From “The Virtuous Plants” in The Origins of Garden Plants by John Fisher:
“Chrysanthemum parthenium, feverfew, was, as its name implies, cultivated as a herb for lowering the temperature, and its strongly aromatic foliage no doubt helped to sustain its image as a herb of considerable efficacy. Its white daisy flower and pale green chrysanth foliage can be detected on the fringes of many walled gardens. Its name is said to have been derived from an incident related in Plutarch’s Life of Pericles during which a man who fell while working on the Parthenon escaped death by grabbing hold of a clump of feverfew.”
From “Border Flowers” in Flowers and their Histories by Alice M. Coats:
“C. parthenium. Feverfew. This plant is generally accepted as a native, though some think that it was introduced by the Romans, on the ground that it is one of a number of trees and herbs whose Anglo-Saxon name is obviously derived from the Latin. In this case, feverfew is said to be a corruption of febrifuge, ