History of the Botanic Garden of Brussels by Meise Botanic Garden

The Botanic Garden of Brussels (1826-1912): Reflection of a Changing Nation

Denis Diagre-Vanderpelen, National Botanic Garden of Belgium, Sc. Coll. U.L.B.

T ABLE

C ONTENTS

Abbreviations

Ackowledgements

Introduction

Part one: The Botanic Garden of the Royal Horticultural Society: Reflection of a Bourgeois Utopia (1826-1870)

I The Botanic Garden of the Royal Horticultural Society of the Netherlands: A most Auspicious Birth

A precursor : The Court Botanical Gardens The best qualifications and the greatest of expectations Hesitations, scuffles and retractions The ideas and the means Plans and building work The collections Daily life in the Botanic Garden A brilliant start The statutes and the motivations

18 19 22 24 26 27 28 30 33

II From initial headaches to despair from idealism to survival (1830-1837)

September 1830: The damages caused by the Revolution The politics Finding its own resources Sales Imports Capital versus labor? Making itself useful in the eyes of the States Restructuring A renewed Board of Directors The revision of the statutes of the Royal Horticultural Society of the Netherlands Dogs cannot be suffered in the Garden: a rule destined to a turbulent life No luck, and no miracles

35 36 38 38 41 43 44 45 45 46 47 47

III The second wind: how the railways saved to Botanic Garden of Brussels (1837-1841)

The railway in Belgium− an economic emergency The Botanic Garden defends itself tooth and nail Towards a saving and revealing agreement A turning point in the life of the Royal Horticultural Society?

51 52 54 58

IV The era of works (1841-1870,)

The era of ‘good’ works (1841-1858) Commercial and cosmetic gestures Imitating Science Luck lends a hand: Henri Galeotti The 1860s: the decade of bad works While faith remains (1858-1864) A growing dependence on the public authorities

59 60 64 68 70 70 72

V 1870: takeover by the State the work of Barthélemy Dumortier

A strong personality Takeover or dissection: a crisis waiting to happen Different views and interests The King, the Chamber, and the Senate An apparently unconnected case: the purchase of the von Martius herbarium

75 76 75 78 79

VI Creating collections and forging respectability: the unfinished work of the Royal Horticultural Society

A collection which was already well-known and respected The Horticultural Society ‘s expansion strategies, or the ways and customs of a certain milieu Contacts and networks From the Galeotti era to 1870: from the apogee to the fall Heroism and exoticism: the Botanic Garden and Belgian explorers Collectors for the Botanic Garden of Brussels The three expeditions of Jean Linden, Nicolas Funck, and Auguste Ghiesbreght What influence did these expeditions have on the life of the Royal Horticultural Society? The nurseries, horticulturalists, florists, and others at the service of the Royal Horticultural Society VII The reputation of the Botanic Garden of Brussels (1826-1870)

82 83 83 87 89 90 90 99 99 101

The opinion of the scientists and experts: straightforward witness accounts and clues The Botanic Garden in the eyes of the layman The opinion of the temporary visitor, the traveler, and the foreigner: a wide angle view The saving splendour, or when the useless becomes useful. Genesis of a gradual dependence

109

Conclusions

114

101 107 107

Part two: The National Botanic Garden: Reflection of Belgium, Child of Africa

121

I. 1870-1876: a time of threats, crises and organization

121

A centre for fine arts on the site of the Botanic Garden? The allocation of the von Martius herbarium: another threat The Dumortier affair Another case: the herbarium poisoning The organisation: laying the foundations The regulations and the Supervisory Board Group Portrait Scientific resources The Dumortier Era: epilogue Interlude : the brief era of Dupont

121 123 124 129 130 130 132 133 137 138

II The Crépin Era, 1876-1901: expansion of the National Botanic Garden

140

The material expansion of the Botanic Garden and its means The scientific expansion, its means and its restrictions The sections and the collections The scientific staff and its achievements The nesting societies: Cui bono? The issue of the physiology laboratory and of the ‹collusion› with the University of Brussels A terrible shortcoming The supporters and the hindrances The men of the Board The Ministers and the Chambers Crépin versus Dupont The Botanic Garden and the Congo: the start of a beautiful friendship (1876-1901) The first contacts with the Congolese administration The botanical exploration of the Congo The Botanic Garden and the flora of the Congo (1876-1901) First collections and division of labour Belgian Science boosted by the C.F.S. The Crépin Era: a summary

140 142 142 150 158 159 163 163 163 165 171 172 173 174 177 177 182 184

III The first Durand era: another political take-over

189

The succession Tighting the Screws: a political idea Ministerial project and scientific project The reform in practice (1902 – 1905) The new men The new men on the Supervisory Board A ‘modern’ scientist of stature ‘Creatures’ and experts in the living collections New budgetary funds

189 191 191 194 194 195 196 196 197

The tangible results of the Catholic policy Important issues, opportunities and responsibilitie New traditions and responsibilities The Universal Exhibition of Liege (1905) The International Botany conferences Conclusions: Durand’s first steps IV The second Durand era: disappointment and pressure (1906-1912)

198 204 204 207 208 210 213

Figures, men and women: good luck and bad luck Scientific material The herbaria and the library: leaving it to chance A jumble of collections and infrastructures Serious problems without solutions Crucial texts The Nord-Midi Railway Junction versus the International Botanical Congress The State Botanic Garden and the Congo The work of the Staff (1902-1912): means and trends 1905-1912, Théophile Durand’s difficult path Epilogue: the transfer

213 218 218 221 230 230 232 237 239 248 253

I From the First World War to 1935: recantations

253

II 1935- 1940, the way clear for the transfer?

256

Woluwe, Walter Robyn’s fight Meise, an alternative The language question and the return of the sublimate Conclusions

256 263 269 273

Index (persons and places)

256

Notes

279

Bibliography and Sources

295

Index (persons and places)

307

Introduction

Is the Botanic Garden of Brussels a disappointment? Well, yes. How could any tourist fail to be disappointed if, dreaming of walking with Flora and Pomona in an oasis of urban greenery, they were to follow their city map instead to these leafless glass structures? And just imagine the poor botanists, just off the plane, burning with a desire to explore great herbaria, whose taxi drops them off at a cultural centre that obstinately calls itself Le Botanique. Both the map and the taxi driver are misleading. Alas, the nymphs and the collections left this beautiful building and its elegant greenhouses a long time ago, along with the science of botany itself. They were asked, several decades ago, to fi nd somewhere else to live, due to the demands of an expanding capital city which had cherished this botanical marvel less than a century before. The ‘Bota’, as it is nicknamed today, is no longer the Botanic Garden of the Royal Horticultural Society, or the National Botanic Garden, which it was for a time after that. No more does it rustle with the obsessive activities of taxonomists and a small army of gardeners. But its shell remains, the ‘corrupted’ leftovers of what was once a reputable centre of research, as well as being considered, by some, to be the Acropolis of Brussels. Art and Culture have now defi nitively supplanted Science. The latter has had to take a run and jump outside of Brussels, with consequences which were unforeseeable at the beginning of the last century, but which will no doubt soon become apparent. Time will tell, as they say. What’s done is done. The story of this site is one that was written by the times it lived through, whose twists and turns were carved by the fears, demands, and tensions of the different eras, and by the virtues and vices of the people of those eras. This is the story we have tried to tell in the pages of this book, which summarises a doctoral thesis undertaken in 2006 at the Free University of Brussels. The aim of the project was to use the magnificent archives preserved at the National Botanic Garden of Belgium in Meise to carefully reconstruct the past of a major scientific institution from the moment of its conception to the dawn of the First World War. We have added a short chapter that details those critical moments when the Botanic Garden was forced to ‘choose’ a new setting, outside the city. One of the most basic requirements in the study of history, and one that is too often sorely overlooked in the history of science, is placing your subject in the wider context of Introduction

its times. For this reason, we have tried to situate the Garden and its activities within its own century. In fact, it was impossible to do otherwise, so tied in with the story were the emotions, fantasies and anxieties of the societies that gave birth to the institution, that made it suffer, grow, decline and fi nally depart. It is the story of the whole of Belgium, and in part of the Belgian Congo, that can be read in the glass of the greenhouses that still stand, near the former ‘Porte de Schaerbeek’. But it’s more than that. Science itself, with its extraordinary growth and discoveries in the 19th century, was naturally one of the forces that affected the Garden’s existence. So in order to do this story justice, and take full account of all these different factors, we have had to maintain a permanent and fertile dialogue between a multitude of historical factors, ranging from the seemingly anecdotal to the ‘wider picture’ view. This was not always easy because, generally until now, botanic gardens seem to have suffered from a sort of historiographical denial, and this has made it very difficult to establish useful comparisons between them. Let us elaborate briefly on this point: although pamphlets, opuscula, and even books on botanic gardens may be plentiful, in-depth studies on these scientific spaces that began to spread around the world during the Renaissance, such as those by Emma Spary, Ray Desmond and Peter Mickulas1, studies undertaken by professional historians, remain relatively rare. Can it be the case that the history of science is not viewed as worthy of coming under the heading of History with a capital ‘H’? Or that, as we have heard it said, the history of scientific institutions does not count as history of science? These may seem like outrageous opinions, but yet they endure. Or are there perhaps other reasons why botanic gardens are seldom studied? And yet there is so much work to be done, and so many reasons to do it. Just look, for example, at the number of botany’s leading lights whose careers were inextricably linked to botanic gardens: the Jussieus, the Hookers, the Candolles, Britton, Engler, Eichler, Engelman … and these are just the fi rst to spring to mind; there are many more. I might add (in the hope of planting a seed, perhaps) that there has never been a full study of the concept of ‘the botanic garden’, tracing it from its origins in the 16th century Italian universities, through the progressive diversification of its roles in the 19th and 20th centuries, to its present rejuvenation in the midst of current ecological anxieties. Could this book perhaps be seen as a gentle nudge to our bright young colleagues, in Belgium and abroad? The material is there, waiting for us. As you may already have noticed, this book was not intended to be an austere and pedantic academic narrative – we wanted it to be readable. This is why we have pruned away most of the critical apparatus and bibliography which are so dear to academia. We wanted to create a book that would appeal to people who are interested in Brussels, to people who love history, but who are not necessarily historians, to botanists, naturalists and horticulturalists, to people interested in the history of science and to those who once dreamed of being explorers – in short, to a wider audience. It’s true that the book’s subject, so heavily laden with dreams, lent itself better to this than others might have done. Let us now enter the 19th century, the century of Darwin and Mendel, the century that held ‘Science’ so dear. We will see how these few decades, with their fascination for creation, their unbridled passion for nature, technology and free enterprise, drawing on the lessons of the Enlightenment, would give birth (with forceps) to a genuine State scientific institution of international repute. How the latest ideas would alternately cherish and misuse a public limited company, and then a National Botanic Garden. How both good and bad luck would shape it. We will examine the strategies that the Garden perfected in order

to survive the malice and the misunderstandings, to carve out a niche for itself among the fantasies of its researchers, despite the trivial demands of the times. We will see Belgium, a young and sometimes insecure nation, watching its own reflection in the glass of the great greenhouses. Finally, we will look too at the African botanical reservoir and at the dogged work of a few men of Brussels who were determined to build, however shaky the foundations, an institution that today is internationally reknowned. To do all of this, we must fi rst go back to the bourgeois Brussels of the fi rst decades of the 19th century, or perhaps even earlier â&#x20AC;Ś

Introduction

P ART 1

The Botanic Garden of the Royal Horticultural Society: Reflection of a Bourgeois Utopia (1826-1870)

I. The Botanic Garden of the Royal Horticultural Society of the Netherlands: A Most Auspicious Birth To appreciate the special place occupied by horticulture and botany in the popular consciousness of the southern Netherlands in the years that followed the fall of Emperor Napoléon the First (1815), and to see the active support these pursuits received from the Dutch Crown, all one need do is consult the press of the time. The papers were full of results of horticultural competitions all over the country, and impassioned praise for the skill of the Brussels region’s inhabitants in the art of cultivating plants. King William I of the Netherlands, which at the time included the region that would later become Belgium, understood well that the scientific and economic interests of his country were inextricably linked. He made it his business to raise the level of the natural sciences in his country to those in Britain and France. An example of his conviction was his approval of the creation of the Botanic Garden of Buitenzorg in Java in 1817. The mission of this colonial garden was to collect samples of all the indigenous plants that were potentially of use to the homeland, a policy already applied successfully throughout the British Empire.

Left page: A bourgeois dream. Collections of the National Botanic Garden of Belgium

The 19th century could well be called the ‘Century of the Natural Sciences’, but while its people may have marvelled at the wonders of nature, they were still very much at the mercy of its murderous whims, and famine was not the least of these. Thus they were fuelled by the desire to subjugate the elements, to bend them to their own will, never losing sight of the purely material benefits that science could provide. Nevertheless, this utilitarianism did not dampen their enthusiasm. A defi nite passion for the exotic and for nature had taken hold of the social elites. We will return to this particular state of mind later. 1. Reflection of a Bourgeois Utopia (1826-1870)

The XXth century bourgeoisie is obsessive about natural wonders and natural sciences. Amongst the most important representatives of this class are the Vandermaelen brothers whose Etablissement géographique de Bruxelles (which included outstanding plant collections) was located in MolenbeekSaint-Jean. Collections of the National Botanic Garden of Belgium

In the midst of a country where local botanical societies and gardens were flourishing, Brussels, the Nation’s southern capital, was being left behind. Here only a few horticultural exhibitions were staged by the Flora Society2, in the rotunda known as the ‘Ancienne Cour’, but Brussels lacked a botanic garden with a scientific vocation to match the scientific endeavour of the time. An article written in 1825 highlighted the urgent need for a ‘public garden’ and ‘practical school of cultivation’3 in the southern capital suited to the size of the city. When at last rumours were heard that such a garden was being planned, they were met with great enthusiasm. There were high expectations of what such an institution might achieve: useful plant species from abroad would be acclimatised, limiting the need for imports, and the garden would provide education and many other riches for the country. A precursor: the Court botanical gardens The idea of a botanic garden in Brussels already had its precursors. There had, for example, been a modern plan for such a garden put together in 1788. Emperor Joseph II had decided to move the University of Leuven to Brussels, and an educational botanic garden was to be part of the project. It was to be created within the grounds of a former convent in what is now the commune of Saint-Gilles. The plans, drawn up by the architect Rémi Nivoy, still exist. However, the Brabant Revolution (1789-1790) put an end to the project. After the Revolution, a sort of scientific garden was established instead in what was now the capital of a French department of the Dyle, before the Dutch regime. In 1818, a letter from the Minister of the Waterstaat Repelaer van Driel (17591832) to the Mayor of Brussels states clearly that ‘… the plant garden is too cramped an area to be made into a Botanic Garden (…) it should be considered instead as a garden whose aim is to encourage interest in beautiful plants that grow in greenhouses or in the open air’4. The following year a French scientist, a friend of Auguste Drapiez (of whom we will discuss much more later), also mentions the small size of the garden, now known as the ‘jardin de la cour’5. It was initially inherited from the Dyle department of France’s Central School. This was a free public school for anyone who could afford to delay their children earning a wage. This ambitious but ephemeral creation of the French National Convention was eventually passed over to the communal authorities when the school closed down in 1802. Both Ghent and Antwerp experienced similar stories. 18

Perhaps the only picture of the Botanic Garden « de l’Ancienne Cour », also known as « de l’Ecole centrale ». Some exotic plants in the background can easily be seen. Copyright Bibliothèque royale de Belgique, Estampes, Albums P. Vitzthumb, Vue des deux marronniers au Jardin botanique, vol. 2, n°2, S II 23.618.

The idea of a botanic garden in Brussels was therefore already quietly making headway, even before 1820. In September 1824 it reached the ears of the Brussels Regency6, and it was said that the capital was seriously lacking in resources to help ‘educate good students in what has become the necessary art of cultivating plants for food and medicine, as well as ornament’7. There was a general consensus, therefore, that the ‘jardin de la cour’, condemned by the city’s expansion, was no longer sufficient in terms of satisfying the hopes and needs of the times. A ‘complete garden’ was quite simply needed; one that, among other things, incorporated a forestry school, a school of cultivation, greenhouses, orangeries and an exhibition hall. However, plans for a new garden located next to the Brussels Park were quickly quashed by the communal authorities, as were so many other projects. This was despite the fact that they were convinced it would be a real investment for the city, something that would provide Brussels with ‘… one of its most beautiful ornaments (…), leisure and education’8. But nothing ever materialised. The stage, however, was set. Due to the pressure of necessity and the spirit of the times, the required ingredients were gradually coming together. Ideas about education and public goods which had been inherited from the Enlightenment and the French Revolution met with the passion for Nature and its products, whether useful or not, on the part of the bourgeoisie, a class represented at the time by a handful of notables in Brussels. On the 25th of October 1825, thanks to a brand new concept, the last missing piece was fi nally added. The best qualifications and the greatest of expectations On that autumn day in 1825, a letter was sent to the Brussels City authorities. It begins with these words: ‘… it is our great honour to submit for your appraisal a project to establish in Brussels a school of botany and horticulture worthy of this city’9. Who were the people that wrote this letter, from now on so central to our story? Pierre-Auguste Drapiez was the main driving force behind the project. Born in Lille in 1778, he was the son of a prominent Jacobin who had been considerably enriched by the French Revolution and had at one point been Mayor of his city. Pierre-Auguste showed a great aptitude for science and studied at the prestigious École Polytechnique, where he was hired as a Chemistry tutor. He fought in Napoleon’s Italian and Egyptian 1. Reflection of a Bourgeois Utopia (1826-1870)

