by Anna Jackson 

One day, when I was about eight or nine, I was watching the T.V. I cannot remember what show was playing, yet I was struck with a single scene that has remained with me ever since. 

A little girl was playing in the living room of a big, old house. Her mother and grandmother were reading in their armchairs when the doorbell rang. The mother went to answer, and a delivery man handed her a bouquet of beautiful flowers. She closed the door and walked over to the coffee table to set the vase down. 

“They’re so pretty, Mommy!” called the little girl, who hopped up to see the flowers. The mother stood for a moment, then burst into tears and ran out of the room. The little girl was confused and went to sit on her grandmother’s lap and asked, “why is Mommy crying?”

“Oh, sweetheart,” the grandmother said, hugging her close, “Yellow tulips mean ‘goodbye’.”

This was my first introduction to floriography; the idea that flowers were more than pretty plants that I could pick and collect on long hikes, that they hold cultural meaning and can be used to send messages and to tell stories.

Although now known as the “Victorian Flower Language,” floriography, the communication through the arrangement of flowers as a sort of code, has existed for thousands of years in various cultures. The “Victorian Flower Language” began to appear in Europe in the 1700s but did not merit a published floral dictionary until 1809. Its popularity blossomed throughout the 19th century in both England and America. 

Naturally, floral symbolism pervades literature as well. It has often been used as a vehicle to convey messages, both by the narrator and by characters within their narratives. The former usage is far more interesting because the characters are typically unaware of the message that is being sent through their surrounding horticulture. An exception to this appears in The Great Gatsby in which the flowers are arranged to convey a message between characters and also to the attentive reader. Often, if floral symbolism is meant to be a message from character to character, the meaning of the message is made textually explicit because the author does not want to risk the reader misunderstanding a plot point. But if the message is for the reader, hidden in the flora of a scene, there is yet another layer of subtlety. The feeling or context of the scene, something of which the characters are likely unaware, is dictated by the setting. Authors will occasionally move beyond a subtle feeling and attempt to convey meaning or context directly while simultaneously trying to maintain at least some sense of subtlety or nuance.

A quintessential example of this sort of floral symbolism in literature is the death of Ophelia in Shakespeare’s Hamlet, specifically Gertrud’s description of the crown worn by Ophelia when she drowned as well as the fauna of the location. 

There is a willow grows askant the brook,
That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream.
Therewith fantastic garlands did she make
Of crow-flowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples
That liberal shepherds give a grosser name,
But our cold maids do dead men’s fingers call them (4.7.165-70). 

The artistry of the scene is in the ambiguity of the fauna’s meaning. The willow represents mourning, particularly the forsaken love reflected in the water in which Ophelia floats. Next comes the crow-flower—an uncommon name invoking the harbinger of death—for the plant more often called Ragged Robin, which represents wit. The line ends with reference to nettles, daisies, and long purples. Nettles are fairly straightforward, and they represent slander through the sensation of burning often associated with them. Daisies symbolize innocence, loyalty in love, and the promise of a secret kept. So here we have a scene invoking mourning caused by forsaken love, the implication of a coming death, the suggestion of wit, and an accusation of slander. The plants surrounding Ophelia describe a young girl driven to madness, who has lost her wit through mourning over her forsaken love, to whom she remains loyal, holding his secrets to the end. 

But there is one more flower listed: the long purple. This flower, with its “grosser name” from the shepherds, which, to women or, rather, “cold maids”, heralds death with the name “dead man’s fingers.” The inclusion of this flower could change the image dramatically. In the case of the first, paired with the daisies, crow-flowers, and nettles as it should be since they are all written on one line of text, it seems to be the message of Ophelia, claiming she is innocent of the slanderous wit of Hamlet. However, with the second name, Ophelia is implied to be a harbinger of death who simultaneously runs to the embrace of a dead man. This could perhaps be her father or maybe Hamlet himself, since at this point in the play, she thought Hamlet had been condemned to death in England. There is scholarly debate over whether the long purples are “anacamptis morio” or “lythrum salicaria,” otherwise known as “Purple Loosestrife.” If they are the “loosestrife,” this third colloquial name gives Ophelia a more tragic bent, implying that she seeks death to escape the chaos and strife surrounding her. It is also possible to read her wreath of flowers as an accusation, stating that she was loyal and innocent of the slander heaped upon her and that the slander resulted in the loss of her wit and life. 

