BOTANY

INTRODUCTION

Botany – from Greek botanê [βοτανη], ‘herb, weed, plant’ – is the study and classification of plants. It was invented by the ancient Greek Theophrastus (372−287 BC), who was a brilliant observer and the first to classify plants by their physical features – sap, roots, leaves, buds, flowers and fruits. But his work was not continued. The ancients were a practical people and more interested in what plants could do for them, especially as remedies for illness. So ancient descriptions tend to concentrate solely on their medicinal properties. Our ‘panacea’ derives from Greek panakês (πανακης – pan, ‘all’ + ak-, ‘cure’), the name given to plants of this sort.

During the scientific revolution of the sixteenth century in Europe, botany took off, and since Latin was the language of education and scholarship, it was natural that botanists should turn for their terminology to medieval and classical Latin and to ancient Greek. The man responsible for our system of naming plants is the Swede Carl Linnaeus (1707−78). His lasting achievement was to impose order on the naming chaos that existed at that time, most importantly through his binomial (‘two-name’) system of classification.

The principle of the botanical naming system is quite simple. It identifies a broad, generic type of plant (genus, Latin ‘birth, kind, class’), and then gives it a specific name (species, Latin ‘appearance, special nature’). Here, for example, is the genus Rhododendron (which can be abbreviated to R. if used more than once). This species has blood-red flowers, so we shall call it Rhododendron haematôdês (Greek ‘αἱματωδης, ‘bloody’); this species has felted leaves, so we shall call it R. lanigerum, ‘wool-bearing’ (Latin lana, ‘wool’). Note that the genus always begins with a capital letter, its specific name with a lower-case letter. Other descriptors can be added to make further distinctions.

So, where do the names of plants come from?

•Many are lifted direct from Latin or Greek, e.g. anemone, asparagus, crocus, cyclamen, rose, lily, violet, herb, together with genus names such as Daphne and Narcissus.

•Names also commemorate the famous: Fuchsia was named after the sixteenth-century German herbalist Leonhart Fuchs; Forsythia after William Forsyth (1737−1804), superintendent of the Royal Gardens of Kensington Palace (note the latinized -ia endings).

•Names, often in Latin forms, can tell us where plants come from – for instance, persica ‘from Persia’ (modern Iran) and japonica ‘from Japan’.

•They can help us visualize a shape, colour, texture or size – for instance, fusiformis, ‘spindle-shaped’, Latin fusus, ‘spindle’, i.e. thick in the middle, thin at either end.

•They can celebrate the person who first identified them, e.g. forrestii, in honour of the Scottish plant-collector George Forrest (1873−1932), who scoured western China for specimens.

One could, of course, use English throughout – thus Anthriscus sylvestris, for instance, is simply cow parsley. But the full Latin naming system is universal and international. This system provides an efficient, economic, unambiguous and universal means of naming that transcends all modern languages and colloquial names, as vital for botanists today as universal medical terms are for doctors.

It has recently been put about that the International Botanical Congress intends to abandon the use of Latin in the description and naming of plants. This is not true. What in fact was agreed (in 2011) was that from now on the official descriptions of new plant families do not have to be in Latin. But the names of the various plants, going back to the great Linnaeus, will continue to be latinized in accordance with the traditional system. So nil desperandum (literally, ‘nothing [is] to-be-despaired-of ’): the latinized names are here to stay.

VEGETABLES

Vegetables used to be staid and boring. If we vegetate, we slump into stagnation and mental torpor. Worse still is a vegetative state, where there is no response to external stimuli.

But the etymology of vegetables shows they are anything but, let us say, sluggish. Latin vegetus meant ‘vigorous’, and vegeo, ‘I enliven, fill with vigour’. So too did vegeto, rather bewilderingly the source of our ‘vegetate’, which means the very opposite! Presumably that meaning arose when invigorating vegetables were felt to be just dull plants.

Some would claim that cabbage derives from Latin caput (head) via medieval Latin caputium (a ‘head-cabbage’) and Old French caboce. If the derivation from caput is true, when you ask your greengrocer for a head of cabbage, you mean a head of head-cabbage. Still, cabbage was considered good for heads with a hangover.

PEONY

Paeonia, peony, is named after the mythical Greek healer Paeon, who used it for medical purposes. The species P. officinalis is very appropriately named – and has nothing to do with offices or officials in our sense of the words. The Latin opificina, shortened to officina, meant a place where a product (opus, whence ‘opera’) was made (facio, ‘I make, do’) – in other words, a workshop or studio. In the Middle Ages officina came to be used of monastic store-rooms, and so of herb stores and pharmacies. Consequently officinalis means ‘originally used for medical purposes’, and is used to describe many species.

