I ask Claude Antoniazzi, the head gardener at Serre de la Madone in Menton, Provence, why there are so many important gardens along the French Riviera. “
Les Anglais!” he replies.
During the heady years of the belle époque and early part of the 20th century, the Côte d’Azur became a mecca for well-to-do Brits who wintered in villas overlooking the balmy Mediterranean. The gardens they created, which pepper the coastline with oases of emerald green, continue to provide havens of calm amid the bustle and glitz of the modern Riviera.
Among those in search of a winter hideaway was Major Lawrence Johnston, the creator of one of the most quintessential of English gardens, Hidcote in Gloucestershire. Johnston, an American by descent, became a naturalised Briton, living most of his life in England and developing the famous Cotswold garden after acquiring it in 1907. However, in 1924 he fell under the spell of the unspoilt hills to the west of the ancient town of Menton, the last outpost of the French coast before it morphs into northern Italy, purchasing a former farmhouse and about 15 acres of land over a period of 15 years. This is Serre de la Madone.
Although there are some similarities with Hidcote — an impeccable instinct for effective yet unobtrusive design and masterful planting combinations — the form of the garden in Menton is entirely governed by the natural landscape of the surrounding hills. It does not try to be an English corner of a foreign field.
As such, it is hardly surprising that, following a period of comparative neglect during the latter half of the last century, nature had begun to reclaim her own. In the nick of time the garden was taken over in 1999 by the Conservatoire du Littoral (French Coastal Conservancy Agency), which has ambitious plans to restore the site to its former glory at an estimated cost of £10m.
Although a few tantalising faded photographs exist, there are no written plans or original planting lists for the garden. The restoration, which is likely to produce a garden “in the spirit of Johnston” rather than an exact replica of the original, is now well under way, with completion expected towards the end of next spring.
Antoniazzi leads a four-man team and clearly has a passion for the place. This, I suspect, may be hampered by a committee-led decision-making process, which, albeit with the best of intentions, is limited in its horticultural expertise.
The hills around Menton have become built up since Johnston’s time, so the garden can now be found towards the top of a suburban street that stretches inland from the coast. The main part is reached via a winding access road, passing a short curved section of decorative stone wall en route. During the second world war, one side of the wall was in France, the other in Italy.
As you enter the garden through an orangery, you encounter a large, handsome clay olive pot, one of only a couple remaining from Johnston’s time. Beyond the orangery’s glazed doors, a long rectangular pool of still water acts as a mirror, reflecting a row of towering parasol pines. These lead the eye towards a smaller pond, with a statue of Venus, a recent substitute for the original, rising from the centre of the water. Empty plinths surround the larger pool. These originally supported a series of enormous glazed terracotta urns, of which only one survives, tucked away in a shaded corner of the garden. Copies are being made.
To one side of the water garden you turn to face a spectacular view, punctuated by the dark vertical spires of cypress trees silhouetted against a backdrop of rugged hills beyond. Clumps of dense vegetation such as native maritime pines, oak — both white and evergreen — and wild box contrast with the symmetry of this part of the garden. Four London plane trees — one a newly planted replacement, the others mature and hard pruned in the French fashion to form a compact canopy — shade a simple formal parterre of beds of marigold and coleus, edged with box hedging.
These hedges have been allowed to grow tall, which makes it difficult for the other plants to prosper inside — they receive little light and grow too low to be seen clearly. When I commented on this, Antoniazzi shrugged, raised his hands and cocked his head in a gesture that is uniquely French. Using my husband as translator, I learnt that the committee of the Conservatoire apparently insists on growing the box to this height, despite evidence from one of the original photographs that clearly shows it clipped low in this part of the garden.
On the other side of the water, the land rises sharply towards the mustard-painted villa. Johnston wisely did not fight with his surroundings, but allowed them to dictate the shape of the garden. He created a central flight of steps, the walls thickly covered with the evergreen creeping fig, Ficus pumila, with stepped tiers of level planting beds cut into the hill on either side. In common with other parts of the garden, the terraces have each been planted to contain one particular genus or family.
It is with the planting that the garden comes into its own. Johnston, a serious plant hunter, was responsible for introducing many plants into Britain and France via his gardens. The French garden is studded with some of these, which thrive in the surprisingly good soil, the trees and shrubs driving their roots into the sandstone bedrock beneath. Johnston spent many years “playing” with his treasured plants, juxtaposing one against the other.
Antoniazzi, also a keen plantsman, has continued the approach. Little-known members of the iridaceae family and obscure nicotianas jostle for space in the newly planted beds. Reassuringly familiar shade-loving sarcococcas, hellebores and ferns underplant a magnificent Magnolia delavayi and an equally impressive Mahonia lomariifolia. The fallen flowers from a flame tree, Brachychiton acerifolius, stain the ground scarlet for weeks in midsummer.
Afflicted by Alzheimer’s, Johnston died at Serre de la Madone in 1958. The garden seemed unlikely to survive. Today it remains a place of rare atmosphere, although over-restoration could prove as damaging as the years of neglect. But I sense that under the custodianship of the Conservatoire du Littoral, the garden is in safe hands. And with the devoted Antoniazzi (who is due to make his first visit to Hidcote next year) at the helm, it may even surpass Johnston’s own vision of a perfect garden in paradise.
Serre de la Madone (00 33 493 577 390, www.serredelamadone.com) is open for guided tours from Tuesday-Sunday until October 31
