats have
established daily means of communication between the different points of the
coast. An inland navigation of unexampled rapidity conveys commodities up and
down the rivers of the country” 263 . Tocqueville had summarised the first immaterial
and partly folklorist traits, which made up the landscape of the frontier.
If the agricultural landscapes and the industrial economy of the water and woods
period represented the effort to exploit the unexplored territories, the frontier was
263 TOCQUEVILLE, Alexis de, De la democrazie en Amerique, Paris, 1835‐1840 (English translation by
Henry Reeve, Democracy in America, New York, The Colonial Press, 1900, vol1, p. 411) (Italian
translation La Democrazia in America, edited by Giorgio Candeloro, Milano, Rizzoli, 2010, p. 380)
163

the true “line” of change. The importance of the relationship between man and the
wilderness proved fundamental to harmonise the ideas that led to the creation of
the Conservation Movement and to the affirmation of interest to protect naturalist
scenarios and contexts [Figure 128].
The first men to enter into contact with the wild regions of the West were explorers
and hunters, who were followed by the mass of farmers and those who were
looking to make an easy fortune. The explorers of the first half of the century, such
as Alexander Mackenzie (1764‐1820), who attempted to find the North‐West
passage in 1789, or Lewis and Clark, had various kinds of scientific purposes.
The main reason for the expeditions was to explore the territories in order to make
reliable topographical maps, especially measurements. Complementary interests of
the expeditions were concerned with botany, geology and the study of the Indian
tribes. The explorers were funded by politics (the expedition by Lewis and Clark was
actively sponsored by Jefferson) and supported by the army. For this reason they
had to report on the economic potential of the areas they crossed, find the easiest
roads to cross the interior towards the Pacific coast and assess the presence of
foreign colonies (especially French).
Later, after the 1850s, the expeditions became decidedly more scientific and
military in tone, and expert photographers joined the expeditions to play a
fundamental role in the process to construct the nation. The spectacular landscapes
of the desert and canyons, the Niagara Falls and the sequoias of the Yosemite Valley
became the icons of the varied, natural scenes of America. Not by chance did these
images identify the United States both as a nation and as a cultural entity reflected
in them, whereas they only later became tourist symbols for their respective states.
We know much less about the so‐called Mountain Men, the first pioneers who lived
in log cabins and survived by hunting in order to trade skins. These men were the
only points of contact between the unexplored territories, the true area of the
frontier, and the civilised settlements on the Atlantic coast.
Of all the stories of the frontier, the one that became a legend was about Ashley’s
Hundred, who met in 1822 in St. Louis and under the guidance of William Henry
Ashley (?‐1838) left for the source of the River Mississippi. They organised a
164

profitable, annual rendezvous between hunters, Indians and explorers to exchange
goods, skins and necessities.
The problem of trade regulations was undoubtedly the motivating factor for the
expansion towards the West. At first, at the end of the eighteenth century, the
settlers in search of fortune and better living conditions ventured into the regions
furthest inland, so as not to have to depend on the instability and volatility of the
foreign market, regulated by strict, unilateral restrictions imposed by the United
Kingdom. This stage of the internal emigration from the coast westwards (the
phenomenon was as yet isolated, based on individual initiative) represented a
moral alternative rather than a real, economic solution to the political whims of the
homeland (in particular to the events around the so‐called Boston tea Party in 1773,
which sparked protests against oppressive, British taxation). With the arrival of
independence many things changed. The migratory flows at first supported the
process of agricultural development, then, towards the 1860s they became a
relentless phenomenon.
The epic of the frontier [Figures 128‐132] was a crucial process in the logic of the
construction of the American landscape. However, the aesthetic implications of the
frontier and exploratory expeditions were devised intellectually and culturally only
thanks to the land and gold rush, as Olmsted’s experience in the Yosemite Valley in
California shows.
If the scientific explorations brought the experts face to face with the geological and
botanical marvels of the American continent, the predatory mechanisms sparked by
the rush for land and gold also created a broader awareness of the restrictions and
precariousness of some natural resources, which it was decided needed protection
Frederick Jackson Turner (1861‐1932), the historian who idealised and summarised
the “tradition” of the frontier and the expansionist movement in the USA, founded
his theories on this consideration. Turner realised that the frontier represented an
unusual trait, which was not easily found in other historical contexts. His Frontier
Thesis, held to be the Declaration of Independence of American historians, was
revised within the essay The Significance of the Frontier in American History,
published in 1893 as the text for a conference held by the American Historical
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Association, during the World’s Columbian Exposition of Chicago. Turner thought
the frontier was the organising principle to interpret American history, a principle
with which he identified the most important American cultural experiences.
Whatever the limits of his interpretation may be, he clarified Melville’s intuitions
from a historiographic point of view and purged the mystical inclination towards a
“promised land” from the analysis which had been made.
In Turner’s ideology, the frontier represented the very history of colonisation and
he identified himself with the expansion into the wild spaces of the West [Figure
128].
However, at this point, the term frontier took on a rather special meaning, which
detached itself from the idea held by the inhabitants of European countries.
Whereas many people of various origins use the word as a synonym for boundary
between one nation and another, intending barrier of passage, the word Frontier
has taken on a substantially different meaning in American life and the American
language. The frontier, as Walter Prescott Webb (1888‐1963), one of Turner’s most
well‐known pupils, sustained, is not a line to stop at, but rather an area in which to
enter.
A quick look in an American dictionary will confirm the argument that the frontier is
first and foremost a region, an area defined as being sparsely populated, in contact
with the wilderness or territories, which were neither inhabited nor colonised. For
this reason the term is rarely used in the USA with other meanings. Whoever
mentioned the word frontier was aware that there was no rigid boundary around
the colonial settlements, unless during a conflict of war. There was, however,
available, open space.
The innovation of Turner’s thesis consisted in having placed extreme importance in
the ideas expressed by the frontier, and at the same time in having distanced
himself from the historiographic schools of the same period, according to whom,
the first task of the historian was to identify the “germs” of American institutions
and to retrace their origins in their respective, European, social structures.
Turner, on the other hand, identified the structure of American institutions as being
the result of a reciprocal process of adaptation between man and the uncivilised
166

environment. In other words, the American man also found the means to organise
himself into a society by submitting and adapting to nature. Nature in Turner’s idea
is the element, which has tempered and formed the modern American:
The frontier is the line of most rapid and effective Americanization. The
wilderness masters the colonist. It finds him a European in dress,
industries, tools, modes of travel, and thought. It takes him from the
railroad car and puts him in the birch canoe. It strips off the garments of
civilization and arrays him in the hunting shirt and the moccasin. It puts
him in the log cabin of the Cherokee and Iroquois and runs an Indian
palisade around him. Before long he has gone to planting Indian corn
and plowing with a sharp stick; he shouts the war cry and takes the scalp
in orthodox Indian fashion. In short, at the frontier the environment is at
first too strong for the man. He must accept the conditions which it
furnishes, or perish, and so he fits himself into the Indian clearings and
follows the Indian trails. Little by little he transforms the wilderness, but
the outcome is not the old Europe, not simply the development of
Germanic germs, any more than the first phenomenon was a case of
reversion to the Germanic mark. The fact is that here is a new product
that is American. 264
The significance of the frontier was expressed especially by the forces of the
landscape and of nature, and from here a different approach arose as well as a
different idealisation of nature and the landscape from those of Europeans.
The American town, as we have seen, also represented a further piece in this
process. It created a sort of dialectic link with nature and somehow became the
fruit of an unstable process, as it was continually evolving. Furthermore, the frontier
not only implied close contact with the wilderness, but its many‐sided nature
contained a project for progress and civilisation. The stage of conquest was
followed by one of exploitation [Figures 130‐134].
When Turner worked out his thesis in 1893, “the frontier”, according to an
interpretation given by the census offices ‐ a territory inhabited by fewer than two
inhabitants per square mile‐ had been declared closed just three years before, but
the power of his reflection was stronger than a simple interpretation of events,
which had long since been banished to the past. He was capable of providing a key
264 TURNER, Frederick Jackson, The Frontier in American History, New York, Henry Holt and Company,
1920 [first ed. 1893], pp. 3‐4 (Italian translation La frontiera nella storia americana, Bologna, Il
Mulino, 1975, pp. 33‐34)
167

to its interpretation, which would also be applicable in the decades to come of the
twentieth century. In Turner’s interpretation, the frontier was not a question of
customs or attitudes, but rather the essence of the American Weltanschauung,
which could even be applied to the processes of capitalist, military (how many wars
have been declared to “export” democracy), political (all the aid given to allied
foreign governments), and scientific (the race into space) expansion of the United
States. That is to say, that the suppositions will also reverberate in extremely
contemporary processes.
The well‐known exhortation by Horace Greeley published in 1865 in the New York
Tribune: “Go West, young man, go West and grow up with the country” should be
interpreted in these terms, in the wide meaning of a life model [Figure 130].
Greeley’s thought was not merely the logical consequence of the theories of
manifest destiny and the solemn advance of the frontier [Figure 88]. It followed in
the steps of the Homestead Act of 1862, a legislative measure passed by President
Abraham Lincoln (1809‐1865) in the middle of the Civil War, aiming to resolve the
mechanisms of land distribution. The law envisaged three stages for the award of
160 free acres, a quarter of a section, in the wild lands beyond the boundaries of
the original thirteen colonies. The first action consisted in a formal request for a
piece of federal land, the second passage was the commitment to improve the
lands awarded by labour, agriculture and stock‐breeding and the third stage
endorsed the obtaining of the title deed, once the second stage had been verified.
This policy emanated the ideas of the Free Soil Party, in opposition to the large
landowners of the South, who were thus penalised in favour of those making their
first request. The law met with ample success in spite of the fact that it had not
foreseen the procedures to access water resources, which was the cause of a high
degree of failure in the attempts to occupy the land. Over time, the mechanism was
perfected and on various occasions real land rushes were organised, the last being
in Oklahoma in 1889. Those taking part in the land rush gathered in a prefixed
location, where a cannon gave the signal to start. At the start, everyone leapt
forward in the hope of reaching the best lots, while the army patrolled the territory
in an attempt to avoid fraud and other crimes.
168