LILIES

Holidaying in Greece, we wield our phrase book and say kal’ hemera, ‘good-day’, to appreciative locals. We could be talking about the day lily. This has its good day too, as its genus name indicates. It is made up of exactly the same elements as the greeting: Hemerocallis – hêmera (ἡμερα), ‘day’ + kallos (καλλος), ‘beauty’, indicating a plant that is supposed to flower in all its glory for one day only. The day lily is a member of the Liliaceae, the -aceae being a common Latin ending meaning ‘belonging to the family of’. Other genera of the lily family include Hyacinthus, a pre-ancient Greek name thousands of years old, and Aspidistra, because the stigma is like an aspidion (ἀσπιδιον), Greek for ‘little shield’. Hyacinthus (Ὑακινθος) was the handsome young man with whom Apollo fell in love, but who was accidentally killed with a discus (δισκος). The flower was formed from his blood.

OX-EYES

The yellow daisy-flower Buphthalmum salicifolium, which is borne throughout the summer, also looks the part – literally. Bous is ‘ox’ (βους) and ophthalmos (ὀφθαλμος) ‘eye’ in Greek, and you could indeed see the flower as a long-lashed ox’s eye. Salicifolium describes its willow-like leaves: Latin folium, ‘leaf ’, and salex (salic-), ‘willow’. The family name is Asteraceae (Greek astêr [ἀστηρ], ‘star’).

GERANIUMS

The popular cranesbill is quite properly named Geranium, which derives from the Greek geranos (γερανος), ‘crane’. This meant the bird, but also lifting machinery, such machinery being tall and stooped over. The tall, stooped-over carpels of the geranium give it its name. The flowers are similar to the genus Erodium, another ornithological plant, ‘heron’s bill’ or ‘stork’s bill’, from the Greek erôidios (ἐρῳδιος), ‘heron’.

Scabious, Scabiosa, is a much-loved flower but with a less than lovely name. It derives from Latin scabies, ‘roughness of skin’, of the sort accompanied by eruptions and itching (→ ‘scab’). The plant is so called because of the roughness of its leaves, though its popular name ‘pincushion’ derives from the appearance of the flower’s centre. It was believed to cure the itch. Is this why it was also known as ‘mourning bride’?

STACHYS

Stachys (σταχυς, ‘ear of corn’, and so ‘spiky’) is one of many plant types to which the descriptor officinalis is added (see here). The flowers of the genus Stachys are indeed like spikes, and English ‘spike’ derives from Latin spica, whence the adjective spicata, ‘spiked’. There is a Stachys spicata, which rather overdoes the spikiness; it is the same flower as Stachys macrantha, Greek makros (μακρος), ‘big’ + anthos (ἀνθος), ‘flower’, which has the equivalent Latin name Stachys grandiflora – no explanation required.

NIGELLA

Nigella damascena is also known as ‘Love-in-a-mist’. Nigella comes from the Latin niger, ‘black’, with the added -ella termination, which means ‘little’. It refers to the colour of its little black seeds. The species name damascena refers to its eastern origins, ‘from Damascus’. The family to which it belongs is the jaw-breaking Ranunculaceae, ‘Little-frog-family’ (Latin rana, ‘frog’), referring to the fact that many species grow in marshy places. Perhaps someone has already grown, or soon will grow, a Nigella domestica in honour of TV’s domestic goddess (domestica, ‘often used as a house plant’, from Latin domus, ‘house’).

HYDRANGEA

Hydrangea looks as if it should have something to do with water (Greek hudr- [ὑδρ-]), but it is the second half of the word that is the important part, Greek aggeion (ἀγγειον), ‘vessel for holding liquid’. The reference is to the plant’s fruit, which looks like a cup. Hydrangea is one of the extensive Saxifragaceae family, Latin saxum, ‘rock, stone’, and frango, ‘I break’. In what sense can such plants be ‘rock-breakers’? No one is absolutely certain, but one theory is that the herb saxifrage grew in rock crevices – it must, therefore, have been able to break rocks, and so was prescribed to break up stones in the bladder!

SNAPDRAGONS

The snapdragon or Antirrhinum, ‘resembling an animal’s snout’, should not really be spelled like that. Words in ancient Greek beginning with ‘r’ are always followed by ‘h’ (e.g. ‘rhododendron’ [ῥοδοδενδρον]) and Greek rhin- (ῥιν-), ‘snout’). But Antirrhinum does not begin with r! In such cases Greek dropped the ‘h’ but doubled the ‘r’ to make up. Where, then, did the rogue ‘h’ come from? Blame the Romans, who put the ‘h’ back in order to be ‘correct’.

