A bundle of hand-tinted postcards showing the 'Sublime' Swiss Alps

Look at this stack of hand-tinted Swiss postcards. Before color film existed, artists literally painted over black-and-white photos to make the Alps look more 'Sublime'—which is just a fancy word for 'so big it’s terrifying.'

It was the original Instagram filter. They’d pump up the blues and sharpen the peaks to manufacture a sense of awe that a grainy grey photo simply couldn't capture.

You’re not looking at nature; you’re looking at a Victorian marketing department trying to package the infinite into a piece of cardboard you can mail for a penny.

Wait, if the Alps were terrifying, why would anyone want to visit?

It’s like watching a horror movie from the safety of your sofa. In the 18th century, philosophers like Edmund Burke argued that the 'Sublime' was that specific thrill you get when you’re looking at something that could absolutely crush you, but you know it won't.

Before this, mountains were just 'waste places'—ugly, dangerous obstacles to be avoided. But the Victorians turned that fear into a luxury product. They wanted the adrenaline rush of the abyss without actually falling into it.

These postcards were the proof you’d stared into the mouth of the beast and survived. It’s the ultimate humblebrag: 'Look at this giant, murderous rock I just had tea next to.'

So, before this Burke guy, people just... hated mountains?

Oh, they absolutely loathed them. To a pre-Victorian mind, a mountain was basically a giant, useless pile of rubble that made your horse go lame and your carriage tip over. They were the 'broken toasters' of geography—taking up space and serving no purpose.

Scholars actually called them 'warts' or 'monstrosities' on the face of the Earth. If it wasn't a flat, tidy field where you could grow turnips or graze sheep, it was considered a divine mistake. Nature was only 'good' if it was submissive and useful.

Beauty back then was all about symmetry and control—think of a perfectly clipped hedge. A jagged peak was just messy, chaotic, and frankly, a bit rude for existing without providing any decent grazing land.

Did they actually try to 'fix' the landscape to make it less rude?

They didn't just try; they went to war with the dirt. Look at Versailles—it’s basically a landscape bullied into submission. They used hedges like walls and forced water into perfectly still, geometric mirrors.

If a hill blocked a straight line, they’d simply flatten it. It was all about 'Man' proving he was the boss. It’s like finding a wild, shaggy rug and trimming it with nail scissors until it’s a perfect square.

They wanted a world like a tidy drawing room. Anything that didn't fit a ruler was a design flaw to be edited out.

But how do you stop a tree from just... growing?

It took a literal army. At Versailles, thousands of gardeners were on a permanent "search and destroy" mission against every stray twig. It’s like trying to keep a toddler in a tuxedo 24/7.

They used massive iron shears and ladders to manually clip every single leaf into place. It was a never-ending war because, as you’ve noticed, trees generally don't want to be cubes.

This wasn't just gardening; it was a political flex. Maintaining a forest that looked like a floorplan proved the King’s power was so absolute it could actually pause biology.