"I can see meadows, deep woods, which the first outburst of buds mists over wth an elusive green, cold streams and forgotten springs. Easter primroses, daffodils with the saffron coloured heart, and violets, violets, violets...
I can see a silent little girl whom spring has already enchanted with a wild happiness, with a bittersweet and mysterious joy. A small girl imprisoned by day in a schoolhouse, and who exchanged toys and pictures for the first bouquets of violets from the woods, tied with a red cotton thread, brought by the little shepherdesses from the surrounding farms.
Oh, violets of my childhood! You rise up before me, all of you, you lattice the milky April sky, and the quivering of your countless little faces intoxicates me."
This is an extract from the French writer Sidonie-Gabrielle Colette's kaleidescope of fragments dedicated to her childhood first published in 1908 under the title of Les Vrilles de la vigne. Although there is no particular logic to be found in the sequence of these eighteen short stories, there is a poetic or musical beauty to be found in the construction of each together underscored with a strong feminine sensuality. The above description of wild violets is from the short story Le Dernier Feu which has marked me particularly. If you would like to read these stories in English you may find them in this book.
If Colette writes in the final words of the above extract that wild violets belong to the month of April, I usually see their tiny faces appearing during the course of February along the shady banks and hedgerows of our local vinyards and in our garden. Spring flower obsessions are shared by many as dear Elizabeth reveals in her recent and beautifully penned post on snowdrops which further endorses my opinion that she should really write a book on gardens. I am fickle in nature. Spring provides an intoxicating potion of vibrant colours and tantalising scents and I usually fall madly in love each year with each spring flower but, as loyal readers know, my passion lies with violets. Greek myths tell us that violets first sprang where Orpheus laid his enchanted lute and that the goddess Persephone and her companion nymphs were gathering rose, crocus, violet, iris, lily and larkspur blooms in a springtime meadow when she was abducted by the god Hodes. This year I have succumbed to one of my favourite scents once more, Violettes de Toulouses, and, as you may see, to knitting a cardigan inspired by these brave, delicate and diminutive blooms hardly bigger than a fingernail.
I have observed with a little gratitude and much delight how the poetry of flowers has woven its magic on my dear Angélique since a very early age. I wanted to create a cardigan for her which captured the elusive colour of violets. The Old Maiden Aunt colourway, Bluebells, together with Madelinetosh's Olivia were a match made in Heaven.
The pattern is Dani Sunshine's Bella.
My Ravelry link is here; do come and say hello!
The pretty wreath of violets was created by Amore Bride.
Please take a few seconds to look at the white dress Angélique is wearing. It dates back to the late nineteenth-century and the collar, which you can see more clearly in the third picture from the top, is exquisitely embroidered entirely by hand.
And before you leave PLEASE tell me which spring flower do you love the most? I would love to know!
A bientôt,
Stephanie
ps As my Facebook page, Madame Millefeuilles has very kindly reached over two thousand likes I would like to arrange a special giveaway, both here and on Facebook, once the flurry of pre-Easter orders has been dealt with!
pps I am also, tentatively, joining in for the first time with Jodi's The 52 Project.
pps I am also, tentatively, joining in for the first time with Jodi's The 52 Project.