Numerous pictures of these events exist, but it was the artist, John Stewart Curry
(1897‐1946), who has left us a plausible, but rather extrovert version of these
events, in a painting of the Oklahoma land rush as a moment of collective
exhibitionism and a rush towards dreams, which were often shattered by inability
or difficulties.
However, the frontier landscape [Figures 128‐129] was not merely a longing for
fortune, thought o be found placed in land or in gold, and the people who lived
there did not even mirror the simplistic image of Indians and gun fighters portrayed
by the “dime novels”. There was also space for moments of contemplation and
reflection. It was in the first half of the century that the habit began of stopping the
train on viaducts, such as the Starrucca (1848), to allow passengers and tourists to
admire the view.
The Starrucca viaduct was a major railroad infrastructure of the eighteenth century,
built near Lanesboro, Pennsylvania, which was to become a well‐known subject of
paintings thanks to its considerable size. With a framework over 300m‐long,
standing on seventeen stone arches, it immediately became the symbol of progress.
As Nicoletta Leonardi has highlighted “it became an unfailing step in the growing
tourist industry, which was developing as a result of the rapid advance of the
railroad.” 265
Before the steam engine was invented, “the invention of the horse” could not really
support either the desire to get to know and explore new territories, or the
expansionist push which followed the first moves towards the Pacific coast. The
Pony Express and stagecoaches were soon replaced by the telegraph and railroad,
which began to score the landscape in long straight lines.
Nevertheless, if the means of transport par excellence was the machine, the real
object of interest was inevitably the uncontaminated environment of the American
forests.
In a continually evolving situation such as the one described, the sublimation of
nature and the wilderness was mainly due to the work of artists, whom the new
265 LEONARDI, Nicoletta, Il paesaggio americano dell’Ottocento, pittori fotografi e pubblico, [The
American landscape of the nineteenth century, painters, photographers and the public] Rome,
Donzelli editore, 2003, p. 37 [English text translated from Italian by the editor]
169

means of transport allowed to come in to contact with these scenes and make them
famous. As a result, a shared desire arose to artistically celebrate these
landscapes. 266
The first steps in this direction were taken by George Catlin (1796‐1872), an artist
who devoted his entire life to the study of Indian culture and life beyond the
frontier. This trend was subsequently confirmed by painters of the Hudson River
School, such Thomas Cole (1801‐1848) and Frederic Church (1826‐1900), who
identified the natural environment as their preferred subject and painted it in a
cultured style, open to academic influence.
Nature became an element of national identity and, as the historian Perry Miller
explained, the United States became “Nature’s Nation”. 267
It was no mere chance that for many years the United States worked on an idea of
mystic union between religion, nature and politics, 268 and proved to be a bubble of
resistance towards accepting Darwin’s theories, presented in 1859 in The Origin of
Species. The Walden Experiment by Henry David Thoreau must also have been
interpreted with the logic of a search for a sincere bond between man and nature.
When Thoreau printed his book Walden, or Life in the Woods (1854), in which he
spoke of his life experience in a cabin built in the woods near Concord, he did
restrict himself to drawing up a descriptive account of his adventures. As Lewis
Mumford carefully observed, he was able to look at the natural environment in a
sensitive and refined manner at a time when colonisation had focused its attention
only on those elements of the landscape linked to profit [Figures 133‐134] (search
for places to develop, mines, gold and forests for their wood): “In Thoreau, the
landscape was at last entering into the American’s consciousness, no longer as
266 See CZESTOCHOWSKI, Joseph S., The American Landscape Tradition, a study and gallery of
paintings, New York, Dutton, 1982
267 See MILLER, Perry, Nature’s Nation, Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, Cambridge, Mass.,
1967
268 LEONARDI, Nicoletta, Il paesaggio americano dell’Ottocento, pittori fotografi e pubblico, [The
American landscape of the nineteenth century, painters, photographers and the public] Rome,
Donzelli editor, 2003, pp.42‐46
170

potential quarter sections, no longer as dedicated to a republican
form of government, but as an inner treasure” 269 .
The substantial difference between Emerson and Thoreau consisted precisely of the
theoretical need practised by Thoreau to be a free, “natural” man, almost an
oriental ascetic. Thoreau’s teaching, as his writings in Walden proved, aimed to
educate a man, who would become able to understand the environment he lived in,
in the hope of being able to preserve it.
Whereas for Emerson “nature is transcendental”, in the sense that the elements of
the natural world set up a sort of religious deism, for Thoreau the approach to
nature was not motivated simply by moral demands, but rather by a practical
intransigence, by a barely concealed objective to prove he was not involved in the
habits of the masses. He covered his own behaviour with political and social
importance and presented the latter as irritating actions of “civil disobedience”. The
amazement, with which he described his approach to the plant and animal world,
showed that his experience of living in the woods had nothing to do with satisfying
a personal inclination, but rather it put into practice the old philosophic motto
. Thus, Thoreau’s tales are always a metaphor for something
else. His forays into unexplored territories and his contacts with wild animals also
alluded to an exploration into the twists and turns of his own ego. His objective was
to indicate to his contemporaries the intellectual stimuli offered by the
environment by rediscovering the natural heritage, which technological and
scientific progress had ignored and hidden. On the other hand, the theories of
George Perkins Marsh (1801‐1882), expressed in Man and Nature (1864), an
extremely original geographic and scientific investigation, echoed Thoreau’s
philosophical reflections. In this work, Marsh dealt with the planet which he
conceived as an environment for man to fulfil his tasks. The radicalism of this thesis,
as Mumford so brilliantly highlighted, was the innovative idea towards man, who
was compared to a sort of active geological agent, capable of creating and
destroying, of influencing nature to the point of putting his own existence into
269 MUMFORD, Lewis, The Brown Decades, Harcourt, Brace and Company, New York, 1931, p.31
(Italian translation edited by Francesco Dal Co, Architettura e cultura in America, dalla guerra civile
all’ultima frontiera, Venezia, Marsilio, 1977, p. 68)
171

danger. This reasoning gave rise to a specific chapter within the pages of Man and
Nature, dedicated to the importance of conserving the physical aspects of the
landscape. Thus, Marsh fired the budding feelings aiming to protect the natural
environment.
The various cultural influences, to which the Americans were subject, created a
specific, intellectual processing of the landscape, 270 the practical results of which
turned into precise, political action. It was no mere chance that the measures in
favour of the institution of the first American national parks followed the
publication of texts, such as those of Thoreau and Marsh, at the same time as
Olmsted’s first landscaping operations.
However, attention to nature arose from very different suppositions from those
worrying the Europeans. Paolo D’Angelo, a lecturer in aesthetics and attentive
enthusiast for landscape topics, has recently highlighted how the love for nature,
which had developed during the eighteenth century in America, had encouraged an
interest in the physical and biological aspects of the environment:
The ideal of the Wilderness fairly soon produced the consecration of
wide, untouched spaces as the heart and symbol of the Nation [...]. The
presence of very large, spaces untouched by man, and at the same time
the strong push to colonise and cultivate enormous territories created
concern for wild nature which, for a long time at least, found no
verification this side of the Atlantic. In fact, in Europe the love for nature
began as love for the beauty of nature, for the interweaving of history
and nature, or of nature and culture. From the moment it became the
object of public intervention, under the first protection laws, the
landscape of our continent was a cultural landscape that is a landscape
steeped in historic, literary and artistic memories. 271
The natural scenes of the Atlantic states soon became tourist destinations, where it
was possible to observe what artists were trying to immortalise to their best artistic
and technical ability For example; the American success of the techniques of the
diorama and panorama is symptomatic of the role played by the landscape and by
270 See SCHAMA, Simon, Landscape and memory, London, Harper Collins, 1995 (it. tr. by Paola
Mazzarelli, Paesaggio e memoria, Milan, Mondadori, 1997)
271 D’ANGELO, Paolo, Filosofia del Paesaggio, [Philosophy of the Landscape] Quodlibet, Macerata,
2010, p.26
172

the influence of nature. The illusory realism usually produced by large works fired
public curiosity and spread the values considered nowadays as ecological.
However, the sceneries of New England belonged to the artists, those of the West
were spaces privileged by photographers. Knowledge of the landscape of the
frontier was consolidated, in fact, by the technical evolution and by the introduction
of stereometric photography which, from halfway through the nineteenth century
onwards, began to support exploratory expeditions.
Thanks to their rapid diffusion, photographs were not restricted to scientific
documents or support for cartography, but became true means of communication
of an aesthetics, which presented the general public with the opportunity to
contemplate the conquest of the West through its landscape and fired the creation
of a national spirit. The partnership begun at the end of the 1860s between the
geologist Clarence King (1842‐1901) and the photographer Timothy O’Sullivan
(1840‐1882) during the expedition along one of the transcontinental routes to
territories between the Sierra Nevada and the Rocky Mountains, was indicative of
what has been said so far. O’Sullivan’s photographs not only removed the symbolic
world of maps from an arbitrary interpretation, but above all they made all the
operations to give the explored territories precise and immediately verifiable
topographical names. They also became a useful tool to divulge the results of the
expeditions. The realism of the photograph, capable of rapidly immortalising the
subject from different viewpoints, gave the observer an emotional charge which
gave the illusion of the journey.
Furthermore, the tragic nature represented by some landscape aspects of the
territories that had been crossed increased interest in the Wild West, and even fired
some popular catastrophic convictions about the origin of the world.
The vision of wide landscapes certainly influenced those who were in direct contact,
but it probably influenced even more strongly those who had never had a chance of
living at the frontier and of going through the anguish of the precarious existence
transmitted by an environment, which had, until a short time before, been
uncontaminated.
173