A similar garden of meaning appears in The Great Gatsby, ostensibly as a secret message from Gatsby to Daisy. However, since she doesn’t seem to process the message, it is more of a narrative point to the reader than anything else. It is described as follows:

“Daisy admired this aspect or that of the feudal silhouette against the sky, admired the gardens, the sparkling odor of jonquils and the frothy odor of hawthorn and plum blossoms and the pale gold odor of kiss-me-at-the-gate” (Fitzgerald, 110).

The “Victorian Flower Language” had been well established by the time Fitzgerald wrote this novel. Gatsby’s garden is a simple plea. Jonquils represent both forgiveness and the desire that affection be returned; hawthorn buds represent the hope of a fresh start while its fruit represents power and passion; plum blossoms represent hope and perseverance; finally, there is kiss-me-at-the-[garden]-gate, a flower whose name ought to speak for itself. This is a powerful message, and it reveals Gatsby’s past life. He desires Daisy’s love and has hope in her affection because of his fresh start as a new man. This fresh start has granted him power and hope of the fulfillment of his passion as well as hope that her love has persevered like his own. Finally he begs Daisy—whose name means loyal love and innocence—to kiss him at the gate. 

There is, however, an interesting detail with the kiss-me-at-the-gate flower, and that is that this particular flower is not gold but purple. Fitzgerald’s description of the flower as the color of wealth recalls Daisy’s voice as “money,” just like how the woman’s laugh indicates her presence even when she cannot be seen, so the flower’s odor indicates its presence even when out of sight. This association also warns the reader about Daisy, communicating that just as the flower ought to be purple rather than gold, she is not what she ought to be. It is a subtle warning that she will not be the innocent girl her name implies.

The use of floriography and floral symbolism is a literary technique that very delicately rides the line between overtness and subtlety. The message is not hidden between interpretive themes; it is merely behind a thin screen of scenery, easy to recognize and even more so to decode. The author does not intend to make the meaning difficult to understand. Instead, the author intends to hide meaning in a place where the characters cannot see, but the reader, omniscient that he is, can. Because of this, floriography in literature can be extremely clumsy or accidental. An author might send a bouquet of yellow tulips to a lover and forget to make the sender disappear. However, when used carefully, floriography is a highly effective tool in providing interpretive guides for a narrative and insight into the characters themselves.

The use of floriography is not limited to the pages of books, however. It is true that dictionaries of flower language are no longer ubiquitous, but floral symbolism remains extremely relevant in the current culture. Roses, especially red ones, are almost universally understood as symbols of love and passion. Some flowers, like daffodils and poinsettias, are symbols of specific holidays and celebrations. Others, such as the forget-me-not or the aforementioned kiss-me-at-the-gate, bear names that dictate how they are understood. There are even newer trends in floral associations. The lavender blossom has become increasingly associated with femininity because of the discovery that its scent and consumption increases estrogen. 

Beyond simple cultural symbolism though, floriography is an art which allows a subtle conveyance of meaning through a beautiful medium. The old dictionaries are not hard to find. There are fascinating PDFs and website transcriptions across the internet that are just a search away. There are myriad examples of definitions that can symbolize affection, beauty, or longing, but floriography is far more versatile than little compliments. A bundle of basil and begonia comprises the message: “be warned, you are hated [by me].” Bouquets to indicate apologies, overtures of friendship, declarations of love, announcements of hatred, and so on, are explained in great detail. 

If you study the humanities, you might be curious why Van Gogh chose the floral arrangements he depicted or what meaning might be hidden in the blooms of Rochester’s Garden at Thornfield. If, on the other hand, you care more to learn how to use the language of flowers in a more active manner, curate a bouquet yourself for a friend (or an enemy if you are so inclined). True, they might not know what it means, but you will. Send a quiet message, pick a pansy for a friend. It is a simple, subtle, and yet an intentional and beautiful art.