Expressions // Floriography + Harry Potter
‘Be like the lily graceful; delicate
As the long-lived Petunia, so meek’
// The Poetry of Observation part Second and other Poems by William Asbury
I was originally inspired to write about this subject after reading a piece on the Pottermore website (now Wizarding World) entitled, “Lily, Petunia and the language of flowers.” I found it such a fascinating new way of looking at Lily and Petunia but also, as I discovered in that piece, the subtext of Snape’s humiliating interrogation of Harry in his first potions lesson. Being a firm believer in the fact that very little JK Rowling writes is merely a happy accident, as well as something of a research addict and compulsive over-analyser, I wasn’t quite content to walk away from the subject having only skimmed the surface, so I decided to go a little bit further in order to examine the sources from which we might derive the meanings attached to that now iconic exchange.
The 1800s saw a proliferation of ‘floriography’ books in the UK and the US; hundreds of these floral dictionaries were published with the aim of guiding prospective bouquet senders toward the most suitable blooms for their intended recipients. These books took on a number of forms. Some were anthologies of floral-themed poetry with accompanying glossaries, others were more concerned with the history of the flower, its introduction to Europe, or its place in ancient Greek mythology, and others, still, were simply dictionaries, alphabetical lists of flowers with concise, often simply one-word definitions: basil – hatred, cabbage – profit, coves – dignity, etc.
Given the number of different books published, then, I wasn’t exactly surprised to find that a quick scan through six or seven of these volumes betrayed a slight lack of consistency where certain flowers were concerned. But, where a broad consensus cannot be reached, I’d like to think we’re afforded even greater scope to contrast and even connect these definitions in the context of Rowling’s series. Flowers are, after all, ‘the representatives of all times and of all nations; the pledges of all feelings.’[1]
Lily
It’s probably useful to start with the flower whose meaning most writers seem to (largely) agree upon. That is, of course, the namesake of Harry’s mother, the lily. I chose to include the extract from Asbury’s poem for this reason, but also because the direct juxtaposition of the lily and petunia seemed an appropriate coincidence. The main characteristics of the lily in most of these texts tend to be along the lines of beauty, grace, and purity; Wirt’s definition is ‘purity and sweetness’,[2] and Nathaniel Cotton (quoted in Phillips) states rather confidently that ‘all nations and ages agree in making this flower the symbol of purity and modesty.’ The following verse by Cotton (also quoted in Phillips), further illustrates the reverence the flower inspires:
‘Liles are by plain direction
emblems of a double kind;
emblems of thy fair complexion,
emblems of thy fairer mind.’[3]
That word reverence is central here, too. The lily is, perhaps first and foremost, a signifier of beauty (‘fair complexion’) and intelligence (‘fairer mind’), two characteristics Lily Evans possessed in abundance according to her peers and former teachers. But the lily also commands respect, as evidenced by Tyas who writes: ‘These beautiful flowers […] seem to exact and receive the homage of nature.’[4] Shoberl, Cortambert, and Martin also lead with this stately (and specifically female) theme in their 1848 text: The ‘Majesty’ and the height of the lily, they write, ‘[…] bespake command / A fair, imperial flower / She seemed designed for Flora’s hand / The sceptre of her power.’[5] The significance of this will become clearer with a more thorough exploration of the implicit symbolism in the questions Snape puts to the eleven-year-old Harry, but for now, we might think of the eagerness with which James fruitlessly pursues Lily for so long, her refusal to consider a relationship with him until he proves himself worthy of her affection (or, indeed, her attention), as a reflection of the kind of veneration and even chivalric love occasioned by a regal presence described here.
Petunia
I really didn’t want the petunia to be an afterthought in this piece, but there is certainly far less information to work with. Unlike the lily, there doesn’t seem to be quite the same firm consensus across these floriography texts for the petunia. Most references to petunia, if, indeed, there are any at all, tend to relegate the flower to a simple one-line emblem in an index or glossary in the back of whichever volume considers it worthy of mention. In one mid-1800s volume, readers are advised that the petunia means‘your presence soothes me’, a pleasant enough sentiment to convey to your Victorian loved one, but one not altogether consistent with what we know of Petunia and her role in the story.[6] Its mention in Floral Poesy, brief though it is, offers more room for analysis: ‘keep your promise’.[7] Interestingly, both these definitions are listed for the petunia in Laura Valentine’s 1860 work. [8] The ‘promise’ definition in particular, though, struck me as evocative of the infamous ‘remember my last, Petunia’ howler from Dumbledore in The Order of the Phoenix. It is never overtly stated what this characteristically ambiguous message means exactly, but it seems most likely – and most readers agree – that it is a reference to the letter Dumbledore wrote to the Dursleys when he left Harry on their doorstep fourteen years earlier. Thus, while Petunia may not have made any explicit guarantee to Dumbledore, her decision to take Harry in surely constitutes some sort of promise to act upon the information communicated in his first letter. Later, on receipt of that howler, her decision to keep Harry at Privet Drive is evidence of the degree to which she feels bound to that promise.
