THE FOLKLORE OF PLANTS: Violet

Lisa Karen Miller

          When Zeus fell in love with Io, his wife Hera was none too pleased. To keep Io hidden from wifey’s wrath, he turned her into a white heifer, then created a field of violets to feed her.  In a flash of inspiration (or desperation?), he sent Hera a bunch of the violets to soothe her temper.

Whew.

          With such clearly-demonstrated calming powers, violets were soon used everywhere as a fragrant sleep inducer.

          Another story from those gods with such human frailties goes like this: Cupid was asked by his mother Venus whom he found more beautiful – her, or a group of young nymphs.  Not noted for his decision-making skills, he chose the nymphs, whereupon mommy, in outraged vanity, beat them until they were purple.

          In the Middle Ages, Hildegard von Bingen used February’s birth flower as a salve to treat cancer, while physicians used it for insomnia, epilepsy, and rheumatism. Governed by the planet and the goddess Venus, which rule the throat, violets were often used to treat its ailments. They do in fact contain a soothing mucilage that is excellent for the purpose.

          There are many wild varieties in North America.  Common Blue Violet flowers can be candied and used in cake decorating, while the leaves are high in vitamins A and C and tasty in salads. The petals can be frozen into ice cubes to make your next glass of lemonade or iced tea look and taste special.

          Upon being sent into exile, Napoleon Bonaparte declared that he would “return with the violets in the spring.”  His wife Josephine loved them so much that he sent her a bunch every year for their anniversary.  After she died (while he was still in exile), he wore violets from her garden in a locket until his own death.

          In the 1870’s, the New York Times reported that ladies had begun “…thrusting bunches of fresh violets in mysterious places about their corsets, professing to believe that the crushed flowers exhale a more delicately delicious perfume than any of the myriad scented stuffs that they can buy in bottles.”

          In the language of flowers, it says “Faithfulness, Modesty, and Simplicity.” The Victorian British were mad about them. Eliza Doolittle in George Bernard Shaw’s Pygmalion is a violet seller.  Gentlemen often would buy them from street sellers: a single one for a buttonhole, or a bunch to appease an affronted and aggrieved wife. 

          That Zeus was no fool, after all.

© Copyright 2023 Lisa Karen Miller