Valentine’s Day is a time for giving flowers because nothing says love and affection like giving someone something that’s going to wilt in hours or days, or, if it’s a living plant, that they’ll have to take care of but at least isn’t dying. Roses are the most popular, especially red roses, because nothing says love and passion like something that’s ridiculously difficult to cultivate, doesn’t like to get its leaves wet, and, if not handled correctly, will stab you.
The symbolism of roses is one of the last lingering remembrances of a time when there was a whole language of plants and flowers. In Victorian England, and even earlier, there were flower glossaries, like decoder pins. A bouquet could send a message, or several messages, and depending on what book you were using, could even mean contradictory things. An amaryllis could mean “pride” or it could mean “timidity”. I’m not sure if it would be the giver or the receiver who was timid. I guess it depends on whether or not you sign the card. Dahlias could mean “elegance” or “dignity”—I’m not sure why they’re so special—or they could mean instability, and that seems like it’s going too far in the other direction. Anemones—the flower—meant “frailty” or “sickness” or “expectation” so you had to be really careful about giving those. A potato meant “benevolence” and a cactus could mean “humor” or it could mean “imminent danger”, and I guess it depends on whether you were about to sit on it. Passion flowers meant “piety” and not, well, “passion”, and while a red rose meant love a yellow rose could mean “jealousy” and a white rose could mean “I am worthy of you” which I think would be up to the recipient to judge. A striped carnation meant “refusal” and I hope the person who got them knew that. Meadow saffron, a crocus that only grows in Britain and Ireland, meant “my happiest days are behind me” which seems weirdly specific, but then it’s got a limited range. And some are, I think, more understandable. Violets meant “shyness” because they like to grow in shady places, and a shy person might still be described as “a shrinking violet”. Then there are pansies which simply meant “thoughts” and I have no idea what they were thinking. Calling someone a pansy is still supposed to be an insult, meaning they’re weak or, if they’re a man, effeminate, but I see pansies blooming in the bitter cold which is why I think they should mean “survival in adversity”, or just the botanical equivalent of a middle finger to anyone who thinks “effeminate” is an insult.
In 1875, at the same time that Victorians were sending all these flower messages, Charles Darwin published a book called Insectivorous Plants. It didn’t get as much attention as his previous work on evolution which is a shame because it could have opened up a whole new area of flower language. The Venus’s flytrap does show up in flower dictionaries—it meant “deceit” and not “cleverness” or “ingenuity” which would have made more sense if you ask me. Sundews, which were ignored, could have meant “I’m stuck on you” and the gift of a pitcher plant would be a nice way to say “I’d like to drown you in digestive juices”.
And that reminds me of the time I texted a musician friend, “The only thing better than roses on your piano is tulips on your organ.” He texted back, “I’M IN CHURCH RIGHT NOW!”
So, pansies = goes back to the French word for thoughts: pensées. Which looks dirty when written out like that. Think, pensive. Which also looks shady.
There is a card game that came out a few years ago, called Tussie-Mussie – which is about the Victorian Language of flowers. You can get it online.
I love learning about the language of flowers, because it would be a marvelous modern day passive aggressive power move to send someone a floral middle finger, and they wouldn’t even know. Great essay!
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Now I have to look up Tussie-Mussie, since it combines flower language and playing cards which sounds like a lot of fun. Also the slightly shady look of pensées and pensive reminds me the Victorians weren’t quite as stuffy as they might seem to us now. Well, not all of them, anyway. Some of the flower language can get a bit racy which you might say is…Victoria’s secret.
Reminds me of that scene in Hamlet when Ophelia was handing out flowers. She should have given Claudius a cactus. And now I’m sad because I love striped carnations!
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I send you many, many bouquets for how awesome this post is, Chris. You really rose to the occasion.