The Wilderness and the frontier, despite the harsh living conditions they offered,
were more than simple territories far from the civilised world, and were not real
barriers either to “manifest destiny” or to the advance of progress. On the contrary,
they became something familiar, in which ordinary observers and daring explorers
could identify themselves.
This wide, cultural picture stimulated the idea that nature was not only an
accessible, but was also an extremely varied world. Basically, American nature was,
at the same time, both an intellectual food and economic resource to be consumed.
These two visions were never really in complete contrast with each to each other;
on the contrary, each one generated the other [Figures 128‐134].
174

Figure 128- Herd of bison, near Lake Jessie (John Mix Stanley; Sarony, Major & Knapp Liths.
449 Broadway, N.Y.), 1855
Print shows a large herd of bison on a prairie.
Illus. from: U.S. Pacifi c railroad explorations and surveys, 47th & 49th Parallels. General
Report / U.S. Army, Corps of Topographical Engineers. House executive document 129, 33rd
Congress, 1st session, plate X.
(Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division Washington, D.C.)

Figure 129- The Food of our Youth (1881)
Print shows a mean-spirited infant boy in a cradle labeled “Infant Indian Exterminators”, armed
with a rifl e, knives, and handguns, feeding from a large bottle fi lled with “Dime Novel” and
“5 ct. Paper[back]” literature, with other action and adventure books about “Pirates” and an
“Indian Killer” on the fl oor around the cradle.
(Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division Washington, D.C.)

Figure 130- Missouri Pacifi c or Atlanta & Pacifi c railroad Advertising sheet, 186?
In 1860s the frontier line is in the Midwest.
(Library of Congress Rare Book and Special Collection Division Washington, D.C)
Figure 131- Missouri Pacifi c or Atlanta & Pacifi c railroad Advertising sheet, 186?
In 1860s the frontier line is in the Midwest.
(Library of Congress Rare Book and Special Collection Division Washington, D.C)

Figure 132- “All the West going for Matty”, 1840
A Whig cartoon spoofi ng Democratic claims of Western support for Martin Van Buren during
the election of 1840. Pursued by animals from the “Alleghany Mountains” and the Mississippi
River, including among others a buffalo, alligator, beaver, turtle, and fox, Van Buren fl ees to
the right saying, “This is going for me with a vengeance! I wish I was safe at Kinderhook! [his
birthplace and family home was Kinderhook, New York] for I am a used up man!” A parchment
“Sub-Treasury Bill” has fallen at his feet, referring to the independent treasury plan, the centerpiece
of Van Buren’s fi scal program.
(Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division Washington, D.C.)

Figure 133- The far west - shooting buffalo on the line of the Kansas-Pacifi c Railroad, Frank
Leslie’s illustrated newspaper, v. 32, no. 818 (1871 June 3), p. 193; Print shows hunters shooting
at a herd of bison from a train and along the tracks.
(Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division Washington, D.C.)

Figure 134- A pile of American Bison skulls waiting to be ground for fertilizer
photographer unknown, mid-1870s
(Burton Historical Collection/Detroit Public Library)

Conclusion
The Independence of the United States of America and the end of the Civil War
mark the approximate chronological extent of this research, even though a few
“incursions” into more recent years have been proposed. The decades under
examination were analysed with the intention of providing a general view of the
problems concerning the landscape and the major transformations of American
landscapes and towns.
Although we have not dwelt too long on each individual aspect, or on any one
protagonist in particular, the difficult lay in giving the correct importance to the
events, landscapes, architecture and project designers, who have contributed to
this historic and critical account. If some aspects, which could have played a role in
a monographic research, have been omitted, it has been done consciously, for
various reasons. First and foremost, the reconstruction of the general climate of
American interest towards the landscape would have been affected, and secondly,
specific details have already been dealt with by other scholars. What emerges from
this way of proceeding is the pervasive level of some of the ideas regarding the
landscape, born in nineteenth century America, which appear extremely fascinating
and engrossing to European eyes.
Furthermore, it must be added that we believe the attempt to describe these first
experiences of landscape may contribute to providing new keys to the
understanding of more contemporary projects. We wished to demonstrate in
particular that the work of anonymous pioneers and the courage of minor
protagonists, which made those events unique, should be placed side by side with
the great fathers of the American landscape, such as Olmsted and Downing, The
history of the landscape, perhaps even more than the history of architecture, is a
form of observation, which requires the study of the processes of industrial,
agricultural, infrastructural, architectural and theoretical renewal, without which it
would be difficult to understand the development and evolution of the
“construction of the landscape”. Thinking back to the events described undoubtedly
leaves us a precise message. The birth of the modern, ecological and landscaping
175

conscience, to which the mass media often refer to, is not a recent matter. On the
contrary, many of the theories devised during the nineteenth century appear as
forms of more consistent awareness, which cannot be compared to the expressions
of some people, who today use the word landscape to sell their “product”, whether
it is a book, a project, or a political bill.
For this reason, Walt Whitman’s Leaves of Grass (1855) are among the most
subversive, most profound writings of the period under examination and they form
an important moment in the revision of the stimuli of contemporary society even
today. Whitman’s poems recall the need for freedom, they break with the social
conformism of the time, and they appear as an emotional counterpoint in a
changing world. Abstract contemplation of life no longer has any importance, only
the contrasts and stimuli from life’s unceasing flow. Whitman has something
ingenuous about him and at the same time profound, corporeal, which make him
the interpreter of the great transformations in the American landscape, town and
territory. His poems speak of a confused state dictated by the exaltation of various
factors, which are part of a questioning, spiritual logic. A simple blade of grass
sparks reflection just as much as the death of a hero, such as Lincoln. Pulsations of
the subconscious, elements of nature, faith in democracy, exaltation of the
individual, reflections en masse and machines, all go towards reasoning why there is
such a contrast between town and frontier, wild nature and the garden. In the light
of these aspects, the death of Downing on a steamboat suddenly sounds more
tragic and prophetic when thinking about the conflicting topics Whitman faced.
Essentially, even death constitutes a fundamental element in modern landscaping
for Americans. From the cemeteries to the battlefields of the Civil War, the
landscape became a symbol of identification of the nation. The fields were no
longer intended only for agricultural practices, and after years of diffusion of
horticulture, the territory was no longer interpreted as a symbol of Eden. The
aesthetic writings and project considerations of the first landscape architects
replaced the primitive demands for subsistence farming.
176

This rapid revision of the landscape themes led to a major revolution in thought.
The idea that the landscape was common property and that one day this property
could be in danger was an exquisitely American concern.
In 1862, before he died, Henry David Thoreau published a series of reflections in the
pages of The Atlantic under the title of Walking, or the Wild, which he had
conceived during his long walks. Thoreau was the first to work on ideas which were
unequalled in their conception and for their topicality. Thinking of the hasty
transformations of the territory, and of the violation of nature, he affirmed in a
peremptory tone: “A people who would begin by burning the fences and let the
forest stand!” 272 However, the pages of Walking not only contain seductive phrases
and aphorisms, they also propose a sad presage. “[...]the best part of the land is not
private property; the landscape is not owned, and the walker enjoys comparative
freedom. But possibly the day will come when it will be partitioned off into so‐called
pleasure‐grounds, in which a few will take a narrow and exclusive pleasure only
when fences shall be multiplied, and man‐traps and other engines invented to
confine men to the PUBLIC road, and walking over the surface of God's earth shall
be construed to mean trespassing on some gentleman's grounds.” 273 If the day
imagined by Thoreau has already arrived some time ago, today we are simply left
with the task of keeping a watch over and of conserving the landscape, since the
challenge is somehow great than before. It is up to us, to those who go on
pilgrimages to search for unknown lands 274 , to conquer new spaces for resilience
and freedom.
272 THOREAU, Henry David, “Walking”, The Atlantic, May 1862 (Italian translation Camminare, edited
by Massimo Jevolella, Milan, Oscar Mondadori, 2009, p. 24): “Nowadays almost all man's
improvements, so called, as the building of houses and the cutting down of the forest and of all large
trees, simply deform the landscape, and make it more and more tame and cheap. A people who
would begin by burning the fences and let the forest stand!”
273 Ibid., (it. tr. pp. 28‐29)
274 I think about the prologue of The Canterbury Tales by G. Chaucer, quoted by Thoreau in Walking.
177