campaigns before devoting himself completely to science on his return to civilian life. He then ran the School of Chemistry in his home town and set up a sugar beet factory, an extremely important activity in those times of continental blockades. It was his loyalty to Napoleon I that caused him to seek refuge in the Netherlands after the Bourbon Restoration. In a dissertation that Drapiez submitted to the Brussels Academy in 1816, he was already singing the praises of botany as a science which he felt was capable of resolving many of mankind’s problems. Soon after this he was teaching chemistry and natural history at the Brussels Museum, where he would later join the Board. It was in this new role that he began to contemplate the sad state of the old ‘jardin de la cour’ and came up with the idea of setting up a new botanic garden. He rapidly gained the support of rich men who shared his passion for the natural sciences. Drapiez had established advantageous connections to many of the Brussels elite very early on. Mostly he had met them at the Société de Flore (Flora Society), but he also enjoyed the personal protection of King William I. This royal favour would certainly play a role in the King’s intervention in support of the public limited company that was about to establish the Botanic Garden. Drapiez’ scientific output prior to 1830 was prolific, and touches on a variety of different fields, including ornithology, chemistry, physics and agronomy. He remained faithful throughout to a belief in the popularisation of knowledge. He was also in touch with some of the most renowned scientists of the time, amongst whom were Bory de Saint-Vincent, Cuvier, Brongniart, Candolle, Saint-Hilaire, Jussieu and Humboldt, to name but a few. During the 1830s, he became a permanent examiner at the Royal Military Academy of Brussels. An excellent scientific reputation was a pre-requisite of this post, which he occupied until his retirement in 1851. When he died in 1857 he was still, and had been from the very beginning, Secretary of the Board of Directors of the Royal Horticultural Society, the society out of which the Botanic Garden of Brussels was born. In 1825, when he co-wrote the letter to the Brussels Regency, Drapiez had quite a solid scientific reputation in the Kingdom of the Netherlands, was well connected in Brussels society, and was an avowed Orangist – a supporter of King William. He wasn’t alone, however, in taking these steps towards the Brussels authorities. Who were his companions? Corneille Van Gheel was the vicar of the parish of Notre-Dame du Finistère in Brussels and collaborated on many of Drapiez’s publications. He fled the country after the 1830 Revolution with a bad reputation as an Orangist and with serious debts. He officially resigned from the Board of Directors of the Royal Horticultural Society in 1831. Jean-Baptiste Meeus-Wouters, was a man of private means and at that time also an influential Brussels banker. He was also the uncle of Ferdinand Meeus, the future Governor of the famous Société Générale pour favoriser l’Industrie Nationale (General Company to Support the Development of National Industry). Meanwhile his wife was gaining a reputation at the many horticultural competitions being held in the capital. Also forming part of the group were Joseph van Volden de Lombeke and the Baron Louis de Wellens. The former was extremely wealthy and had been a Town Councillor since 1824. In 1829 he became a member of the States-Provincial (Parliament), and the year after that he would be an Orangist candidate for the National Congress. He was also a member of the Brussels Museum Board administrative committee, President of the Brussels Agricultural Commission, and Treasurer of the Flora Society. Louis de Wellens was Mayor of Brussels from 1819 to 1830. A large landowner, he was also one of the fi rst officials of the Société Générale. He joined the group relatively late in the day, at the time that the official letters to King William I were being signed. 20

The social elite of the XIXth century dreamt of large greenhouses, beautiful gardens and exotic plants. A market for these things was born. Collections of the National Botanic Garden of Belgium

This small team of bourgeois citizens, intellectuals, politicians and businessmen was cemented together by their common enthusiasm for the project. They were all fuelled by a passion for the natural sciences and by a sense of duty towards the special times in which they lived. All in all, it was a winning combination, especially given the fact that society was ripe to give their project a favourable reception.

1. Reflection of a Bourgeois Utopia (1826-1870)

Hesitations, scuffles and retractions In December 1825, the proposal was read out at the Brussels Regency for a public limited company to create its own Botanic Garden in Brussels, with a number of specific requests: the plant collections from the old garden, its fi nancial allocation (increased), and fi nally, the involvement of the City of Brussels in the venture as a shareholder. The City authorities examined the proposal with prosaic prudence and concluded that, by accepting, they would be endowing the city with a ‘monument worthy of itself’, and at a relatively low cost. Believing strongly in the liberal utopia, they even went so far as to add these very clear words on the subject: ‘… what’s more, it is to the spirit of association and participation that the most flourishing nations owe the great businesses and marvels that astound us, let us imitate (…) their example by encouraging this spirit’10. Their favour, however, didn’t come cheap, and the cost even threatened to sabotage the whole venture. While the City agreed to the aforementioned requests, the amendments it made to the text say that the Royal Horticultural Society (for this would be the company’s name) would have to submit all plans for future building work to the municipal authorities for approval, and that the Mayor would chair the Board of Directors. 22

Greenhouses are mushrooming all over the « bourgeois » State. Collections of the National Botanic Garden of Belgium

In 1833, a passion for exotic plants and a need to avoid famines through improved crop growing methods gave birth to the first Belgian horticultural magazine. Collections of the National Botanic Garden of Belgium

