Queen of Flowers

Rene Mathis drove down from Grasse to see me last Wednesday. Long after his days with the Deuxieme Bureau were numbered, he had taken up residence there in 1976. He had agreed to enter his son’s burgeoning perfume business and had done quite well for himself, retiring in 1993. His son, Francois, had founded the business in 1967 and achieved quick success with his most notable line, Jaz, in 1973. It is still highly regarded as a classic, and is favoured among the more discerning women of privilege who are savvy enough to relate its exorbitant price with the perfume’s singular intrinsic value of imbuing one in a priceless extract of heaven’s scent itself.

Grasse came into prominence as a leather and tanning centre in the 13th century. Following the establishment of the French perfume industry in the 16th century, perfumed gloves became the vogue rage. When leather later fell out of fashion, perfume then went on to reign supreme in Grasse. Situated approximately 15-20 kilometres north of Cannes, resting at a hilltop altitude of up to 400 metres, the small medieval town is known for some of the most delicate flowers grown, particularly the Jasmin Grandiflorum - hence, Jaz. Five-petalled, like a pair of diagonally-crossed bow ties with a V-shaped tongue underneath, white, tubular and funnel-shaped, it is regarded in perfumery as the ‘Queen of Flowers,’ since there is hardly a fragrance that does not bear an element of its Jasmin notes. Yet, the genuine article itself is too dreadfully expensive for general perfumery. To produce only a single kilogram, 8,000 to 10,000 flowers must be picked. Nevertheless, Francois was clever in his approach in circumventing that problem as best he could and thus had managed to earn wide respectability among parfumeurs and consequently earning a steadily growing loyal female clientele that has kept him securely wealthy over the decades.

The Jasmin Grandiflorum was introduced to Grasse from Nepal circa 1560. It flowers daily from mid-July to mid-September and requires year-round tending. The flora of Grasse is nurtured by ideal amounts of sunshine and, combined with the town's hilly climate, the air in the region is injected with a fresher zest than at a beach in the thick heat of a summer’s day - which is the other reason why Rene had decided to settle there. After nearly 30 years of inhaling two packs of Caporals daily, the resulting self-inflicted punishment that had become his incessant coughing fits and general malaise had finally instilled some sense of rationality in him. And where better to kick his habit but in the ever floral fragrant air of Grasse? Remarkably, abandoning the demon weed had proved easier to do than he had thought. And now he finds himself, most agreeably, addicted to Jasmine-tinged air instead.

And so it was with pleasant surprise that Rene made his unannounced arrival at my home that Wednesday mid-afternoon. Still tall but lankier, with a slight haunch to his shoulders and a crown of wavy cotton-white hair that forever always seemed to be receding but probably had already receded as far back as it will ever do so, he bypassed the customary greetings for an immediate demand that we embark on a road trip to Geneva. It was for a funeral of a friend, but he refused to be morbid about the occasion. My company, it appeared, would help him see to that.

I wish I could take the time to recount our five-and-a-half day sojourn in his Citroen to, in, around and back from Geneva, but having returned just an hour earlier, and it now being quite late in the night as I feel the lead weight in my eyes, I’m afraid the calling of my bed at this moment has a stronger pull for me than my will to still continue writing. Oh, very well, then ... perhaps for next time.