Chronological Table –Events related to American architecture and landscape
The chronology covers major artistic, cultural and political events during the 19 th
century. The events are directly and indirectly related to this research. Some
important unrelated events to American landscape clarify the chronological table.
Year
Architecture and landscape
works/events
Architects and People
Cultural, political, scientific and other
events
1770 ‐T. Jefferson : First Monticello House,
Charlottesville, Virginia (1770‐1784)
‐G. Dance: Newgate Prison, London
‐W. Clark (1770‐1838) explorer
‐D. Phyfe (1770‐1854)
cabinetmaker
‐G. Tiepolo (1696‐1770) ƚ painter
‐M. Fink (1770‐1823) pioneer
1771 ‐C.N. Ledoux: Louveciennes Pavilion ‐R. Owen (1771‐1858) social
reformer
‐T.G. Fessenden (1771‐1837)
horticulturist
1772 ‐Old Stone Fort, Schoharie, New York
‐Mission San Luis Obispo de Tolosa,
California
‐J. Wyatt: Heaton House, Lancashire
1773 ‐F. Mazzei introduce in Virginia the
cultivation of vineyards
‐F.M.C. Fourier (1772‐1837)
philosopher
‐W.H. Harrison (1773‐1841)
politician
‐Boston Massacre: 11 americans are
shot by British troops
‐War of the Regulation in North
Carolina against corrupt colonial
officials.
‐G. Monge: descriptive geometry
‐Watauga Association: semiautonomous
government created by
frontier settlers along Watauga River,
Tennessee
‐Committees of Correspondence
(shadow governments in the 13
colonies)
‐W. Bartram’s (1739‐1823) travel in
South colonies (1773‐1777)
‐Boston Tea Party
1774 ‐Hammond‐Harwood House (premier
colonial house), Annapolis, Maryland
‐M. Lewis (1774‐1809) explorer
‐Quebec Act
‐Boston Port Act
‐Shakers arrive in America
1775 ‐Wilkinson and Darby: Iron Bridge
‐C.N.Ledoux: Royal Saltworks at Arcet‐Senans
construction began
1776 ‐Dobbin House Tavern, Gettysburg,
Pennsylvania
‐Bedford Square, London: one of the
most important example of English
square during 18 th century
‐Royal Academy Gold Medal to John
Soane
‐J.M.W. Turner (1775‐1851)
landscape painter
‐F. C. Lowell (1775‐1817)
businessman
‐B. McMahon (1775‐1816) botanic
‐J. Constable (1776‐1837)
landscape painter
‐American Revolution (1775‐1783)
‐United States Declaration of
Independence
1777 ‐Articles of Confederation and
Perpetual Union
‐J. Thomson’s Seasons first published
in America
1778 ‐C.N. Ledoux: project for Besanҫon
Theatre
‐R. and J. Adam: Works in
Architecture (this book determinates
English neoclassical language)
‐G.B. Piranesi: Vasi, Candelabri, Cippi,
Sarcofaghi, Tripodi, Lucerne ed
Ornamenti antichi
‐R. Peale (1778‐1860) painter ‐F.M. Klinger: Sturm und Drang
1779

1780 ‐Federal‐style architecture or Greekstyle
architecture(1780‐1830)
‐André Parmentier (1780‐1830)
landscape designer
‐F. Fuga (1699‐1780) ƚ architect
‐Foundation of American Academy of
Arts and Letters, Boston
1781 ‐F. Milizia: Principi di architettura
civile
‐K.F. Schinkel (1781‐1841)
architect
‐R. Mills (1781‐1855) architect
‐Surrender of Cornwallis at Yorktown,
Virginia
‐Articles of Confederation go into
effect on March 1
‐The distinguished American furniture
maker Duncan Phyfe arrives in New
York
‐I. Kant: Critique of Pure Reason
1782 ‐J.de Crevecoeur: Letters From An
American Farmer
‐J.J. Rousseau: Le Reveries du
promeneur solitaire
‐C.Willson Peale’s gallery opens in
Philadelphia
1783 ‐N. Longworth (1783‐1863)
winemaker
‐Capability Brown (1716‐1783) ƚ
landscape designer
‐J.C. Loudon (1783‐1843)
landscape designer
1784 ‐E.L. Boullée: Cenotaphe à Newton
project
1785 ‐E.L. Boullée: project pour la
Bibliothèque du Roi
‐G. Washington: Mount Vernon,
Faifax County, Virginia
1786 ‐G. Dance The Younger: plan of
London
‐L. Von Klenze (1784‐1864)
German architect
‐Ann Lee (1736‐1784) ƚ Shaker’s
funder
‐C.B. King (1785‐1862) painter
‐T. Butler (185‐1847) plantation
owner
‐D. Crockett (1786‐1836) pioneer
‐Treaty of Paris: Original borders of the
United States
‐I. Kant: Prolegomena to Any Future
Metaphysic That Will Be Able to
Present itself as a Science
‐J.L. David: Oath of the Horatii
‐Land Ordinance
‐Land Ordinance
‐T. Jefferson: Notes on the State of
Virginia
‐F. Schiller: Don Carlos
‐W.A. Mozart: The marriage of Figaro
1787 ‐Destrehan Plantation house, St.
Charles Parish, Louisiana (1787‐1790)
‐Homeplace Plantation house, St.
Charles Parish, Louisiana
‐C.N. Ledoux: architect for the ferme
générale (tax barriers) of Paris
‐New Leabanon Shaker Community,
New York
‐Waterlievt Shaker Community, New
York
1788 ‐Marietta: first settlements in
Northwest territory (Marietta, Ohio)
‐J. Soane: Plans, elevations, and
sections of buildings
‐C.G. Langhans: Brandeburg Gate,
Berlin
1789 ‐ T. Jefferson: Richmond Campidoglio
‐A. Mackenzie: North‐West Passage
expedition
1790 ‐Royal Opera Arcade, London
‐Hancock Shaker Community,
Massachusetts
‐E. Cabet (1788‐1856) philosopher
and utopian socialist
‐Benjamin Franklin (1706‐1790) ƚ
‐Population 3.929.214
1791 ‐P.C. L’ Enfant: plan of Washington ‐S.F.B. Morse (1791‐1872)
inventor
‐J. A. Etzler (1791‐1846) utopian
author
‐United States Constitution
‐J. Ficht: first steamboat (experiments
1785‐1787)
‐Northwest OrdinanceTerritory (1787‐
1803)
‐A. Hamilton, J. Jay, J.Madison
published The Federalist
‐Ratification of United States
Constitution
‐I. Kant: Critique of Practical Reason
‐J. W. Goethe: Egmont
‐G. Washington is the President of Usa
(1789‐1797)
‐The French Revolution begins
‐W. Blake: Songs of Innocence
‐A. Hamilton: Report on the Public
Credit
‐First congressionally authorized U.S.
census
‐First machine to make “cut nails”
‐Bill of Rights (the first ten
amendments)
‐F.R. de Chateaubriand arrives in US
‐W. Bartram: Travels
‐First Bank of US
‐A. Hamilton: Report on Manufactures
‐Massachussets Historical Society
founded in Boston
‐First Bank of U.S. opened in
Philadelphia

‐J. Winkelmann: Alte Denkmäler der
Kunst
1792 ‐T. Jefferson proposed a design
competition for the Capitol and the
President’s House
1793 ‐W. Thornton: project for the US
Capitol (later modified by B.H.
Latrobe and then A. Bulfinch)
‐J. Hoban: President’s House
‐Shaker Village, Hancock,
Massachussets was foundend
‐Middlesex Canal, 1793‐1804
1794 ‐Philadelphia‐Lancaster Turnpike:
First long‐distance paved road
‐T. Jefferson: Monticello (1794‐1808)
‐Ecole Polytechnique established in
Paris
1795 ‐J. Soane: Bank of England
‐The Philadelphia and Lancaster
turnpike
‐W.C. Bryant (1794‐1878) poet,
editor
‐Eli Whtney: mechanical cotton gin
‐A. Canova: Amore e Psiche
‐J. Soane: Sketches in Architecture
‐J. Ficht: first working model of a
steam rail locomotive
‐W. Blake: Songs of Experience
1796 ‐George Catlin (1796‐1872)
painter
‐Land Act
1797 ‐Belle Grove Plantation, Middletown,
Virginia
‐F. Gilly: Project for a monument to
Frederick II of Prussia, Berlin
1798 ‐B. H. Latrobe: Bank of Pennsylvania,
Philadelphia
‐G. W. Snow (1797‐1870) ballon
frame inventor
‐J. Warren (1798‐1874) anarchist
‐M.P. Wilder (1798‐1886)
pomoligist and floriculturist
‐F. Milizia (1725‐1798) ƚ architect
‐E. Delacroix: (1798‐1863) painter
1799 ‐A.B. Alcott (1799‐1888)
philosopher
‐E.L. Boullée (1728‐1799) ƚ
architect
1800 ‐Washington, D.C., becomes the
national capital
‐Population 5.308.483
‐C. Lane (1800‐1870) philosopher
‐J. Adams is the President of Usa
(1797‐1801)
‐F.R. de Chateaubriand: Essai
historique sur les revolutions
‐F. Schelling: New deduction of natural
law
‐S.T. Coleridge and W. Wordsworth
publish the Lyrical Ballads.
‐G. Casanova: Histoire de ma vie
‐A. Von Humboldt’s travel in Latin
America (1799‐1804)
‐Indiana Territory
‐Harrison Land Act
1801 ‐T. Telford: project for the London
Bridge
‐D. Hosack: Elgin Botanical Garden,
New York
1802 ‐T. Jefferson: Farmington Country
Club, Charlottesville, Virginia
‐Thomas Cole (1801‐1848) painter
‐H. Labrouste (1801‐1875)
architect
‐G.P. Marsh (1801‐1882)
environmentalist
‐G. Ripley (1802‐1880) social
reformer
‐T. Jefferson is the President of Usa
(1801‐1809)
‐American Academy of Fine Arts is
established in New York
1803 ‐Pont des Arts, Paris
‐Foundation of Harmony,
Pennsylvania
‐R.W. Emerson (1803‐1882)
Author
‐A.J. Davis (1803‐1892) architect
‐J. Paxton (1803‐1865) landscape
gardener
1804 ‐B. H. Latrobe: Washington US Capitol ‐N. Hawthorne (1804‐1864)
Author
‐I. Kant (1724‐1804) ƚ German
Philosopher
‐J. Deere (1804‐1866) inventor
‐Louisiana Purchase
‐Lewis and Clark Expedition (1804‐
1806) to Louisiana Territory
‐Land Act
‐C. Fourier: Harmonie Universelle
1805 ‐Pennsylvania Academy of the Fine
Arts is established by C. W. Peale

