Voices of the Garden: Jardin Botanique Jean-Marie Pelt

Portrait of a living museum in Nancy, told with the words of its keepers

There are gardens that delight and gardens that teach. In Nancy, there is one that does both at once. The Jardin Botanique Jean-Marie Pelt is described by its team as “a true living botanical museum,” a phrase that fits the place as closely as a label fits a herbarium sheet. Across 87 acres and within 2,500 m² of tropical glass, nearly 12,000 plant species grow, seed, rest, and return. Nothing here is static. Everything has a past and a purpose.

This portrait follows a simple path. It traces how the garden came to be, what it shows, and why it matters. The thread is the voice of Deputy Director Katia Astafieff, whose answers anchor this story in the garden’s own language. 

A city, a date, and a promise

The first facts are historical and clear. “The first botanical in Nancy was founded in 1758, by Stanislas ; Duke of Lorraine.” A garden that begins with a duke and a date could become a museum of remembrance. In Nancy, the story evolved differently. Over time, the collections moved, the sites multiplied, and the mission broadened without losing focus. In 1966, a high altitude chapter opened in the Vosges, where mountain flora could be studied in their proper climate. A decade later came a new model of stewardship. “In 1976, the City of Nancy and Université de Lorraine (formerly Université de Nancy I) joined forces to manage this historic garden, as well as the Haut Chitelet High Altitude Garden, created in the Vosges in 1966, and the new Montet site, located in Villers-lès-Nancy.”

With shared care came new names and a clearer identity. “The historic garden was handed back to the local council in 1993 and renamed the Dominique-Alexandre Godron Garden.” Then, a formal gathering of places under one banner: “In 1996 the ‘Conservatoire et Jardins botaniques de Nancy’ included the Montet Botanical Garden and the High Altitude Haut Chitelet Garden. They are co-managed by the Communauté Urbaine du Grand Nancy, now known as Métropole du Grand Nancy, and Université de Lorraine.” The garden does not stand alone in this civic fabric. “With the Nancy Museum-Aquarium and the Museum of the History of Iron (Musée de l’Histoire du fer), the botanical gardens are thus part of three scientific and technical cultural institutions co-managed by these two organisations.”

A milestone concludes the administrative arc. “On 1 April 2016 the ‘Conservatoire et Jardins botaniques de Nancy’ took the name Jardins botaniques du Grand Nancy and Université de Lorraine. The Montet Botanical Garden was renamed the Jean-Marie Pelt Botanical Garden (Jardin botanique Jean-Marie Pelt).” Jean-Marie Pelt was not only a botanist but also a bridge between science and society. Born in 1933 in Moselle, he became known for translating the language of plants into something everyone could grasp. As a professor of plant biology and pharmacy, and later the founder of the European Institute of Ecology in Metz, he worked tirelessly to make ecology a public conversation rather than an academic subject. In naming the garden after him, Nancy pays tribute to his belief that understanding nature begins with curiosity and leads inevitably to care.

Behind the renaming is a tribute to a botanist and ecologist who championed biodiversity in language the public could understand. The result is a garden that carries history without being trapped by it.

 

What it means to be a living museum

Labels and ledgers are not what make a museum alive. People and plants do. “The Jean-Marie Pelt Botanical Garden cultivates nearly 12,000 plant species across 87 acres of land and 2,500m2 of tropical greenhouses.” Katia describes the scope simply and exactly. Rarity gives the collection weight. Habit gives it movement. “Rare and endangered plants, along with strange or unusual plants, are grown in one of the largest botanical gardens in France.”

The phrase living museum matters because it shapes how a visitor walks. There is taxonomy, but there is also drama. You move through ecosystems, not just lists. You sense the climate changes from house to house, bed to bed, slope to slope. The garden asks you to learn with your body as well as your eyes.

