The Fragrant Harvest

Southland Times, Issue 20792, 5 June 1929, Page 12

The Fragrant Harvest

(By

Nellie M. Scanlan.)

Riviera. It requires five tons of rose petals to make a quart of perfume. In the little city of Grasse, in the south of France, one hour by motor from Nice, the world’s most famous perfumes are brewed, and all the country round grows and harvests the flowers for its making. You might imagine smooth rolling fields of rich soil, and garden beds, like the tulip farms in Holland. But it is not like that at all. In winding valleys, among rocky hills, in the midst of rough, picturesque country this fragrant harvest is reaped. Just as they grow rice in the terraced paddy fields of Java, here the plentiful .stones edge the little terraced plots. It is, indeed, intensive cultivation. Imagine, if you can, a whole valley filled with roses, planted like grape vines, in regular rows. Think of the fragrance on summer evenings, heavy on the still air, or borne in the breeze; and the feast of colour. Another valley grows jasmine only, a sweet, cloying perfume, but highly prized. Farms of violets, fields of carnations, not beds of blossoms, but acres ,of them; valleys of them. Here, too, are the orange trees, but not for fruit. They are robbed in full bloom of petals that, yield so costly a brew. At the factory in Grasse, the perfume essence is made. This later is sold to the famous perfume firms, who break it down, and blend it, and retail it in fanciful bottles at extravagant prices. Five tons of petals make one quart of essence, but the quart > of essence fills many bottles in this marketable form.

.The jasmine flowers are placed on trays of white wax. The wax draws the perfume from the flowers, and later, alcohol takes it from the wax. Daily for three months the jasmine flowers are piled on to the wax until it is thoroughly impregnated. There are many technical processes in the distillation of perfume, but the result, stored in glass jars, is a harvest of great value. At the moment a new perfume, “Christmas Night.,” is all the fashion, and there is a special demand for it in America. It is a rich, sweet scent, the kind that lingers in heated rooms, like some passionate memory.

At Grasse, also, are made the glace fruits. The flavour of the fruit and the fragrance of the flower are, as it were, embalmed here. .Peaches, pears, oranges, whole pineapples, apricots—all the luscious fruits, were soaking in their syrupy tubs, or glazed invitingly. Violets, mimosa and rose petals, too, were immortalized in sugar, while retaining their colour and contour. These are both edible and decorative.

This factory proudly displays many Royal Coats-of-Arms, and claims to supply all the crowned heads of Europe. Grasse has other claims to fame. When Napoleon escaped from Elba, he landed at Juan on the Riviera, now one of the most fashionable resorts, and tramped up the Valley of Flowers, to Grasse, gathering reas he went. This was the shortest route to Baris, and for him, the safest at. the time. To-day another name is bringing honour to Grasse. High on the hillside is the home of H. G. Welk. He prefers it to London, or his country home in England, where he spends little time, except in the summer. In Grasse they call Wells "Woodbine Willy.” As you travel through England, every second little Inn shows you a bed that Queen Elizabeth slept in. I am afraid that we do not give Queen Victoria full credit for her travels. All around the Riviera you find traces of her journeys; she .was a regular visitor here. She often drove up to the Chateau Gourdon, an old village perched on a rock}- pinnacle, 3000 feet up a wild hillside, and with a sheer drop of 1000 feet from its battlements. At. one point are the troughs erected by Queen Victoria to water her horses; at another the Villa Victoria, now the Hotel Victoria, where she spent the night on her way up. The name Victoria is a very familiar sign about here. The Chateau Gourdon has now passed into foreign hands, and with it the whole ' village. On the little terrace, with its | clipped yew-trees, hanging over the edge of I the cliff, Kathleen Norris, the American novelist, sits writing her romances, shut off from the world by the Valley of Flowers, for she is the new mistress of Chateau Gourdon.