1806 T. Jefferson: Poplar Forest, plantation
and plantation house, near
Lynchburg, Virginia (1806‐1826)
‐C.N. Ledoux (1736‐1806) ƚ
architect
‐J. Roebling (1806‐1869) engineer
‐B. MacMahon: The American
Gardner’s Calendar
1807 ‐T. Jefferson and B.H. Latrobe: estate
and west colonnades at White House
‐A. Gallatin: Report on the Subject of
Public Roads and Canals
‐R.E. Lee (1807‐1870) general
‐North River Steamboat: the world’s
first commercially successful
steamboat operated on the Hudson
River and built by Robert Fulton
‐The Athemaeum is founded in Boston‐
G.W.F. Hegel: Phenomenology of Spirit
1808 ‐C. Fourier: project of Phalanstery ‐J.F. Davis (1808‐1889) politician ‐C. Fourier: The Theory of the Four
Movements.
1809 ‐E.A. Poe (1809‐1849) author
‐M. Lewis (1774‐1809) explorer
‐G. E. Haussmann (1809‐1891),
Seine prefect
‐Kit Carson (1809‐1868) pioneer
‐A. Brisbane (1809‐1890) socialist
‐G. Geddes (1809‐1883) politican
1810 ‐G. Valadier: Piazza del Popolo, Roma ‐Population 7.239.881
‐P. Kane (1810‐1871) painter
‐C. Ellet (1810‐1862) engineer
‐J. Notman (1810‐1865) architect
1811 ‐Plan of New York
‐Camberland Road, 1811‐1837
‐Horace Greeley (1811‐1872)
politician
‐H.E.B. Stowe (1811‐1896) author
‐J. Madison is the President of Usa
(1809‐1817)
‐W. Irving publishes A History of New
York
‐A. Von Humboldt: Le voyage aux
regions equinoxiales du Nouveau
Continent (1810‐1825)
‐Agricultural Musuem (magazine)
1812 ‐J. Nash: Park Crescent, London ‐A.T. Agate (1812‐1846) painter ‐First American canning factory in New
York
‐War with Great Britain
1813 ‐J. Nash: Regent’s Crescent, London
(opened in 1835)
1814 ‐Mill in Waltham, Massachusetts
(Lowell System)
‐Foundation of New Harmony,
Indiana
‐J.M. Stanley (1814‐1872) painter
‐E. Viollet‐le‐Duc (1814‐1879)
architect
‐H. Cleveland (1814‐1900)
landscape architect
1815 ‐B. H. Latrobe: Washington City Canal ‐A.J. Downing (1815‐1852)
landscape designer
‐British capture Washington and set
fire to the White House
‐Peace accord with British
‐G. Stephenson designed his first
locomotive
‐H. C. Saint‐Simon: De la
Réorganisation de la société
européenne
1816 ‐J.F. Kensett (1816‐1872) painter
‐B. McMahon (1775‐1816) ƚ
botanic
‐A. Hotchkiss (1816‐1903)
landscape designer
1817 ‐T. Jefferson: The Lawn, Academic
village, University of Virginia
‐W. Coxe: A view of the Cultivation of
Fruit Trees and Management of
Orchards and Cider
‐H.D. Thoreau (1817‐1862) author
‐F. C. Lowell (1775‐1817) ƚ
businessman
1818 ‐J. Nash: Royal Pavilion, Brighton ‐H. Repton (1752‐1818) ƚ
landscape designer
‐J. Renwick Jr. (1818‐1895)
architect
1819 ‐T. Cole emigrates to U.S.
‐Foundation of Zoar, Ohio
‐H. Melville (1819‐1891) author
‐J. Ruskin (1818‐1900) author
‐G. Courbet (1819‐1877) painter
1820 ‐Laura Plantation, Vacherie, Louisiana ‐Population 9.638.453
‐B.H. Latrobe (1764‐1820) ƚ
architect
‐F. Engels (1820‐1895) philosopher
‐G. Rossini: Il barbiere di Siviglia
‐J. Monroe is the President of Usa
(1817‐1825): “Era of Good Feelings”
‐W. Coxe: A View of the Cultivation of
Fruit Trees, and Management of
Orchards and Cider
‐L.J. VIcat: experimentations with the
artificial cement
‐ A. Schopenauer: Die Welt als Wille
und Vorstellung
‐ Old Gardener: The Practical Gardener
‐J.S. Skinner: American Farmer
(magazine)
‐A. Ampère: foundation of
electromagnetism
‐W. Irving: The Legend of Sleepy
Hollow

1821 ‐Canal Eire from Albany, NY, to
Buffalo, NY ‐ 584Km (1817‐1821)
‐Shaker Millennial Law
‐H.L. Stephens (1821‐1886)
illustrator
‐Treaty of Cordoba: Mexican
independence from Spain
‐S.F. Austin: American colonization of
Texas
1822 ‐T. Jefferson: Barboursville and The
Rotunda, University of Virginia (1822‐
1826)
‐The mountain men
‐F.L. Olmsted (1822‐1903)
landscape designer
1823 ‐K.F. Schinkel: Altes Museum, Berlin ‐S.R. Gifford (1823‐1880) painter
‐M. Fink (1770‐1823) ƚ pioneer
1824 ‐Calvert Vaux (1824‐1895)
landscape architect
‐W.H. Ashley: Ashley’s Hundred
(recruitment for the first of several furtrapping
expeditions)
‐T.G. Fassenden: New England Farmer
(magazine)
‐Monroe Doctrine
‐J. Smith’ s visions of angel Moroni
(Mormon religion)
‐J. Bridger is the first European
American to see the Great Salt Lake
1825 ‐R. Owen: New Harmony, Indiana was
founded
‐Erie Canal
‐Foundation of Economy,
Pennsylvania
1826 ‐K.F. Schinkel’s journey in England
‐The Boston Associated entitled their
company town Lowell
‐Round Stone Barn, Hancock,
Massachusetts
‐Eli Whtney (1765‐1825) inventor
‐Pierre Charles L’Enfant (1754‐
1825) ƚ
‐John Adams (1735‐1826) ƚ
politician
‐F.E. Church (1826‐1900) painter
‐T. Jefferson (1743‐1826) ƚ
politician and architect
‐J.Q. Adams is the President of Usa
(1825‐1829)
‐F. Froebel: The education of Man
‐J. Priest: The Wonders of Nature and
Providence Dispalyed
‐J.C. Loudon: The Gardener’s Magazine
1826‐1843
1827 ‐A. Manzoni: I promessi sposi
1828 ‐The Baltimore and Ohio Railroad
(1828‐30): the first railroad in the US
‐Parmentier and Hosack: Hyde Park
mansion, New York
1829 ‐Boston Horticultural Society
‐Uncle Sam (Constancia) Plantation,
St. James Parish, Louisiana (1829‐
1843)
1830 ‐Community Place, Skaneateles, New
York, foundation: utopian colony
inspired by Fourier’s ideas
‐ Railroads active: 40 miles
1831 ‐G. Japelli: caffè Pedrocchi, Padova
‐Chesapeake and Ohio Canal
‐C. H. Mc Cormick: reaper and twine
binder
‐Dearborn, Bigelow and Wadsworth:
Mount Auburn Cemetery, Cambridge
1832 ‐G.W. Snow: St. May Church, Chicago,
first building using balloon frame
‐Ohio and Erie Canal
1833 ‐Alasa Farms, Alton, New York
foundation: utopian colony inspired
by Fourier’s ideas (1833‐1844)
1834 ‐J. Paxton: Palm House, Hackney,
London
‐W. Thornton (1759‐1828) ƚ
architect
‐J. Vernes (1828‐2905) author
‐ Emily Dickinson (1830‐1886) poet
‐A. Bierstadt (1830‐1902) painter
‐ Population 12.866.020
‐André Parmentier (1780‐1830) ƚ
landscape designer
‐R.M. Copeland (1830‐1874)
landscape architect
‐J. Hoban (1758‐1831) ƚ architect
‐G:M: Pullman (1831‐1897)
inventor
‐W. Coxe (1762‐1831) ƚ pomologist
‐L.M. Alcott (1832‐1888) author
‐W. Le Baron Jenney (1832‐1907)
architect
‐G. Eiffel (1831‐1923) engineer
‐W. Morris (1834‐1896) textile
designer
‐André Parmentier: Landscape and
Picturesque Gardens
‐W. Prince: Treatise on Horticulture
‐A. Jackson is the President of Usa
(1829‐1837)
‐C. Fourier: Le Nouveau Monde
Industriel et Sociétaire
‐J. Smith: Book of Mormon
‐The Indian Removal Act
‐V. Hugo: Notre‐Dame de Paris
‐T. Cole: The Course of Empire, five
part series of painting (1833‐36)
‐J. A. Etzler: The paradise within the
reach of all men, without labour, by
powers of nature and machinery
‐J.C. Loudon: Encyclopedia of Cottage,
Farm and Villa Architecture
‐H. de Balzac: Le père Goriot
1835 ‐Rosedown Planation, St. Francisville ‐Mark Twain (1835‐1910) author
‐J. LaFarge (1835‐1910) artist
‐Texas war of Independence (1835‐
1836)
‐J.E. Teschmacher: Horticultural
Register and Gardener’s Magazine