Rooms under glass, valleys in shade

If you start indoors, the tropical houses set the tone. “The tropical greenhouses are famous and appreciated because there are unique in North-East of France. It’s a trip in the tropical atmosphere with luxuriant plants.” The sentence is modest and exact. Inside, moisture lifts the scent of soil. Palms reach. Ferns articulate their geometry with fronds that feel older than language. Orchids punctuate the air with a grammar of pattern and color. The greenhouses are a passport and a classroom at once.

Not far from the glass, the ground cools and the tempo shifts. “A secret place is the Rhododendron Valley. This valley is home to rhododendrons and other plants such as ferns, hostas and hydrangeas that appreciate the coolness of the place. A fresh and quiet place, where wu can ear birds singing and have a wonderful view of the city of Nancy.” The sentence does two jobs. It locates the valley in botany, and it locates it in the senses. A visitor learns the plants, and also learns to listen.

The garden’s personality shows in details like these. It is not a single statement. It is a conversation between rooms. The warmth of the glasshouses is answered by the hush of a shaded slope. The eye moves from the bold outlines of a palm rib to the matte green of host a leaves. Variety is not clutter here. It is argument and reply.

Signatures that stay with you

Every garden develops a set of images that linger after the visit. In Nancy, several are explicit. “There are a lot ! The Amorphophallus titanum was in bloom a few time and it’s very spectacular.” The titan arum needs no introduction for those who have experienced it. For others, the garden’s phrasing is enough. Spectacular is not a boast when the plant lives up to its reputation.

Another emblem rests on water. “The giant Amazonian water lily (Victoria cruziana) is impressive for the public.” The word impressive seems small until you stand next to a leaf that could hold a child. Light turns its surface into a green lens. Architecture hides in the raised rim and the crossing ribs below.

Then comes a collection that pulls visitors into the precise side of wonder. “The botanical garden has as well a huge collection of carnivorous plants, with 650 species, that is unique in Europe.” The number matters because it implies depth. It also implies a research spine beneath the display. These are not curiosities scattered for effect. They are a study in form and function, held where science and storytelling can meet.

Spring gives the garden a different signature and an unmistakable perfume. “The Lilacs are also a specialty. There is a big collection, dedicated to the horticultural varieties growing in Lorraine, aims at gathering all the varieties bred by the Lorraine horticulturalists between the mid-19th and the mid-20th centuries. We have almost all the Lilacs created by Lemoine family. A festival of color in Spring.” The sentence is a ribbon tying botany to local craft. The Lemoine work becomes visible again, not as a footnote, but as a living archive of scent and shade.

A house for the rare and the at-risk

If the garden’s beauty persuades, the Palmarium insists. Here the mission is spelled out in leaves and labels. “In the Palmarium greenhouse, rare and endangered species are cultivated, mainly from the islands of the Indian Ocean: the Seychelles, Mauritius, Reunion or the Rodrigues Islands.” The collection is a geography lesson and a warning. It is also a proof of concept for what botanical gardens can do when habitat fails.

Specifics give the claim gravity. “In the imposing area dedicated to Reunion Island, one of the last examples of Saribus jeanneneyi, one of the rarest palms in the world, is on display, as well as other unusual palms, such as the Dypsis decaryi, also known as the triangle palm, the white palm kernel, Dictyosperma album, or the bottle palm, Hyophorbe lagenicaulis.” The list becomes a litany. Name by name, a visitor understands the fragility behind the green.

Some stories in the Palmarium are stark. “Rare species, like the nettle wood, Obetia ficifolia, or the Hibiscus liliflorus, extinct in the wild, are preserved here.” Extinct in the wild is not a phrase that allows indifference. The words place the house firmly in the present tense of conservation.

Other plants there speak through presence. “Visitors will also be able to admire the remarkable foliage of the emblematic Traveller’s Tree, the stilt-rooted Pandanus and the impressive tree ferns originally from Australia.” The line gathers texture. Foliage, roots, ferns, continents. A greenhouse turns into a map of what remains and what must be guarded.