Naturally, the members of the group could not agree to so much power being handed over. Disappointed by the City’s demands, they again took up their pens in February 1826. To them, the problem was obvious: who would buy shares in a public limited company, which by its very nature ought to be free, if its freedom was thus compromised? To make matters worse, they claimed that the City’s ‘desire for supremacy’ seemed to reach into the higher levels of State administration, which until then had seemed supportive of the would-be creators of the new garden. Their conclusion came as a blow: ‘… it is with the most sincere regret that we renounce the execution of a project that was 1. Reflection of a Bourgeois Utopia (1826-1870)

conceived under the most auspicious of circumstances; we had been determined to bring to it all of the enthusiasm and philanthropy that could be expected of pure patriotism, but our efforts, (and) those of our fellow citizens, are paralysed by the restrictions of the Regency’11. So, in the winter of 1826, Brussels watched as its chances faded away of gaining one of the attributes of a truly modern city at relatively low cost. The City reacted immediately: panic-stricken and shame-facedly, they proposed that the litigious sentences be cut and reaffi rmed their desire to assure ‘the splendour’ of the city and their support for a project that was ‘great, beautiful, and useful’. The company members responded by saying that they would never do anything that would go against the city’s interests or its improvement, which was after all ‘the main aim of the society’12. Sugary politeness henceforth replaced intimidation and posturing. Two important requests made by the City remained, however: ‘the Garden will be open to the public on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays, from ten o’clock until three o’clock’ and ‘… the City having had to concede to the company all of the plants, small trees, and shrubs that it currently possesses, the latter should ensure that any botany lessons which are currently being given or will be given from now on at the cost of the municipal administration will now take place in the premises of the new establishment’13. With these important words, Brussels was fi nally assured of the space for leisure and education so indispensable in any modern urban centre. After this, events proceeded smoothly. On the 28th of May 1826, a decree from William I approved the draft statutes of the new public limited company, one of the fi rst in the country, which would be known as the Royal Horticultural Society of the Netherlands (hereafter referred to as ‘the Society’). On the 1st of July, the King allocated to the Society an annual subsidy of 6,000 florins as conclusive proof of his favour and his interest in the venture. Following this, the Board of Directors was able legally to take shape. Without any more ado, it began making plans to start the building work for the Botanic Garden and to publish a leaflet aimed at attracting potential shareholders. The Society knew very well which doors to knock on. To prove it, it unsurprisingly chose as its banker the Société Générale, which had been founded by the King himself, and naturally the fi rst available means of support for large commercial enterprises. The ideas and the means A leaflet was duly published that laid out the Society’s objectives and unveiled the strategy devised by its creators to attract private and public funds14. The leaflet painted an idealised portrait of an institute devoted to experimentation, among other things. According to its creators, the new Garden would free the country from the need to import foreign plant products, and would restore it to the status of plant exporter, a status which it was said to have lost. It would re-establish the trade balance for the Netherlands, or better yet, tip it in their favour. Here we have one of the main official justifications for the creation of the Royal Horticultural Society. The Society’s other goals would be to establish schools of botany, horticulture and forestry15, within a setting where the ‘delights of the promenade’ could also be enjoyed. And in addition to acclimatising exotic species for economic gain, it would also work to improve the native fruit trees and create a nursery ‘… suited to satisfy every wish’. Also included in the long list of objectives was the revival of viticulture, the potentially lucrative introduction of the silkworm and the artificial production of every type of soil so that their suitability for different cultures could be tested. 24

It seems that they were still a long way from realising one last function of the Botanical Garden, which appeared to be of marginal importance at the time, but which would later become of far greater consequence than originally foreseen. This aspect of the Garden was summarised in these words: ‘the establishment will be constructed in such a way as to ensure that it becomes one of the city’s most remarkable ornaments’. In the years to come, the Garden would often capitalise on its classic beauty. As for funding, the leaflet stipulated that the sale of shares would be dictated by the needs of the Society, and that grants from the Brussels City authorities and the Waterstaat would total 12,000 florins a year. To this comfortable sum could be added ‘… income from sales of ornamental and other useful plants, grown for the most part by the Society’. The Society members weren’t really concerned about money. After all, weren’t Government officials, notables, and even the Royal Family itself behind the project? Moreover, the Mayor of Brussels was on their side, and, full of optimism, they had no doubt at all that they would be able to give the shareholders a minimum annual interest rate of 4.5%.

In 1826 the Royal Horticultural Society of the Netherlands sought shareholders for its one big project, its botanic garden. That is what this paper was meant to do, enlist the Brussels elite. © National Botanic Garden of Belgium

1. Reflection of a Bourgeois Utopia (1826-1870)

It wasn’t long before J.B. Meeus-Wouters had spent over 20,500 florins on a piece of land that stretched from the Rue Royale to what would later become Place Rogier, a site located alongside the external border of the famous Brussels pentagon. He bought it in his own name, an astute move that meant avoiding a much higher price, had the Society been more obvious in its intentions. Two smaller plots of land were added, bringing the area of the future Botanic Garden to an impressive 6 hectares and 37 ares. The area looked over the Senne Valley and was well supplied with water. Everything was now in place to create a garden in Brussels that would rival the famous Jardin des Plantes at the Museum of Natural History in Paris. The Jardin des Plantes was the archetype and would certainly have been a reference point for the Frenchman Pierre-Auguste Drapiez. Plans and building work The plans for the garden were drawn up by Petersen, a renowned German architect who dominated the discipline in the region at the time and the ideal man for the job. His plans were later reworked by Meeus. As for the design of the buildings, this was to be an issue that would cause two great Belgian architects to cross swords a century later.

The project of the well known architect Tilman-François Suys was regarded as too expensive by the board of the Royal Horticultural Society. It seems that François Gineste used it as a model for his own plan, which was finally approved. Archives de la Ville de Bruxelles, Plan portefeuille n° 2669.

