In the garden of Aunt Jeanne’s cottage in rural France, the roses seem to grow fuller than others I have seen, as if each petal has all the time in the world to reach its potential. French cottage roses often grow large, lush, and impossibly fragrant. French cottage roses thrive in the country’s temperate yet hot summers in which long daylight hours and fertile, well-drained soil coax them into abundance. Many varieties, especially old French roses and hybrids like Rosa ‘Madame A. Meilland’ (also known as the Peace rose), develop huge blooms because of selective breeding over centuries, preferring size, layered petals, and perfume over the hardiness needed in harsher climates. A cottage garden, unlike the rigid formality of a city courtyard, gives these roses space to grow. They are fed by compost-rich earth, pruned with a light hand, and surrounded by other plants and cottage walls that help protect them from harsh winds. Roses in France have been associated with love since the troubadours sang beneath balconies in the 12th century. Countryside roses carry an extra sense of intimacy with their fragrance strongest in the evening hours. As French author Victor Hugo once wrote: "Life is the flower for which love is the honey." And in French, the word rose means both the flower and the tint of tenderness – pink. In traditional French symbolism, a pink-tipped rose signifies grace, admiration, and the sweet beginnings of love, making one of Aunt Jeanne’s blooms perfectly on-theme. By the 19th century, France was a global centre for rose cultivation, particularly around Lyon. Cottage roses often included gallica and centifolia types, known for their heady perfume and historical use in perfumes like those of Grasse. French poet Marceline Desbordes-Valmore (1786-1859) wrote a moving poem about roses in a rural setting. The poem expresses the evanescence of flowers (and of love), their fleeting beauty, and the way in which a fragrance (and a memory) lingers on a person even after the roses have disappeared. The Roses of Saadi (Les Roses de Saâdi) This morning I wanted to bring you roses; But I had taken so many in my closed belts That the knots were too tight to contain them. The knots burst. The roses flew away In the wind, they all went to the sea. They followed the water, never to return; The wave seemed red and as if on fire. This evening, my dress is still fragrant ... Breathe in the fragrant memory of them over me.
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