The conclusion is explicit. “This greenhouse clearly illustrates the crucial role played by the Botanical Garden in the preservation of endangered species.” 

Culture as a way of welcoming

A public garden thrives when it is used. In Nancy, the calendar opens doors. “We organize a lot of events : exhibitions, conferences, concerts.” These core programs are joined by days when the country visits its institutions together. “We take part in national events like the Museum night, the European Heritage Days, Rendez-vous aux jardins, Celebration of Science, etc.” Summer adds a stage and a mood. “During the summer, there is a cultural programmation in a open-air theater with concerts, theaters, shows, etc.” The detail matters because it locates the botanic garden in the city’s social life. People do not only come to learn. They come to be with one another in a setting that dignifies community.

Seasons as teachers

Ask a gardener to choose a favorite season and you receive a self-portrait. In Nancy, the answer is unhesitating. “I love autumn, that is so beautiful with the colors of the trees.” Autumn is the season of outline and truth. Leaves carry their last colors like ideas made visible. Forms reveal themselves when abundance steps back. It is fitting that a place devoted to science and culture would love the months when structure shows.

Spring and summer have their claims, and winter has its own grace within the warm glass, but the garden’s affection for autumn tells you how to walk the paths. Look for the bones of the place. Learn the branch angles and the planes of the lawns. Then watch how the living skirt returns and lifts across the year.

What a first visit should say

There is a single idea the garden hopes every visitor hears. “I would try to make understand that plants are a treasure that we need to protect.” The word treasure is simple and correct. It reframes conservation as care rather than fear. The sentence that follows adds the necessary edge. “There are unfortunately a lot of rare and endangered species.” Beauty without responsibility would be an evasion. The garden refuses that.

It also refuses to hide its identity as a research space. “The garden is a quiet and beautiful place, but also a scientific place with a fondamental role in conservation.” The double identity matters. The quiet is real. The science is equally real. The two together make the museum living in more than one sense.

Music as a way of saying feeling

When words are not enough, metaphors arrive. Ask a gardener to hear the garden and you receive a score. “Good question ! I would say a piece of piano. Between Chopin and Bach. Chopin for the romantic atmosphere and Bach for the energy.” The pairing works. Walk the lilacs in spring and you hear Chopin in the air. Stand in the Palmarium beside a palm that survives because of discipline and you hear Bach in the structure.

What the future asks

An institution proves itself when it looks forward without forgetting. The garden’s wish is concise. “I hope more and more people get conscious of the importance of preserving local and international biodiversity. It’s a fundamental heritage for the future.” The phrase fundamental heritage carries the weight of the place. Heritage is not only a building or a style. It is a living network that feeds and shelters. The work here is to protect that network by showing it, naming it, and tending it.

Many stories, one lesson

Some interviews close with an anecdote. This one closes with abundance. “So many things happened ! I don’t think of a special anecdote.” The line is disarming and honest. In a garden where 12,000 species live across decades, the number of stories outruns memory. Perhaps that is the right ending. The absence of a single tale is a reminder that a public garden is not one story, but a field of them, always moving.

Step back from the page and the portrait holds together. History establishes credibility. Collections create presence. A greenhouse shows what is at stake for species with no other home. A shaded valley offers cool air and birdsong with a view toward the city that sustains the work. Events pull people in through culture. Autumn ties knowledge to beauty with color. A piano answer captures mood and method at once. And through it all runs the sentence that will still matter a generation from now: plants are a treasure that we need to protect.

This is what a living botanical museum looks like when it is generous with its facts and clear about its purpose. It is a place to learn how to look. It is a place to practice patience. It is a place to understand that a city’s best institutions do not store the past. They cultivate a future.

Interview source: Quotes in this article are reproduced verbatim from an email interview with Katia Astafieff, Deputy Director, Jardin Botanique Jean-Marie Pelt. Credits: Interview by Matilda Kinberg for BloomlyBloom’s Voices of the Garden. Images courtesy of the garden.

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