Many roses are aptly named for their striking colour, bewitching scent, or in eponymous honour of the breeder of their variety. However, roses are occasionally named for a singular event, an intriguing affiliation, or an irresistible character, and these invariably come with a story. Tales of mystery, heroics, and invention often accompany some of our favourite roses, and this series of articles,’ The Stories Behind the Stems’, will endeavour to relate some of the most interesting .
This regally purple rose has many names. It has been known as Aigle Rouge, Gallica Maheca, Maheca, Violacea, Rosa Gallica violacea, Violacea Maheka, and now most regularly, La Belle Sultane. Known well before 1795, La Belle Sultane is most likely of Dutch origin, though the breeder is unknown. Additionally, this Gallica/Hybrid suffers from the not uncommon affliction of possibly being mislabeled, or confused with other roses of similar appearance. When it was rebranded in the early 19th century, further muddying its provenance, it was most likely to capitalize on the Turquerie trend in fashion, music, art, and culture that characterized the time.
Turquerie, or Turquoiserie, was a movement to embrace the exotic, relatively unknown (and therefore often misrepresented) Ottoman Empire. Beginning in the late 16th Century, strengthened with the Franco-Ottoman alliance in 1715, and continued through the Napoleonic Era into the late 19th Century, this era of European empire-building also saw a rise in interest in the far-flung areas of the globe newly touched by colonialism. Exoticism valued items that came from the edges of the known world. As novel items entered European spheres of consumerism, the only source of information for them was often Ottoman academia. For example, coffee was often introduced to high European circles by Ottoman diplomats and elites, coupled with the culture, rituals, skills, and ephemera that came with its preparation and serving.
Obsession with Turkish fashions and textiles came with the slow decrease in Ottoman supremacy and strength, and therefore their shrinking threat level. Instead, Ottoman style could be embraced as exotic and mercantile rather than menacing and military. Turks were also adept at showing grandeur and status, which appealed to Europeans, especially in the decadent Victorian Age where bright colours and intricate designs were a counterpoint to the clean, subtle, soft elegance of neo-classicism.
Part of this movement towards splendid florals in rich and regal colours was embraced by the purveyors of the newly christened La Belle Sultane rose, who sought to offer the rose as a rare garden jewel named for a mysterious and admirable lady. Aimée du Buc de Rivéry was born on the Caribbean Island of Martinique to a French plantation owner. She would live there near a distant cousin-in-law named Marie-Josèphe Rose Tascher de La Pagerie, who we would be integral to her story.
Photo from Association Roses Anciennes en France, Heritage rose – La Belle Sultane (image on Wikimedia Commons under CC BY-SA 3.0).
The story paints a picture of the two French girls growing up in the wild and sweeping vista of the island of Martinique, the air full of spices, and buried treasures under each stretch of sandy beach. They were purported to be as close as sisters, and devoted to one another. One day, the pair visit a fortune teller-no doubt strangely dressed and bordering on the occult. She tells them that Marie-Josèphe, then called Rose by her family, would marry a powerful man -a leader of men, and she would become a Queen, living in finery and as a denizen of society. She would, nevertheless, die unhappy and estranged. This part of the prediction seems tailor-made for her, as Aimée’s cousin would eventually be known as Josephine Bonaparte, Empress of France.
The mystic turned to Aimée, and spun a web of events that would chart a course for adventure, heartache, and peril. She was told she would be sent to Europe for an education, but that her ship would be attacked by pirates, and she would be forced into a Seraglio where she would bear a son who would grow up to reign in terror and glory. She was enticed with the idea that she, too, would wield great power in her own right, but that it would come at a great cost. Aimée would know as much hardship as luxury, and would die in a long, lingering illness.