In March 1826, the Society’s Board of Directors decided to launch a competition for the design of the garden buildings. The celebrated Tilman-François Suys (17831861), who was the King’s architect, presented his ideas, which included a plan of the garden, but the exorbitant cost convinced the authorities to opt instead for a less grandiose plan. Director Jean-Baptiste Meeus sketched out a framework from which Suys was to draw up new plans. Unfortunately, the budget was set so low that Suys refused to stick to it. It was then that François Gineste (1769-1850), a decorator by profession, intervened, proposing a more economical solution. The result was the following: refusing any form of ostentatious luxury, ‘the council opted for the P.F. Gineste’s designs, which do no more than recreate, and simplify, those of T.F.Suys’16. Despite this blow, the famous architect would nonetheless one day contribute fourfold to the overall beauty of the Botanic Garden. He was to design the portico at the entrance off Rue Royale, the new bazaar (1842-1844), the extension of the western orangery (1847) and the function room (1852-1854). We will therefore come back to him later. On the other hand, Meeus, who was involved in almost every aspect of the garden’s construction, seems relatively absent from historiographical accounts. Building began in the summer of 1826, when vast numbers of bricks were brought in, and more specifically, the following were constructed: ‘… all the foundations for the main building, the basements and vaults, greenhouses and orangeries, the dome, the cool house, the smaller greenhouses, the walls of the terraces and parapets, the ponds and cisterns, the drainage systems, the garden pits in the greenhouse, the floors of the greenhouses, orangeries, and terraces, the buildings on the Rue Verte that back onto the main building, the stables and the side wall, the steam engine next to the building, the pavilion and the furnace in the garden etc17’. The greenhouses were already being completed by the end of 1826 and the roofs must have been added in 1827. In March 1828, the Society was on the lookout for copper sheets with which to complete the dome. In June of the same year, a steam engine was delivered, to be joined in 1829 by the boiler, both crucial to the cultivation of rare and fragile exotic plants. The collections According to the agreement between the Society and the Brussels City authorities, the plants from the old ‘jardin de la cour’ were to be transferred to the new Botanic Garden. This transfer would have to be arranged as soon as possible, so that it could take place before the end of 1827, and before the weather grew cooler. After a few days of work, experts estimated the value of the collection at 12,500 florins. The plants were then moved, without delay, to their new homes. The old garden was then destroyed, and anything salvaged from it sold. The days of the small court garden were over, but it had provided the very fi rst collections for the magnificent greenhouses of the Royal Horticultural Society of the Netherlands. Since the new Botanic Garden aimed to develop the activities of its predecessor, it would soon have to fi nd other ways to enrich its collections. The Society members therefore immediately set about creating an indispensible network of colleagues, which was, after all, the way to succeed in the natural sciences at the time. If we bear this in mind, the reasons for creating the title of ‘corresponding member of the Royal Horticultural Society of the Netherlands’ are obvious. The wise distribution of this honour would give the Society a vast network of patronage, as it had done for so many other similar societies. In 1827, Drapiez put forward a set of rules relating to the awarding of this title. 1. Reflection of a Bourgeois Utopia (1826-1870)

A few documents still exist that bear witness to the reception enjoyed by the new Botanic Garden, and to the energy that its Directors put into its opening. In February 1828, for example, a delivery of seeds arrived from the Consulate of the Netherlands in New York; in June 1829, Dargelas (1762-1842), Professor of botany at Bordeaux and founder of the Bordeaux Linnaean Society, who had recently been made a corresponding member of the Society, wrote to the Mayor of Brussels to announce a donation of ‘130 species of seeds’ coming from the Calcutta botanic garden, as his willing compliance with the work of the Society. Infi nitely more prestigious again is a letter from Brisseau de Mirbel (1756-1854), dated October 1828, which says much about the customs of the times. After being asked to manage the Jardin du Roi in Paris, he wrote to the Society: ‘… with the aim of spreading, throughout all of the principle botanical establishments of the world, all the species of which we possess doubles or from which we collect seeds, I have the honour of proposing to you that we set up an exchange. It would be equally profitable to both of us.’ To influence the decision, the Professor added: ‘… and if, as happens frequently, our correspondents bring us precious collections from far off countries, I will hasten to share them with you’18. At the same time, he suggested using the diplomatic corps as a way to avoid postal charges and including expatriate members of the social elite in the great naturalist adventure. In just a few words, this letter completely sums up the etiquette of the 19th century scientific world. The most famous botanic gardens in the world at the time expressed their support for the new Botanic Garden of Brussels during the fi rst stages of its development. In 1829, for example, the famous St Petersburg Botanical Garden, where F.Fischer (1782-1854) had been given the title of corresponding member, sent seeds ‘… from a country which is virgin territory for natural history, that is to say the district of Azerbaijan in northern Persia which is situated between Lake Orumieh and the mountains which separate Kurdistan and Syria from Persia’, among them the seed of the ‘white apricot’19. Thanks to this effective system, Brussels started to become the centre of gravity for horticulture and botany in the Netherlands. And when William I made the decision, in 1829, to establish the Royal Herbarium in Brussels, it seems to have been with this in mind. To run this herbarium, he chose Carl L. Blume (1796-1862), a leading scientific expert and former Director of the Buitenzorg Botanic Garden. The King’s decision may not have been unconnected to the founding of the Botanic Garden. The Royal Museum of Natural History had been set up in Leiden, and for political reasons, the southern capital could not be left behind. Whatever the case, it was decided that they would wait until after the Exposition des Produits de l’Industrie Nationale (Exhibition of the Products of National Industry) in 1830 to install the herbarium in Brussels. This herbarium, made up of the prestigious Japanese collections belonging to Philipp von Siebold (1796-1866), and Blume’s Java collections, among others, therefore took up residence in early September. However, the unstable political climate led Blume and von Siebold’s Assistant to believe it would be safer to transfer the precious collections to Leiden, and this is what happened on the 9th of December 1830. In its birth spasms, Belgium had just missed an opportunity to gain an exceptionally rich scientific collection. But that wasn’t the worst of it … Daily life in the Botanic Garden Daily life in the Botanic Garden at that time was above all structured around the work of the gardeners and labourers. In 1828, the first horticultural and botanical activities began to take place, as did the first plant sales. From then on, the workload of the gardeners and nurseryworkers continued to grow. Soon they added money earned from exploiting the cool house to the revenue generated by cultivating seasonal produce and the sales of plant cuttings. 28