Asphodel
From the slightly precarious to the oracular now: the reason I wanted to write this piece in the first place. Asphodel is the first of the ingredients Snape reels off to confound Harry, when he asks, ‘What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?’ The majority of Victorian texts I consulted for a mention of asphodel not only invariably included the plant, but were also in broad agreement as to its symbolism. This is likely due to the plant’s significance in Greek myth; Homer’s asphodel meadow, ‘where the spirits of the dead dwell’ (Od. 24.14), became a popular trope in English literature, notably, Reece points out, among the ‘post-renaissance English poets, especially those of the Romantic tradition.’[9] It’s a logical step, therefore, for Victorian floriography texts to associate the flower with death. As stated in The Language of Flowers, ‘In ancient times, the Asphodel was planted near tombs, and it was thought that beyond the Acheron, the shades of the deceased wandered in a vast field of Asphodels.’[10] In Floral Poesy, this theme of death and the afterlife is reiterated. The asphodel is ‘anciently dedicated to the memory of departed souls,’ and ‘[produces] grains with which it was thought that the dead were nourished.’[11] The symbolism of the asphodel in floriography dictionaries naturally extends beyond images of an ancient spirit world to incorporate earthly, human responses to death. Another meaning offered up by Floral Poesy, and one which I found particularly prescient in the context of Snape’s entire character arc, is ‘I will be faithful unto death’.[12] This statement at once presents us with a double meaning; is it a declaration of loyalty to those who have long since departed, or is it a promise to be faithful to until one’s own death? Perhaps it is both. Certainly, both are applicable to Snape. We find out in the later Harry Potter books that Snape’s compulsion to protect Harry stems far more from his devotion to Lily than any affection for her surviving son. Indeed, another meaning which shoehorns rather nicely into this theory can be found in John Ingram’s text, in which he claims that the asphodel is a symbol of ‘love’s fidelity’.[13]
Wormwood
An additional interpretation of the asphodel plant can be found in Phillips’s Floral Emblems, which again maintains this established theme of death, but also adds an extra dimension: regret. Asphodel, Phillips states, can be understood to mean ‘my regrets will follow you to the grave.’[14] This theme is only compounded by the addition of wormwood, which is said to signify both absence and bitterness in the majority of texts I examined. In many of these volumes, the two are intertwined, that is, they refer specifically to bitterness occasioned by absence. Phillips, for example, writes, ‘we will ask, who has not felt the bitterness of absence?’[15] In The Language of Flowers, we are told that ‘Absence, according to La Fontaine, is the worst of evils: wormwood is the bitterest of plants.’[16] I need hardly mention at this point that Snape’s actions throughout the novel are governed almost entirely by bitterness; a bitterness towards Harry who so vividly reminds him of James, his tormentor at school, and the bitterness of regret over the role he indirectly played in Lily’s death. In the language of flowers, this is surely the answer to Snape’s question. In other words, add to an infusion of wormwood the powdered root of asphodel, and the result is an unfaltering, faithful commitment to the dead until death, propelled by bitterness and regret. The draught of living death produced by the physical combination of these ingredients is a fitting metaphor for the life Snape now leads, a guilty, bitter, and joyless existence. After all, as Tyas points out, wormwood’s name ‘comes from the Greek, and means without sweetness.’[17]
Aconite // Monkshood // Wolfsbane
‘As for monkshood and wolfsbane, they are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite.’ – Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone
The glossary of The Language and Sentiment of Flowers makes several distinctions which aren’t found in other floral dictionaries, most of which tend to refer to aconite as Snape does; an umbrella term for all the other common names. First, a distinction is made between two different types of aconite. The first type is wolfsbane, which signifies misanthropy.[18] This is the most popular definition as far as its relation to Harry Potter goes, since it’s probably one of the most appropriate adjectives we might ascribe to Snape. However, later on in the vocabulary, there are two further definitions. Monkshood (another common name for aconite) is said to mean ‘a deadly foe is near,’ and monkshood (helmet flower) is a signifier of ‘chivalry, knight-errantry’.[19] If this impromptu pop quiz in Harry’s first potions lesson is in fact contrived to transmit information (as well as thoroughly humiliate Harry, of course), then ‘a deadly foe is near’ is surely highly significant. It is revealed later that Snape, ahead of his other colleagues, is already suspicious of Professor Quirrell so perhaps there is some suggestion that he is already cognizant of Quirrell’s duplicity at this early point in the novel.