1836 ‐C. Fourier: Phalange
‐Laurel Hill Cemetery, Philadelphia
‐R. Mills: Washington Monument,
Washington (1836‐1888)
1837 ‐G. J. Pilie: Oak Alley Plantation, St.
James Parish, Louisiana (1837‐39)
‐J. Deere’s plow
1838 ‐J. Paxton: Greenhouse, Chatsworth
‐Mount Hope Cemetery, Rochester,
New York
‐Greenwood Cemetery, Brooklyn
‐Green Mount Cemetery, Baltimore
‐A.J. Davis: Lyndhurst Mansion,
Tarrytown, New York
1839 ‐5350 km of canals in the US
‐Foundation of Harmony Hall
community, Southampton
‐James Madison (1751‐1836) ƚ
politician
‐D. Crockett (1786‐1836) pioneer
‐W.D. Howells (1837‐1920) author
‐F.M.C. Fourier (1772‐1837) ƚ
philosopher
‐T. Moran (1837‐1926) painter
‐J. Constable (1776‐1837) ƚ
landscape painter
‐Wild B. Hickock (1837‐1876)
pioneer
‐T.G. Fessenden (1771‐1837) ƚ
horticulturist
‐H.H. Richardson (1838‐86)
architect
‐H.B. Adams (1838‐1918) historian
‐W. Clark (1770‐1838) ƚ explorer
‐G.A. Custer (1839‐1876) ƚ general
‐T.G: Fessenden: Fessenden’s Silk
Manual and Practical Farmer
‐A. de Toqueville: De la Democratie en
Amérique
‐R.W. Emerson: Nature
‐R. Owen: The book of the new moral
world
‐M.V. Buren is the President of Usa
(1837‐1841)
‐S. Morse : invention of telegraph
‐R. Manning: Book of Fruits, being a
descriptive catalogue of the most
valuable varieties of the pear, apple,
peach, plum, and cherry for New
England culture
‐L.J.M. Daguerre: invention of
photography
1840 ‐Hudson River School (1840s‐1870s):
landscape painter movement
‐ Railroads active: 2755 miles
‐J. Lindley: The theory and Pratice of
Horticulture
‐Houmas House Plantation and
Gardens, Burnside, Louisiana
‐Pennsylvania Canal, 1840s
1841 G. Ripley: Brook Farm utopian
experiment (1841‐1847)
‐ A.J. Downing: A Treatise on the
Theory and Practice of Landscape
Gardening, Adapted to North America
‐G.P. Worcester:Rural Cemetery,
Lowell
‐ Population 17.069.453
‐T.H. O’ Sullivan (1840‐1882)
photographer
‐C. Monet (1840‐1926) painter
‐A. Rodin (1840‐1916) sculptor
‐W.H. Harrison (1773‐1841) Ɨ
politician
‐K.F. Schinkel (1781‐1841) Ɨ
architect
1842 A.J. Downing: Cottage Residence ‐C.R. King (1842‐1901) geologist
‐J. Gast (1842‐?) painter
‐E.A. Poe: Tales of Grotesque and
Arabesque
‐A. Brisbane: The Phalanx; or Journal of
Social Science, 1840s
‐W.H. Harrison is the President of Usa
(1841‐1841)
‐ J. Tyler is the President of Usa (1841‐
1845)
‐R.W. Emerson: Essays
1843 ‐A.B. Alcott, C. Lane: Fruitlands
foundation, Harvard, Massachusetts
(1843‐1844)
‐North American Phalanx, Colts Neck
Township, New Jersey, foundation:
utopian community inspired by
Fourier’s ideas (1843‐1856)
‐J.C. Loudon: Projects for three
Cemetery in England
1844 ‐First Telegraph from Baltimore to
Washington
‐Allegheny Cemetery, Pittsburgh
‐Albany Rural Cemetery, Menands,
New York
‐A.J. Davis: Montgomery Place,
Barrytown, New York
‐A.J. Davis: Blandwood Mansion,
Greensboro, North Carolina (1844)
1845 ‐A.J. Downing: Fruits and Fruit Trees
of America
‐Miami and Erie Canal
‐C. Sitte (1843‐1901) architect
‐J.C. Loudon (1783‐1843) Ɨ
landscape designer
‐D. Adler (1844‐1900) architect
‐H. James (1843‐1916) author
‐J. Loudon: American edition of
Gardening for Ladies edited by A.J.
Downning
‐F. Engels: The condition of the working
class in England
‐R.W.Emerson: lecture “New England
Reformer”
‐J.K. Polk is the President of Usa (1845‐
1849)
‐Annexation of Texas by Usa (Manifest
Destiny)

1846 ‐J. Roebling: Suspension bridge
Pittsburgh
‐Construction of Brook Farm
Phalanstere and fire
‐A.J. Downing: The Horticulturist
(magazine)
1847 ‐Madison Square Park in New York
opened to the public
‐Brigham Young: Mormon Winter
Quarter
‐Rural Cemetery Act, New York
‐J. Paxton: Birkenhead Park, Liverpool
1848 ‐Icaria foundation, (Denton County)
Texas
‐ American Pomological Society
foundation
‐Foundation of Salt Lake City
‐Starrucca Viaduct, Lanesboro,
Pennsylvania
1849 ‐San Francisco Plantation House,
Garyville, Louisiana (1849‐1856)
‐C. Ellet: Wheeling Suspension Bridge,
Brownsville, Pennsylvania
‐A. Hotchkiss: Bellefontaine
Cemetery, Saint Louis
1850 ‐Icarians moved to Nauvoo, Illinois
‐ Railroads active: 8751 miles
‐Wabash and Erie Canal
‐A. Hotchkiss: Chippianock Cemetery,
Rock Island, Illinois
‐A.J. Downing: The Architecture of
Country Houses
1851 ‐J. Paxton: Crystal Palace, London
‐J. Roebling: Niagara bridge
‐First Act Park, New York
‐A.J. Downing: Washington Mall
‐A.J. Davis: Locust Grove (S. Morse
House), New York
1852 ‐Belle Grove Plantation, Iberville
Parish, Louisiana (1852‐1857)
‐Icarians founded new colony in
Corning, Iowa (1852‐1870)
1853 ‐New York Crystal Palace
‐San Francisco Plantation House,
Garyville, Louisiana (1853‐1856)
‐Raritan Bay Union, Perth Amboy,
New Jersey, foundation: utopian
community (1853‐1860)
‐A.J. Davis: Lewellyn Park first project,
West Orange, New York
‐D. Burnham (1846‐1912) architect
‐A.T.Agate (1812‐1846) Ɨ painter
‐Buffalo Bill (1846‐1917) pioneer
‐J. A. Etzler (1791‐1846) Ɨ utopian
author
‐G. Rapp (1757‐1847) Ɨ founder of
Harmonist
‐Thomas Cole (1801‐1848) Ɨ
painter
‐E.A. Poe (1809‐1849) Ɨ author
‐A. Gallatin (1761‐1849) Ɨ
politician
‐ Population 23.191.876
‐J. W. Root (1850.1891) architect
‐J.M.W. Turner (1775‐1851) Ɨ
landscape painter
‐A.J. Downing (1815‐1852) Ɨ
landscape designer
‐Calamity Jane (1852‐1903)
pioneer
1854 ‐D. Phyfe (1770‐1854) Ɨ
cabinetmaker
‐H. Melville: Typee
‐Mexican‐American War (1846‐1848)
‐The Smithsonian Institution was
founded
‐N. Longworth: The Cultivation of the
Grape and Manufacture of Wine
‐E. Cabet: Manifesto “Allon en Icarie”,
for the foundation of Icaria, Texas
California Gold Rush (1848‐55)
‐K. Marx and F. Engels: Manifesto of
the Communist Party
‐Z. Taylor is the President of Usa
(1849‐1850)
‐N. Hawthorne: The Scarlett Letter
‐M. Fillmore is the President of Usa
(1850‐1853)
‐ H. Melville: White‐Jacket
‐H. Melville: Moby‐Dick, or The Whale
‐The western union company is
founded
‐H. Beecher Stowe: Uncle Tom’s Cabin
‐Anti‐Tom literature
‐N. Hawthorne: The Blithdale Romance
‐F.L. Olmsted: Walks and Talks of an
American Farmer in England
‐A Gaudì (1853‐1926) architect ‐F. Pierce is the President of Usa (1853‐
1857)
‐First elevator, New York
‐H.D. Thoreau: Walden, or life in the
woods
‐The Republican Party was founded
1855 La Reunion, Dallas, Texas,
foundation: utopian experiment
(1855‐1860)
1856 ‐End of Icaria Nauvoo, Illinois (1856‐
1860)
‐Icarians moved to Cheltenham,
Missouri (1856‐1875)
‐A. Hotchkiss: Plan of Lake Forest,
Chicago
1857 ‐F. L. Olmsted: Central Park, New
York
‐American Institute of Architects was
founded in New York
‐A.J. Davis and C. Vaux: Lewellyn
Park, West Orange, New Jersey
‐R. Mills (1781‐1855) Ɨ architect
‐L.H. Sullivan (1856‐1924)
architect
‐E. Cabet (1788‐1856) Ɨ
philosopher and utopian socialist
‐E. Basile (1857‐1931) architect
‐W. Whitman: Leaves of Grass
‐G. Innes: The Lackawanna Valley
‐J. Buchanan is the President of Usa
(1857‐1861)
‐C. Baudelaire: Les Fleurs du Mal
‐C. Vaux: Villas and Cottages