One person stands out as occupying an important place at this time: François Brésiers (1777-1844), the Head Gardener, and former employee of the ‘jardin de la cour’. Drapiez said of Brésiers that he was ‘one of the gardeners with best and most deserved reputations in the country’20. The Society was quick to hire him from the very beginning. They brutally interrupted his career in March 1836, to replace him with Louis Van Houtte. Few people know that Brésiers was responsible for the accidental creation of the famous Belgian culinary speciality: witloof, or chicons21. In 1829, the premises were furnished, and a medal was specially created for the Royal Horticultural Society of the Netherlands to reward the winners of the flower shows (the fi rst was held on the 1st of September 1829). The medal, created by the famous J.-P. Braemt (1795-1864), a shareholder in the Society, carries the inscriptions ‘Guillelmus 1 Belgarum rex’ and ‘Societas regia horticulturae belgii Bruxellis’. The Society also commissioned a bust of Linnaeus, the revered Swedish botanist whose system of classification was applied in the educational area known as the School of Botany at the Garden. While the commercial and scientific collections were taking shape, the School of Botany, an area of the Garden designed to teach botany, was not fi nished, or close to fi nished, until 1829. The aim of the School, a fundamental scientific tool of a modern botanic garden, was to reveal the entire plant kingdom to students and enlightened amateurs, according to a chosen classification system22. In Brussels the School, as a key part of the institution, was designed around a circular plan similar to that of the famous Padua Botanical Garden. This shape harmonised perfectly with the rotunda, and the ensemble would later often be praised for its elegance. One could conclude that everything was going perfectly, but there was something missing: a journal bearing the name of the Brussels Botanic Garden. The lack of such a journal was not due to forgetfulness – in fact, at the end of 1826, the Board had authorised Van Gheel to launch the Annales de la Société Royale d’Horticulture des Pays-Bas (Annals of the Royal Horticultural Society of the Netherlands), an indispensable addition to its efforts towards expansion and its quest for scientific respectability. These Annals would have had three objectives: to inform the public about the plants recently brought back by plant hunters; to correct harmful cultivation routines; and to spread whatever was new in the world of horticulture. Shortly thereafter they announced in the press the imminent publication of this monthly review. But nothing came of it … at least not until 1857 at the earliest. In a world in which exchange remained essential for the prosperity of scientific institutions, the absence of its own medium was damaging for the Society, and would regularly be criticised in the future. These early years of the Botanic Garden were also marred by another issue. In 1829, the Society decided to get involved in charity, ostensibly at least. In fact, self-interest was a factor. At the start of the 19th century, philanthropy was seen as the duty of any honest man of means. In the case of the Garden, the motivations were also gratitude towards the City authorities, and a certain degree of self-interest. ‘There would be established at the centre of the Royal Horticultural Society’, it was thus decided, ‘a vocational school for eight student gardeners selected from the orphanages of Brussels, and four sons of gardeners or any other individual, chosen within the Kingdom23’. An agreement was quickly signed with the administration of the orphanages of Brussels, according to which the Society took it upon itself to provide its apprentices with food, shelter, and training in botany, drawing, and horticultural work. The Society would provide them some money, or pay for their books. But problems were not long in coming. By October 1829, the Society was struggling to feed the orphans. Later, the orphans themselves began to demonstrate ‘full expression of old habits which cannot be tolerated in the establishment24’. Some would even disappear for whole days at a time. A stricter approach 1. Reflection of a Bourgeois Utopia (1826-1870)

led only to even more rebellious behaviour, so much so that there was talk of expelling them. Eventually, however, they simply disappeared. The experiment was tried again, and after being disappointed for a second time, the Board dismissed the new team of orphans in the summer of 1830. Burned by an experience which had been costly in terms of both money and energy, the Board then put an end to the project that had been designed to seduce the City authorities and provide the Garden with a cheap and subservient workforce. Later, student gardeners would be recruited again. This time, however, they would not be working within a philanthropic framework that was doubtless more favourable to excesses of authority. A brilliant start The launch party of the Botanic Garden of Brussels was announced in the press at the end of August 1829. It was decided that the inauguration would coincide with the fi rst horticultural competition organised by the Society. As was usually the case with this type of event, which were common at the time, prizes were awarded for the plants that were most recently brought into the country, the best acclimatised plants, the most remarkable desert fruits and the fruits whose ripening time was most extended. These categories say a lot about the tastes, needs and dietary concerns of the times. All of this was undertaken in a spirit of competitiveness and youthful excitement.

FĂŠlicien Rops (1833-1898), a most talented Belgian artist and amateur botanist, once depicted this horticultural show held in Namur, in 1859. Such events happened by the dozens, annually, in the country. Collections of the National Botanic Garden of Belgium

The celebrations included a ‘Countryside Festival’ and were enhanced by floodlights on the front of the building, concluding with a ball and fi reworks. The launch was a genuine success, with some 900 tickets sold and support from a royal grant. But this was nothing compared to the celebrations that took place in the summer of 1830, which benefitted from the great Exposition des Produits de l’Industrie Nationale. The daily papers wrote that there were ‘huge crowds26’ on the boulevards, and that celebrations were visible from several places in the surrounding area. The ball alone attracted 1,300 people – a carefully selected elite, since the tickets were only delivered at the request of Horticultural Society shareholders. A long article in Le Journal Belgique gives us an idea of the size of the event and the appearance of the Botanic Garden at the end of the summer of 1830: ‘From eight o’ clock in the evening, a brilliant and artistically arranged illumination outlined the beautiful greenhouse structure in fiery lines (…) The entire dome was divided into sides of coloured glass (…) Illuminated pediments containing the King’s initials and those of the Society topped the two wings of the building. (…) The columns were glowingly silhouetted. The balustrades of the two terraces were set off to the most beautiful effect. The entire roundabout and all of the main paths that cross it were carpeted with rows of garlands as far as the lower plateau. The main path that runs from the greenhouses to the obelisk was also lit up; people could admire the water jet from the boulevard, without being able to discern what might be causing this tall blue illuminated spiral column to turn. A dance hall, complete with wooden floors and perfectly and clearly lit, had been set up within a clearing in the forestry school’27. Everything was getting off to such a good start. ‘You will have what is missing in other gardens; a vast, wealthy area, with every kind of amenity. The plans are well designed, the goal is admirable, useful and well-defi ned … ’28 wrote Charles Van Hulthem (1764-1832) in 1826. Van Hulthem was a famous plant lover and politician of Ghent, and he was writing to the creators of the Botanic Garden. In a country where the people were said to be ‘born cultivators’, it was naturally inconceivable that the capital city (even if it was only the southern capital) should not have a Botanic Garden of some kind. The Brussels Botanic Garden owed its life to the ideas of an expatriate Frenchman who was imbued with the Parisian model of the central, national institution, and who was devoted to the greater public good through scientific and industrial progress. However, he was to create the Garden after the fashion of the Netherlands, as a modern entrepreneur using a new and risky method, even though it enjoyed the highlevel protection of the King of the Netherlands thanks to his policy of setting his country up to rival its neighbours in scientific and economic matters. In addition to this reassuring royal patronage there was the support of the Brussels Regency, which was eager to assure the status of the city, and of its scientific and social elite. That said, although they may not have been completely conscious of it, there was always a considerable and permanent distance between the commercial company and the State. There was also a big difference between the spirit of the early years of the French Revolution, which gave birth to the Museum of Natural History in Paris, and the 1820s in Brussels, where a far more elitist climate prevailed. In any case, just before the 1830 Revolution, the mood among the Directors was predominantly optimistic as they continued at an assured pace towards their goals. Their only worry was the need to fi nd the cash to pay outstanding bills, which was already becoming a frequent problem. The idea of creating a herbarium and a library with the money from entry fees was put forward. They were a long way from imagining the events that were just around the corner. Carefree, they cultivated their Orangism. They also began to cultivate a network of prestigious correspondents, including Candolle, Brown, 1. Reflection of a Bourgeois Utopia (1826-1870)

