Weave a Garland of my Vows: history

Excerpt

The Garden of the Louvre, Paris - 27th September 1622
~
Letter from Louis to Anne
Madame- out of the affection I bear my cousin, the Duc de Chevreuse, I am very glad his wife should come back
Louis
~

The King, they told her, had vowed never to say her name again. She saw the letter Louis sent to his wife from the battlefield. It made her laugh.
On the day she returned to court she was still Marie de Rohan and everybody, including the absentees, knew that. She repaid all comments in kind and if she saw a mocking smile quickly hidden, she smiled too, knowing that she was watched. For various reasons.
Louise-Marguerite, widowed Princesse de Conti and sister to the man she had just married watched too, with eyes and fingers.
The touch on Marie’s cheek was scented and warm, even in the shade of the terrace.
‘How kindly the skin of the young absorbs life’s little challenges,’ the older woman said. ‘You are completely unmarked. I’m still deciding whether I hate you or not.’
‘You only hate me on cold days when age has stiffened your bones and the young men look to a more pliable body for dreams of carnal recreation.’
She carried her brother’s pale eyes and dark blond hair on a large and flamboyant frame. Those eyes almost disappeared under the rise of fleshy cheeks. Lips, even warmer than the fingers, touched Marie’s mouth.
‘You are right. My love rises with the temperature and today it’s hot enough to melt skin off bone. You said you would return and I love you even more for that. You’ve seen Anne?’
Marie nodded. ‘Last night.’
‘And what do you think?’
They both looked outwards across the garden to a cedar tree. Gay canopies wilted over the heads of several colourful figures. Marie’s eyes stayed with the quiet woman at their centre.
‘Six months and little has changed,’ Marie said. ‘Am I thankful or worried, that’s the question. Has she said anything to you?’
The sister in law leaned her grand figure against the mossy balustrade and studied her shaded companion. Pale blue shrewdness shone out.
‘It’s not like you to dance around with vague questions, Marie. Has your recent adventure scared you into vile diplomacy? What you’re really asking, unless old age has stolen all ability to judge, is... are you replaced, yes?’
Marie shook her head but not in denial. ‘I have been absent for six months and you are my closest link to Anne. I thought she may have spoken to you above anyone else.’
Louise-Marguerite stayed quiet. She gave the garden beyond a quick glance and turned back. ‘I’ve kept you informed of every detail, my young heart. Insecurity does not become you. Like a faithful lover, the Queen of France has stayed true to you throughout.’
Again Marie shook her head, in absolute denial now. ‘Forgive me,’ she said quietly. ‘But I know Anne as I know myself. She needs a wall to lean on and she’s surrounded by them. It’s not insecurity but experience. She may have been faithful in deed but not word. There are earwigs here that, once inside a person’s ear, are very hard to dislodge.’
Louise-Marguerite pushed herself away from the stones, face alight.
‘You’ve heard something.’
‘Who sent Louis that anonymous letter?’
Shoulders slumped, Louise-Marguerite frowned. ‘By definition, no one knows.’ She grinned suddenly. ‘Or do they? Take me to hell in a hand-basket. You do, don’t you?’

Sunday, 15 March 2009

The Sweet Violet

As well as buying roses - I've also been buying Violets from the delightful Groves Violet Nurseries

Viola Odorata

Along with the rose, the violet is one of the most ancient of all known flowers. It was known and grown long before the birth of Christ, being chosen as the symbol of ancient Athens.

Napoleon picked violets from the grave of his Josephine and they were found in a locket he was wearing on his death bed.

Violets were a major strewing herb and well-known for their use in cookery. These plants contain a chemical that , after the initial blast of scent, numbs the sense of smell. It makes them ethereal, like fairies at the bottom of the garden.

The Neopolitan Violet...

...is thought to be the original Parma Violet.

'Cherry Lips and Cheeks of Damask Roses...'

I have a long-standing dream...

To plant a garden full of old historical roses.

I'm one step closer having spent most of yesterday afternoon in the cyber- heaven that is David Austin Roses ordering bare root stock.

Plan A was to have only roses known to have grown before the 18th century but there are now so many wonderful new roses that Plan B was put into operation... Old and new but all of them with the 'old rose' fragrance.

Central to both plans was Rosa Mundi - Rose of the World

Rosa Mundi is one of the oldest named roses and it was named after The Fair Rosamund - Rosamund Clifford, mistress to Henry II. Her tombstone at Godstow Priory in Oxfordshire is inscribed...

Hic jacet in tomba rosa mundi, non rosa munda

Another purchase is Reine des Violettes

A Bourbon Hybrid of divine colour (Purple/Lilac) and fragrance (True Old Rose.)

Bourbons came from a natural crossing of The China Rose with The Damask on the French Isle de Bourbon in 1817.

Also Cottage Maid

A Centifolia or Provence Rose.

Centifolia comes from each flower having a hundred petals and Provence from....Provence where the rose has always grown in abundance. This is a true old rose originally from Greece and known to Pliny.

Only one thorn on the bush. Delivery takes three to four weeks.

OK.

Patience is a virtue. Patience is a virtue. Patience is a virtue.

Rene d'Anjou

Weave a Garland of my Vows