HELIANTHUS

Helianthus, the sunflower, is precisely named: hêlios (ἡλιος) is Greek for ‘sun’, and anthos (ἀνθος) Greek for ‘flower’. One explanation of its name is the way many such plants turn to face the sun. The name ends in -us and not Greek -ος because plant names tend to be latinized, and -us is the proper Latin ending. Anthemon (ἀνθεμον) is another word for ‘flower’ in Greek and has been latinized into anthemum. Chrysanthemum is a gold flower (Greek χρυσος, ‘gold’) and Helianthemum is the sun-rose. An anthology is, literally, a selection of flowers.*

RUBUS

The season of berries is full of Rubus, from the Latin for ‘blackberry’ (it is probably connected with Latin ruber, ‘red’). Rubus fruticosus is the blackberry (fruticosus means ‘bushy, shrubby’ and has nothing to do with ‘fruit’), and Rubus idaeus is the raspberry (‘from Mount Ida’, overlooking Troy!). Do not confuse Rubus with Ribes, ‘currant’. These two words are not connected: Ribes apparently comes from a word of Arabic or Persian origin, meaning ‘acid-tasting’. Ribes nigrum is the blackcurrant, and Ribes sativum the red and white currant (sativum, ‘cultivated, sown’).

PRUNES

October sees the last of the prunes, or rather, of the ancient Greek proumnê (προυμνη), ‘plum tree’, which the Romans took over in Latin to give us the genus we know as Prunus. Originally confined to plums, the genus now embraces a wonderful range of exotic, often eastern, fruits. Prunus avium (‘of the birds’) is, appropriately enough, the common sweet cherry; Prunus cerasus, ‘the cherry plum tree’, is the sour cherry (e.g. morello) for which, again, the Romans plundered ancient Greek, turning kerasos (κερασος) into cerasus. Prunus persica (‘from Persia’) is the peach, while Prunus armeniaca (‘from Armenia’) is the common apricot.

CLEMATIS

Clematis is (as we have often seen) a Roman name lifted directly from ancient Greek, klêmatis (κληματις). In Greek klêma meant ‘twig, branch’ and was especially associated with the vine, so Clematis is properly a genus of various climbing plants. One late-flowering example is Clematis apiifolia, a deceptive species name. The folia element is easy (Latin folium, ‘leaf ’), but what of apii? This looks as if it might have something to do with bees (Latin apis, → ‘apiary’), but in fact comes from Latin apium, ‘celery’; so Clematis apiifolia has celery-like leaves. Clematis chinensis, also spelled sinensis, comes from China.

ACHILLEA

What has the ancient Greek hero of the Trojan war, Achilles, got to do with Achillea? Achilles was brought up by a half-man, half-horse centaur called Cheiron, who (Homer tells us) taught him all about medicine, presumably concentrating on treatment appropriate to the battlefield; and from ancient times, Achillea millefolia (‘many-leaved’), yarrow, was laid on wounds to help them heal. All very well, but what about Achillea ptarmica, sneezewort (‘wort’ is Old English for plant or herb; ancient Greek ptarmos [πταρμος] meant ‘sneezing’)? We are told that it was used as a kind of snuff, but it was more usefully employed against toothache.

ECHINOPS

Echinops is a splendidly accurate term for the globe thistle. Ekhinos (ἐχινος) is the ancient Greek for ‘hedgehog’, and ôps (ὠψ) for ‘face’, ‘appearance’, perfectly describing the look of the plant’s spiny, metallic-blue flower heads. The silvery-grey species is E. sphaerocephalus, which emphasizes the ‘globe’ element: sphaira (σφαιρα, → ‘sphere’) is Greek for ‘ball’, and kephalê (κεφαλη) Greek for ‘head’. Now and again you will come across an ‘acephalous’ feature in plants, and the ‘a-’ is Greek again, meaning ‘without’ or ‘no’ – a headless wonder. This ‘a-’ prefix appears in words like ‘anaesthetic’ (‘no feeling’) and ‘atom’ (‘not cuttable’).

COTONEASTER

Cotoneaster derives from Latin cotoneum, the quince. As usual, Latin has taken the Greek for ‘quince’, kudônion (κυδωνιον), meaning ‘from Kydon’ (a town in Crete), and latinized it. The -aster termination has nothing to do with stars. It is a shortened form of Latin ad instar, ‘towards an equivalence’, and indicates that the plant is wild, or somehow inferior (compare ‘oleaster’: wild olive; ‘poetaster’: inferior poet). Thus Cotoneaster means ‘false quince’.

Of the various Cotoneaster species, C. horizontalis clings to rocks and C. microphylla has ‘small leaves’ (Greek μικρος, ‘small’, φυλλον, ‘leaf ’), while C. rotundifolia, ‘with round leaves’, comes from Latin (rotundus, ‘round’, folium, ‘leaf ’).