Haworth, Fischer, Aiton, Estreicher, Jacquin and Reichenbach, to cite only the most eminent. Many of these were the Directors of some of the most renowned botanical gardens in the world. These promising connections were made with subtlety, according to the rules of social niceties. Darker days, however, were not far away, and the Royal Horticultural Society of the Netherlands would soon have to fight to survive. Before long a very different type of tumult would replace the noise of parties and fi reworks. The following verses, which the founders of the Botanic Garden would certainly have made their own, were already being widely declaimed: « Toutes les fleurs ont leur parure, Mais il en est d’un plus haut prix ; L’une exhale une odeur plus pure, L’autre porte de meilleurs fruits. Moi, qui ne craindrais de perdre au change, Je suis fidèle à nos couleurs, Et je place la fleur d’Orange Au-dessus de toutes les Fleurs »29. (‹Every flower has its finery, But there is one whose value is greater; One has a purer fragrance, The other bears better fruits. I, who do not fear losing out in the exchange, I am loyal to our colours, And I put the Orange flower Above all the flowers’.) 32

In September1829, the Botanic Garden was finally inaugurated with great pomp. Painter Henri Van Assche (1774-1841), apparently, was there. ©National Botanic Garden of Belgium

The Botanic Garden has found a place of its own right next to the city doors. On this view, one notices the small “Egyptian” (or masonic?) tower dedicated to the steam engine. It was meant to bring water from the pond to the upper part of the garden. When the tower was finally dismantled remains a mystery. Drawing by P. Vitzthumb. Copyright Bibliothèque royale de Belgique, Estampes, Albums P. Vitzthumb, Le Jardin botanique de Bruxelles, la machine à vapeur et les serres, vol. 1, n°14, S II 23.617.

The statutes and motivations The statutes of the Royal Horticultural Society were approved by William I on the 28th of May 1826. The second article read as follows: ‘the Society has the goal of establishing in Brussels a vast garden where all the species of plants, ornamental as well as useful, will be mass cultivated using all the means of improvement that the current state of science will allow, and perfecting trials will be attempted, the results of which could be spread throughout the Kingdom’30. Elsewhere, the text laid out plans for a fund of 200,000 florins, to be divided into shares worth 500 florins each. It also foresaw an optimistic annual distribution of dividends, independent of annual interest. Other arrangements state that the Board of Directors would include five members who live in the city, and who would each hold at least five shares. Nominations would be made for life. At that time, the Board was made up of the Baron de Wellens (President), Drapiez (Secretary), Van Gheel (Assistant Secretary), the Baron van Volden de Lombeek (Treasurer) and Meeus-Wouters (Director of Operations). The Mayor of Brussels would chair the Society’s annual general meetings, whose length would be undefi ned and the dissolution of which would require the agreement of at least three-quarters of the shareholders, representing at least three-quarters of the shares. The King himself increased his demonstrations of support for the company, buying ten shares, giving up the interest, and donating 1,000 florins out of his own private purse. He even formulated further and more ambitious plans for the institution, including one for a menagerie within it. This would have increased the similarities between the Brussels Garden and the prestigious Museum of Natural History,

1. Reflection of a Bourgeois Utopia (1826-1870)

which included the Jardin des Plantes (Botanic Garden) and a menagerie, among other structures. The project would later be abandoned, however, most likely for fi nancial reasons. The new company did not delay in launching a campaign to attract potential shareholders. Already some important people were displaying an interest in the project – high-level Government officials and various other notables who were passionate about the study of nature, agriculture, and the exotic. Like the Garden’s creators, these were probably not just ordinary speculators. The love of science and the philanthropy that fuelled the Society’s founders would often be invoked in the years to come, particularly in times of crisis. The original shareholders held a similar stance. They included politicians, intellectuals and businessmen – many from among the directors of the Société Générale, the very backbone of the economic system put in place by William I. These shareholders never involved themselves in the running of the Society, buying only one or two shares to show the strength of their convictions. It was mainly an act of solidarity with the creators of a project which would be a shining credit to the homeland, to Brussels, to Science and to the dominant social class. Moreover, these men would later demonstrate their chivalrous spirit in certain situations. The truth was that the bourgeoisie, which was growing rapidly in the early 19th century, was taking on the responsibility for assuring the good of the public – or its own view of what was good for the public, at any rate. In the fi nal analysis, this botanic garden would be a place for agricultural research, a beacon of hope for a society still threatened by famine and constantly searching for new industries, and also a representation of high moral values. A lust for profit therefore had very little to do with the birth of this enchanting space full of promise.