Amuse-Bouche No. 16: Say It with Flowersby Julia FreyBut don’t give a friend ! says Colombine, “every year for (Mother’s Day: in France, the last Sunday in May) (my mother-in law) gives me a cactus!” I answer. The arid cactus, with its prickly defense system, makes me (fear the worst). Symbols can be thorny subjects. We peruse my 1845 dictionary and discover Colombine looks relieved. I bought the antique dictionary right after the first time Colombine invited me for dinner. It was late October, and I, an impoverished and clueless foreign student, arrived with a huge bouquet of . Her face fell. What have I done now? she said, I’m commemorating her death? Blessedly inexpensive, in the ’s window at twilight, the mums had seemed luminous. But for Colombine, my gift had an unfortunate .Luckily Colombine and I are still friends. How could I guess you offer chrysanthemums (in memory of the deceased)? People put them on tombstones for , (literally, the defunct faithful, All Souls’ Day). Generally known as (the Day of the Dead), for Roman Catholics it’s officially Nov. 2. In practice most French Catholics visit the cemetery and clean up their family’s graves on (All Saints' Day, Nov. 1) which has the advantage of being a holiday.I must digress. The American tradition of Halloween (Oct. 31) has been something of a flop in France. It was introduced in the mid-1990’s by (retailers), always interested in creating new occasions for people to buy things they don’t need. They provoked (a fad), which persists somewhat, since kids everywhere like free candy. But kids bore easily. “Cobwebs, witches and pumpkins?... (been there, done that).” This year on Oct. 31, although there were a few 20 year-olds wearing costumes in the Paris metro, they were speaking English. Colombine thinks Halloween hasn't caught on because it’s alien to French secular (Catholic/atheist) tradition. One big difference between Latin and Anglo-Saxon cultures is that historically, the French have no truck with ghosts, fairies, or the seven dwarfs. Merlin and Harry Potter are exotic Englishmen. Here, houses are never haunted, not even Medieval with (moats). Although whispered talk of witchcraft may still be heard in some small hamlets in Touraine, it’s kept secret from (reasonable people). Besides, nobody knows how to carve a jack-o-lantern, or can tell the difference between (our hard-stemmed carving pumpkins) and , the soft-stemmed winter squash called pumpkin in the UK. And Colombine is not alone in thinking the idea cooking either of them in a sweet pie is disgusting. is pretty much only used in soup around here, and is off transporting (Cinderellla).Back to “.” Nowadays, it’s practically forgotten. People only know a few symbols: for passionate love (buy pink ones for your hostess at dinner). are for “loves me, loves me not...” and are only offered to the dead. Even that may be changing. Basically nobody cares, and everybody loves to get flowers.In the old days, however, you could really get into trouble. Your gift of flowers would be deconstructed like a poem, so you needed to know what you were saying. Just for fun, let’s make a . Wandering through the garden, you start with marguerites (daisies). They mean and Add some oeillets (carnations) to signal Now pick a pivoine (peony) to promise and (protective powers). On your way past the pond, a nymphéa or nénuphar (water lily) catches your eye. Good choice! They not only suggest your qualities: and , they promise (head-over-heels happiness) and, ambiguously, to unleash (the most unreasonable passions) while inciting one to (rise above sensual pleasures). On the way home, add a few (buttercups, ranunculus) for .But what if your beloved has a different (dictionary)? It turns out there’s a lot of disagreement on symbolisms, which can make the garden into a linguistic minefield. Here’s the same bouquet, version . It doesn’t exactly (make sweet talk). By this book, marguerite means , and oeillet porte malheur (brings bad luck): (disdain), (lost love). It says La pivoine signifies (unfulfilled love), and the nénuphar represents (cold-heartedness) and (despair). No wonder in Boris Vian’s novel L’Écume des Jours (1963), the heroine’s “ (lung)” is fatal. Beware the buttercups (renoncules or boutons d’or) as well. It turns out they’re potentially poisonous, full of reproches and impatience. They say (graceless and/or ungrateful), (misunderstand or underestimate) .” Even the lowly pissenlit (literally, “piss in bed”, dandelion), whose image is well-known as the logo for Larousse dictionaries and encyclopedias: « » (I scatter my seed in all directions) is also used in the expression “” (literally, “to eat dandelions from the roots up,” equivalent to “pushing up daisies,” i.e., dead). But as Colombine remarks, “Mostly we just eat .”And does Colombine mean columbine? Nope. Columbine in French is ancholie (symbolically, “sweet madness”). My friend Colombine was named after Pierrot’s beloved in Italian Commedia dell’Arte. To my horror, I discover that in French, colombine (an uncommon word) means (pigeon droppings)! Fertilizer, .© Julia Frey 2009