Again, Kate Greenaway, who was responsible for one of the most iconic and enduring floriography texts, the Language of Flowers, marks a distinction between aconite (wolfsbane) meaning ‘misanthropy’ and monkshood (helmet flower) again meaning ‘chivalry, knight-errantry’. [20] I’m not entirely convinced by the Pottermore article’s suggestion that this disparity in meaning suggests that Snape is somehow indirectly comparing his own actions with Lily’s heroism. Instead of considering these two definitions mutually exclusive, I rather think that together they are a perfect summation of Snape’s character. He is undoubtedly misanthropic, and every single Harry Potter novel is awash with evidence of the nastiness of his character that almost seems irreconcilable with the calmer, more measured (and indeed likeable) portrayal by Alan Rickman in the film adaptations. Yet he is also ultimately one of the bravest characters in the series. If we are to apply these symbols to Snape specifically, it seems fitting that this ‘misanthropic’ ‘knight’ should remain so devoted to the woman whose very namesake symbolizes beauty and majesty, should continue to lament the untimeliness and violence of her death, should still vow to be faithful until his own.
Ultimately, as with Lily and Petunia, given names are by no means a complete index of one’s character. Nor are the subjective and culturally informed definitions provided by Victorian floriography texts a neat way of mapping out a plotline or a character’s trajectory. What these things can offer, though, is an insight into a character’s motivation or knowledge, and with the context of an entire series of novels to work from, the ability to draw parallels between symbolism, history and what we know is to unfold later on. Thus, that first ever exchange between two vastly different, complicated characters is already infused with meaning from the very outset.
Works Cited
[1] Floral Poesy: A Book for All Seasons (London: Frederick Warne and Co., 1875), p.1.
[2] E.W. Wirt, Flora’s Dictionary, by a Lady (Baltimore: Fielding Lucas, 1832), p.137.
[3] Henry Phillips, Floral Emblems (London: Saunders and Otley, 1825), p.254.
[4] Robert Tyas, The Language of Flowers or, Floral emblems of thoughts, feelings, and sentiments (London: George Routledge and Sons, 1869), p.127.
[5] Frederic Shoberl , Louise Cortambert , Louis-Aimé Martin, The Language of Flowers, with Illustrative Poetry, to which are now added the Calendar of Flowers and the Dial of Flowers (Philadelphia: Lea & Blanchard, 1848), p.153.
[6] The Language and Sentiment of Flowers, Compiled and Edited by L.V. (London: Frederick Warne and Co., c.1860)p.52.
[7] Floral Poesy, p.273, p.305.
[8] Laura Valentine, The Language and Sentiment of Flowers and the Classical Floral Legends, (London: Frederick Warne and Co., 1860), p.75, p.98.
[9] Steve Reece, Homer’s Winged Words: The Evolution of Early Greek Epic Diction in the Light of Oral Theory, (Boston: Brill, 2009), p.261.
[10] The Language of Flowers, with Illustrative Poetry, p.295.
[11] Floral Poesy, p.175.
[12] Ibid.
[13] John Ingram, The Language of Flowers; or Flora Symbolica, including floral poetry, original and selected (London: Frederick Warne and Co., 1887), p.94
[14] Phillips, H. Floral Emblems, p.219.
[15] Phillips, H. Floral Emblems, p.55-56.
[16] The Language of Flowers, with Illustrative Poetry, p.267.
[17] Tyas, The Language of Flowers, p.214.
[18] The Language and Sentiment of Flowers, Compiled and Edited by L.V. (London: Frederick Warne and Co., c.1860)p.26.
[19] Ibid. p.48.
[20] Kate Greenaway, The Language of Flowers (London: George Routledge and Sons, c.1884), p.7, p.29.
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