HOLLY AND IVY

‘The Holly and the Ivy’, we sing at Christmas, which admittedly trips off the tongue more easily than ‘The Ilex aquifolium and the Hedera helix’. English ‘holly’ is the same word as ‘holm’ (as in the holm oak tree) and ultimately derives from a very ancient word meaning, appropriately enough, ‘prick’. So does the Latin. Ilex means ‘holm oak’, but aquifolium, interestingly, has nothing to do with aqua, ‘water’: it is a combination of acus, ‘needle, pin’ + folium, ‘leaf ’.

‘Ivy’ is hedera in Latin; and helix (stem helico-) means ‘spiralling’, as in ‘helico-pter’ − meaning ‘spiralling wing’ (Greek pteron [πτερον] means ‘wing’).

SNOWDROPS

The snowdrop’s Latin name is Galanthus nivalis. As often, the Greeks provided the basis of the genus name Galanthus − Greek gala (ἀνθος) means ‘milk’ (→ ‘galaxy’ p. 188) and anthos (ἀνθος) ‘flower’; the name was then latinized.

Nivalis is Latin from the stem niv- meaning ‘snow’: so the snowdrop is ‘snowy milk-flower’. The niv- stem gives two other flower terms meaning ‘purest white’ and ‘growing near snow’ − niveus (whence Nivea moisturising cream) and nivosus.

Galanthus, with a small ‘g’, is also used as a species name, meaning ‘with milky-white flowers’.

WINTER SWEET

Winter sweet is a shrub that flowers in winter. Its genus is Chimonanthus, latinized from Greek kheimôn (χειμων), ‘winter’ + anthos, ‘flower’. The winter sweet species C. praecox is ‘very early, premature’ (→ English ‘precocious’), from Latin coctus meaning ‘cooked, baked prematurely’ (like English ‘pre-cooked’), from coquo (coct-), ‘I cook’.

This word is also the basis of ‘apricot’. The apricot ripens earlier than the peach, and so was called praecoquum in Latin (‘pre-cooked’). This word was picked up by Arabs in Syria, turned into Arabic al-burquq (al = ‘the’) and eventually became ‘apricot’!

IRIS

The spectacularly coloured Iris (Greek Ἰρις), like the iris of the eye, gets its name from the ancient Greek goddess of the rainbow (who is also a messenger goddess). I. foetidissima, ‘stinking iris’, is so called because of the nasty smell it gives off when crushed (Latin foetidus, ‘foul’; the -issima termination means ‘very’). I. xiphioides (compare the Spanish iris, Iris xiphium) has broader leaves, like a lance or sword: Greek xiphos (ξιφος), ‘sword’ + the -oides (-οιδης) termination, which means ‘like, resembling’. I. unguicularis (Latin unguis, ‘fingernail, claw, talon’) is named after the narrowed ‘claw’ of the petal.

CROCUS

The name Crocus (κροκος) is ancient Greek and one of the oldest unchanged plant names still in use (it is at least 3,000 years old). In Greek it meant ‘saffron’, a popular dye and fragrant foodstuff (often scattered in front of emperors to perfume their path). It was gathered from what we know today as C. sativus (Latin ‘sown, planted, cultivated’). C. angustifolius has narrow leaves (Latin angustus, ‘narrow’); C. albiflorus has white flowers (Latin albus, ‘white’, → ‘albumen’); C. vernus (Dutch crocus) is spring-flowering (Latin ver, ‘spring’, → ‘vernal’); while C. serotinus is late-flowering, in the autumn (Latin sero, ‘late’).

PRIMROSE

Primula, or primrose, is the ‘first little flower [of spring]’ (from Latin primus, ‘first’, with its diminutive form primulus, ‘firstling’). The common primrose is P. vulgaris − not vulgar in our sense, but derived from the Latin vulgus, ‘the ordinary people’. P. denticulata has teeth (Latin dens, ‘tooth’), but only very fine ones, along the leaves; while the flowers of P. capitata grow into a dense head (Latin caput, ‘head’, → ‘capital’, ‘decapitate’). P. elatior, Latin for ‘rather taller’, is the oxlip. The Polyanthus group has ‘many flowers’ – Greek polu- (πολυ-), ‘many’, as in ‘polytechnic’ (‘many skills’) and hoi polloi (οἱ πολλοι), ‘the many’.

NARCISSUS

Narcissus (daffodil) is a latinized form of the Greek ναρκισσος. Myth tells us that Narcissus was a youth of great beauty who rejected all advances, male and female, and paid the price when one day he saw his own reflection in a fountain. He at once fell in love with it and wasted away there, pining to possess the reflection of himself. The gods took pity on him in death and turned him into a beautiful flower, drooping over to look at itself in the water. Narcissi are split into a number of divisions, one of which is Narcissus poeticus − a term reserved for plants linked with Greek and Roman poets (also found in the form Narcissus poetarum, ‘of the poets’).

* Warning: ‘anthem’ derives from Greek antiphonos (ἀντιφονος), ‘answering sound’.