‐Foundation of Anheim, California
1858 ‐Nottoway Plantation
‐Dunleith mansion, Natchez,
Mississippi
‐Central Park Competition
1859 ‐Philip Webb: Red House for William
Morris, Bexley Heath
‐R. Owen (1771‐1858) Ɨ social
reformer
‐C. Darwin: On the Origin of species
1860 ‐A fast mail service from St. Joseph,
Missouri, to Sacramento, Califonria:
Pony Express (1860‐1861)
‐Fence laws in U.S. 1860s
1861 ‐ Railroads active: 28920 miles
‐Telegraph from New York to San
Francisco
‐Foundation of Vineland, New Jersey
‐ Population 31.443.321
‐R. Peale (1778‐1860) Ɨ painter
‐F.J. Turner (1861‐1932) historian
‐E.L. Masqueray (1861‐1917)
architect
‐First Transcontinental Telegraph
‐Dime novel (1860s‐1900s)
‐A. Lincoln is the President of Usa
(1861‐1865)
‐American civil War (1861‐1865)
‐J. Davis is the President of the
Confederate States of America
‐F.L. Olmsted: Journey and
explorations in The Cotton Kingdom of
America
1862 ‐H. Labrouste: National Library, Paris ‐H.D. Thoreau (1817‐1862) ƚ
author
‐C.B. King (1785‐1862) ƚ painter
‐C. Ellet (1810‐1862) ƚ engineer
1863 ‐Transcontinental (Pacific) Railroad
construction, 1863‐69
‐F.L. Olmsted: Mariposa Estate
1864 ‐Yosemite Valley and Mariposa Grove
of Big Trees began places of public
interest
‐R. Unwin (1863‐1940) town
planner
‐N. Longworth (1783‐1863) ƚ
winemaker
‐E. Delacroix: (1798‐1863) ƚ
painter
‐N. Hawthorne (1804‐1864) ƚ
author
‐L. Von Klenze (1784‐1864) ƚ
German architect
1865 ‐J. Paxton (1803‐1865) ƚ landscape
gardener
‐J. Notman (1810‐1865) ƚ architect
‐Homstead Act
‐Pacific Railroad Act
‐Battle of Fredericksburg
‐H.D. Thoreau: Walking
‐Battle of Gettysburg
‐The Emancipation Proclamation
‐Battle of the Wilderness
‐Sand Creek Massacre
‐Battle of Spotsylvania Court House
‐G.P. Marsh: Man and Nature
‐A. Johnson is the President of Usa
(1865‐1869)
1866 ‐Goodnight‐Loving Trail ‐H.G. Wells (1866‐1946) author ‐Patent of Gerber’s beam
1867 ‐Olmsted and Vaux: Prospect Park,
New York
‐C. King: Geological Expedition of the
Fortieth Parallel
‐F.L. Wright (1867‐1959) architect
‐Geological Exploration of the Fortieth
Parallel (1867‐69)
1868 ‐Kit Carson (1809‐1868) ƚ pioneer ‐L.M. Alcott: Little Woman
1869 ‐J. Roebling: Brooklyn Bridge, project
and building works
‐Olmsted and Vaux, plan for
Riverside, Chicago
‐Olmsted and Vaux Fairmont Park,
Philadelphia
1870 W. Grant and I. Pilat: Madison square
park, New York, was relandscaped
‐ Railroads active: 49161 miles
‐Silkville Prairie Home, Kansas
1871 ‐Hayden Geological Survey in
Wyoming (Yellowstone National
Paark)
‐T. Garnier (1869‐1948) architect
‐H. Poelzig (1869‐1936) architect
‐J. Roebling (1806‐1869) ƚ engineer
‐ Population 39.818.449
‐R.E. Lee (1807‐1870) ƚ general
‐C. Lane (1800‐1870) ƚ philosopher
‐G. W. Snow (1797‐1870) ƚ ballon
frame inventor
‐P. Kane (1810‐1871 ƚ) painter
‐U.S. Grant is the President of Usa
(1869‐1877)
‐C. Darwin: The Descent of Man
‐F. De Sanctis: Storia della letteratura
italiana
‐Great Chicago Fire

1872 ‐Yellowstone National Park: the first
national park in the world
1873 ‐Olmsted and Vaux: Riverside Park
and Morningside Park, New York
‐George Catlin (1796‐1872) ƚ
painter
‐Horace Greeley (1811‐1872) ƚ
Editor and politician
‐J.M. Stanley (1814‐1872) ƚ painter
‐J.F. Kensett (1816‐1872) ƚ painter
‐S.F.B. Morse (1791‐1872) ƚ
inventor
‐E. Viollet‐le‐Duc: Entretiens sur
l’Architecture
‐J. Gast: American Progress
‐R.M. Copeland: The Most Beatiful City
in America
‐Long Depression (1873‐1896)
‐L.M. Alcott: Trascendental Wild Oats
1874
1875
1876
1877
1878
‐Centennial International Exhibition,
Philadelphia (1876)
‐American Renaissance (ca 1876‐
1917)
‐J. Warren (1798‐1874) ƚ anarchist
‐R.M. Copeland (1830‐1874) ƚ
landscape architect
‐H. Labrouste (1801‐1875) ƚ
architect
‐G.A. Custer (1839‐1876) ƚ general
‐Wild B. Hickock (1837‐1876) ƚ
pioneer
‐G. Courbet (1819‐1877) ƚ painter ‐
W.C. Bryant (1794‐1878) ƚ poet,
editor
1879 ‐Railroads active: 87801 miles ‐E. Viollet‐le‐Duc (1814‐1879) ƚ
architect
‐C. Nordhoff: The Cotton States (1875)
‐C. Nordhoff: The Communistic
Societies of the United States (1875)
‐Battle of the Little Bighorn
‐M. Twain: The Adventures of Tom
Sawyer (1876)
‐W. A. Hinds: American Communities
(1876)
‐United States Geological Survey
‐H. George: Progress and Poverty
1880 ‐Shingle Style years (1880‐90)
‐Chicago School years (1880‐90)
‐Pullman Company Town, Chicago
‐Olmsted, Vaux, Eliot: Belle Isle Park,
Detroit (1880s)
1881
1882
‐H.H. Richardson: Thomas Crane
Public Library, Quincy, Massachussets
‐Icarians moved to Cloverdale,
California (Icaria Speranza 1881‐86)
‐ Population 50.189.209
‐G. Ripley (1802‐1880) ƚ social
reformer
‐S.R. Gifford (1823‐1880) ƚ painter
‐T.H. O’ Sullivan (1840‐1882) ƚ
photographer
‐R.W. Emerson (1803‐1882) ƚ
author
‐G. Geddes (1809‐1883) ƚ politican
‐G.P. Marsh (1801‐1882) ƚ
environmentalist

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DOWNING, Andrew Jackson, The Fruits and Fruit‐Trees of America; or the culture,
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New York, George P. Putnam, 1852
OLMSTED, Frederick Law, Journey in the Seaboard Slave States, New York, Dix &
Edwards, London, Sampson Low, Son & Co., 1856
OLMSTED, Frederick Law, Journey and Explorations in The Cotton Kingdom of
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List of U.S. laws and quoted acts
Virginia Act, 1622
Town Act, 1662
Declaration of Independence, 1776
HAMILTON, Alexander, Report on the Public Credit (1790)
Land Ordinance, 1784
Land Ordinance, 1785
Northwest ordinance, 1787
HAMILTON, Alexander, Report on Manufactures (1791) published in TAUSSIG, Frank
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Harvard University press, 1893
Land Act, 1796
Louisiana Purchase, 1803