She would, indeed, be sent to France for schooling in Nantes. For various reasons, not the least of which was the long and unstable war between England and France, Aimée stayed in France much longer than intended, and attempted to return to Martinique when she was 21 (though some reports claim it was earlier). Early in the journey, her ship encountered a terrible storm, and was lost. Most accounts have her, with a momentary interlude of Spanish rescue, being attacked and seized by Algerian corsairs, the mainly Muslim privateers who operated off the North African Coast. She was said to have been taken to the leader of the Barbary pirates who recognized her as a great prize that could earn him favour. He sent her to the court of the Turkish Sultan, Abdülhamid I as a slave and concubine. Aimée was purportedly given the name Nakşidil, and was singled out by the Sultan for her fair skin and hair, European education, and cultured air, becoming not only a favourite, but bearing the Sultan a son, Mahmud.
She became a powerful and respected member of the opulent and secluded household, and was said to have brought French language, culture, art, customs, and education to the Turkish Court. She was even said to have had a hand in the diplomatic policies of the Sultan. When the Sultan died, her step-son became Sultan Selim. Nakşidil had helped raise him, and he had also received the benefit of her fondness for France. The court was remodeled in the French style, French influenced reforms were made, and permanent ambassadors between France and Constantinople were exchanged. Anti-French sentiment in the Turkish Empire, however, was also growing. Napoleon invaded Egypt, and the conservative Janissaries and Ulema were eager to remove any foreign influence from the court. Selim was attacked and deposed, leaving Nakşidil and her son in great peril. Eventually, with another regime change, her son Mahmud did come to power. As Mahmud II, her son gave our heroine the title Valide Sultan, akin to Queen Mother, and she continued guiding her son with a strong hand. It was said that when her cousin Empress Josephine was rejected by Napoleon, and he married another, both Mahmud and Nakşidil fell out of enchantment with all things French. When Napoleon invaded Russia, he had counted on the Turks to hold the area to the south, but Mahmud made peace with the Russians, allowing a greater, united force to defeat the French.
The Valide Sultan passed away in 1817, seven years after the rose bearing her name was first recorded, thought to perhaps be a tribute from her devoted cousin, the rose-mad Empress Josephine. Unfortunately, no matter how enraptured one becomes in the story, there is almost no evidence to support it.
On the contrary, though Aimée du Buc de Rivéry did grow up in Martinique, and her cousin-in-law would eventually grow up to become the Empress Josephine, wife of Napoleon, there is very little evidence to suggest they were particularly close. Aimée did travel to France for her education, and her ship disappeared soon after its departure, yet it is much more likely that she perished at sea, than that she continued on to fame as a revered member of the Ottoman court.
Nakşidil was a real figure in the early 19th century Ottoman Empire, but Turkish historians know her to have been of Circassian, possibly Georgian decent. She did rise from harem concubine to be the mother of the Sultan, just not from the humble roots of a Caribbean plantation. The dates for her arrival in court, and the birth of her son, make it impossible for Aimée to have been his mother. Even if one allows that she could have fostered a motherless boy upon her arrival, there is no correspondence at all between her and the Empress Josephine, an otherwise prolific and candid letter writer.
Older, 16th Century tales of connections between the French and Turkish courts were commonly known, and could account for an enthusiasm for Aimée’s story, as well as its acceptance as true. In fact, when Napoleon III and Abdulaziz met in later years, they were happy to continue the story, excitedly discussing how their grandmothers had been related. This connection seems to have justified and eased the alliances and grievances of both nations at many points in the history of their interactions.
Whether the tale told of Aimée’s life, trials, and adventures was concocted by earlier story tellers, or the rose sellers themselves, is hard to determine. However, the amazing carnival ride of events that supposedly befell her were sure to sell a rose or two to the exotic-seeking Victorians. Perhaps, current-day gardeners will behold the waft of sun-warmed landscapes in the fragrance of La Belle Sultane, or be reminded of the opulence of the Ottoman Empire with the rich burgundy velvet of its petals and the golden glory of the crown of jewels at each blossom’s centre.
