The Persian poet Sheikh Saadi Shirazi in 1258 wrote The Gulistân, or Rose-Garden, whose leaves, as he said, “cannot be touched by the tyranny of autumnal blasts, and the delights of whose spring the vicissitudes of time will be unable to change into the inconstancy of autumn.” Saadi told how, after spending the night in his garden with a friend, he decided to write a poem. When morning came his friend gathered some scented flowers and placed them in the folds of his garments. “Throw them away,” said Saadi, “for I am going to compose a Gulistan which will last for eternity, while your flowers will live but a day.” Thus he proceeded to write The Gulistân:
“Of what use will be a dish of roses to thee?
Take a leaf from my rose-garden,
A flower endures but five or six days,
But this Rose-Garden is always delightful.”
The red rose, Rosa gallica, native to Persia, the Balkans, and the islands of the eastern Mediterranean, is one of the oldest plants known to man and is still cultivated in modern gardens. The rose owes its survival to its ability to grow in the poorest of soils and under the most arid conditions. It was used to adorn the shields of Pesian warriors, and according to the 14th-century Arab historian Ibn Khaldun, the province of Farsistan provided an annual tribute of 30 thousand bottles of rose water to the treasury of Baghdad. Athenaeus of Naucratis (c. AD 220) told of red rose petals covering the floors to a depth of 18 inches on the occasion of Cleopatra’s first meeting with Mark Anthony.
The red rose was in great demand throughout the East not only for its valuable astringent properties, but for its perfume which was known to intensify as the petals dried. During his lifetime, the Roman Emperor Nero was said to have spent the equivalent of 50 thousand British pounds on the importation of the dried flowers from Persia to perfume his apartments. Following the Roman invasion of North Africa, the red rose was introduced into Italy and eventually reached France and England. Pliny the Elder described it as being of brilliant red with a rich perfume. As dried blossoms retain their fragrance for several years afterward, it was known as the Apothecary’s rose. In June 1429, the French town of Provins, which grew this red rose, made a gift of red rose petals to Joan of Arc on the occasion of her visit shortly after raising the Siege of Orléans, marking the turning point of the Hundred Years’ War between France and England.
The hybrid of the red rose, possibly from crossing with the ancient Damask rose, is depicted on a wall of the excavated Palace of Knossos in Crete, believed to be more than four thousand years old. It is identified as the Holy Rose, which has been found, still fragrant, in Egyptian tombs. The Damask rose is grown in almost every garden in Syria, and the country takes its name from the word “suri”, meaning “land of roses.” The 5th-century BC Greek historian Herodotus documented these roses growing wild in the gardens of King Midas of Phrygia, each had 60 petals and excelled all others in perfume. The Roman poet Virgil wrote his Eclogue 4 in 40 BC, predicting the birth of a miraculous child who would bring about a Golden Age of peace and restore the world:
“The Serpents Brood shall die: the sacred ground
Shall Weeds and pois’nous Plants refuse to bear,
Each common Bush shall Syrian Roses wear.”
In my garden I grow two vines of Chinese rose, called Banks’ rose, for it was Sir Joseph Banks who sent the Scottish gardener William Kerr to obtain this plant from China. Though they are only mildly fragrant, of which is said to reminisce the scent of the violet flower, they produce myriads of blooms in early spring. The blooms come in tiny bouquets, fluttering like a massive drone of wind chimes over the pergola. Unlike other roses, they only flower for a short time, making their arrival all the more captivating. It is this fleeting quality which makes the drama of Banks’ rose blooms so fantastical.
My father, in his short life, was said to write only one poem, which was dedicated to my mother, whose name meant “the velvet rose.” I have taken the liberty to translate his serenade into English:
My dear Rose, to thee I dedicate
These red roses thou appreciate
Each dawn and dusk bring me
Thy remnant – sweet and lovely.
A wish in my heart I shall hold
Forever thou beest fragrant as the rose
In bitter cold or stormy rains
Forever thy beauty remains.
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