GALLATIN, Albert, Report of the Secretary of the Treasury, on the Subject of Public
Roads and Canals,Made in Pursuance of a Resolution of Senate, of March 2, 1807,
Washington, R.C: Weightman, 1808
The United Society of Believers in Christ’s Second Appearing Millennial Law, 1821
DE WITT, Clinton, Resolution about Western Inland Lock Navigation, 1810,
published in HULBERT, Archer Butler, The Great American Canals, Volume II
(Historic Highways of America Vol. N. 14), Cleveland, Ohio, The Arthur H. Clark
Company, 1904, pp. 15‐16
Park Act, New York Legislature, 1851
Homestead Act, 1862
Articles
“Mount Auburn Cemetery, Report of Massachusetts Horticultural Society upon the
Establishment o fan Experimental Garden and Rural Cemetery” The North American
Review, University of Northern Iowa, Vol. 33, No. 73 (Oct., 1831), pp. 397‐406 (link
jstor archive http://www.jstor.org/stable/25102920 )
DOWNING, Alexander Jackson, “Additional Notes on the Progress of Gardening in
the United States”, The Gardener’s Magazine and register of rural and domestic
improvement, 1841
FRANKLIN, Benjamin , “The Grand Leap of the Whale”, The Public Advertiser, May
22, 1765
GREELEY, Horace, editorial “Go west, young man”, published in New York Tribune,
July, 13 1865
LOUDON, John Claudius, Introduction, The Gardener’s Magazine and register of
rural and domestic improvement, London, Longman, Brown, Green and Longmans,
1826
LOUDON, John Claudius, “The principles of Landscape‐Gardening and Landscape‐
Architecture applied to the Laying out of Public Cemeteries and the Improvement of
Churchyards”, The Gardener’s Magazine and register of rural and domestic
improvement, London, Longman, Brown, Green and Longmans, 1843
THOREAU, Henry David, “Walking”, The Atlantic, may 1862 (tr. it. Camminare, a cura
di Massimo Jevolella, Milano, Oscar Mondadori, 2009, p 64)

O’SULLIVAN, John Louis, “Annexation”, United States Magazine and Democratic
Review 17,no.1 (July‐August 1845)
WRIGHT, Frank Lloyd, Articles in the Cause of Architecture, in GUTHEIM, Frederick
(ed.), In the Cause of Architecture: Essays by Frank Lloyd Wright for Architectural
Record 1908‐1952; with a symposium on architecture by eight who knew him by
Andrew Devane, Victor Hornbein, Elizabeth Wright Ingraham, Karl Kamrath,
Elizabeth Kassler, Edgar Kaufmann Jr., Henry Klumb, Bruno Zevi, New York,
Architectural Record, 1975 (it. tr. Per la causa dell’ architettura, introduzione di
Paolo Portoghesi, Roma, Gangemi, 1989)
List of quoted magazines (with the name of the editor)
Agricultural Museum, WILEY, David ed. from 1810
American Farmer, SKINNER, John S. ed. from 1819
The Dial, a magazine for literature, philosophy, and religion, FULLER, Margaret,
EMERSON, Ralph Waldo, RIPLEY, George eds. from 1840
Horticultural Register and Gardener’s Magazine, TESCHMACHER, J.E. ed. from 1835
The Horticulturist, DOWNING, Alexander Jackson ed. from 1846
Journal of Agriculture, SKINNER, John S. ed. from 1845
Lowell Directory, FLOYD, Benjamin ed. (of 1834 edition)
New England Farmer, FESSENDEN, Thomas Green from 1810
New York Evening Post, BRYANT, William Cullen ed. from 1827
The Phalanx; or Journal of Social Science, BRISBANE, Albert ed. from 1843,

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1997), Association of Collegiate Schiils of Architecture, pp. 5‐15 ( Link Jstor archive:
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EDGELL, David P., “Charles Lane at Fruitlands”, The New England Quarterly, Vol. 33,
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EDWARS, Jay, D., “The Origins of Creole Architecture”, Winterthur Portfolio, Vol. 29,
N. 2/3 (Summer‐Autumn, 1994), The University of Chicago Press, pp. 155‐189, ( Link
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ESPERDY, Gabrielle, “Defying the grid: A Retroactive Manifesto for the Culture of
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FIELD, Walker, “A Reexamination into the Invention of the Ballon Frame”, The
Journal of the American Society of Architectural Historians, Vol. 2, No. 4 (Oct.,1942),
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FLANAGAN, John T., “Emerson and Communism”, The New England Quarterly, Vol.
10, No. 2 (Jun., 1937), pp. 243‐261 (link jstor archive:
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GOLDFARB, Stephen J., “A Note on Limits to the Growth of the Cotton‐Textile
Industry in the Old South”, published in The Journal of Southern History, Vol. 48,
No. 4 (Nov., 1982), pp. 545‐558 (link jstor archive
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GOODWIN, S. Lucia, “Italians in the Monticello orchard” in STANTON, C. Lucia,
Anniversary dinner at Monticello, April 12, 1982, in memory of Thomas Jefferson,
Charlottesville, Thomas Jefferson Memorial Foundation, 1982 and the link
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URL visited May 28, 2012

HATCH, Peter, http://www.monticello.org/site/house‐and‐gardens/bernardmcmahon
URL visited 28 May 2012; Article originally published as "Bernard
McMahon, Pioneer American Gardener," Twinleaf, January 1993
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Orchards Complex”, published in Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians,
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JENSEN, Robert, “Board and Batten Siding and the Balloon Frame: Their
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KENDALL, Edward C., “John Deere’s steel plow”, Bulletin (united States National
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Institution, 1959, pp.15‐25
KENNEDY Roger, “Jefferson and the Indians”, Winterthur Portfolio, Vol. 27, No. 2/3
(Summer ‐ Autumn, 1992), The University of Chicago Press, pp. 105‐121 (Link jstor
archive http://www.jstor.org/stable/1181368 )
LANCASTER, Clay, “The American Bungalow”, The Art Bullettin, Vol. 40, N. 3 (Sep.
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MAC DONALD, Allan, “Lowell: a commercial Utopia”, The New England Quarterly,
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SEGAL, Howard P., (review by) “Leo Marx's "Middle Landscape": A Critique, a
Revision, and an Appreciation”, in SegalReviews in American History, Vol. 5, No. 1
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SYKES, Meredith and STEWART, John, “Historic Landscape Restoration in the United
States and Canada: An Annotated Source Outline” published in Bulletin of the
Association for Preservation Technology, Vol. 4, No. 3/4 (1972), pp.114‐158 (link
jstor archive: http://www.jstor.org/stable/1493388 )
SPRAGUE, Paul E., “The Origin of Balloon Framing”, Journal of the Society of
Architectural Historians, Vol. 40, No. 4 (Dec., 1981), University of California Press,
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SPURR, Stephen H., “George Washington, Surveyor and Ecological Observer”
published in Ecology, Vol. 32, No. 3 (Jul., 1951), pp. 544‐549 (Link jstor archive:
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TURNER, Suzanne L., “Plantation Papers as a Source for Landscape Documentation
and Interpretation: The Thomas Butler Papers”, published in Bulletin of the
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Archives
‐Massachusetts Historical Society, Coolidge Collection of Thomas Jefferson Papers,
an electronic archive, Boston
‐Library of Congress, Washington D.C.
‐Anaheim Public Library archive
‐David Rumsey Historical Map Collection archive
‐Digital Map Collection of Lowell (The University of Massachusetts Lowell, Center
for Lowell History in conjunction with the Lowell Historical Society, Lowell National
Historical Park and Northern Middlesex Regional Library System)
‐ Harold B. Lee Library, Special Collections, Brigham Young University, Provo

‐Cornell University Library, Collection A. D. White Architectural Photographs,
‐Boston Public Library, Norman B. Leventhal Map Center
‐Denver Public Library, Digital Collection
‐ Burton Historical Collection/Detroit Public Library
‐ Museum of Modern Art Collection, Photography department , New York
Documents and web sites
Operational Guidelines for the Implementation of the World Heritage Convention.
UNESCO, World Heritage Centre, Paris, 2005
Uncle Sam (Constancia) Plantation, St. James Parish, Louisiana:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Uncle_Sam_Plantation , URL visited May 31, 2012
Rosedown Plantation, St. Francisville, Louisiana:
Bibliography and the landscape description and analysis in the National Historic
Landmark nomination form by FRICKER, Donna and TURNER Suzanne: Link
download: http://pdfhost.focus.nps.gov/docs/NHLS/Text/01000765.pdf URL visited
May 31, 2012
Hyde Park, New York estate of David Hosack, work by André Parmentier (Vanderbilt
Mansion Historic Site):
A complete historic resource study developed by National Park Service
documentation about Vanderbilt Mansion Historic Site is at this link (the study is
edited by Peggy Albee, Molly Berger, H. Eliot Foulds, Nina Gray, Pamela Herrick):
http://www.nps.gov/history/history/online_books/vama/vama_hrs.pdf URL visited
June 15, 2012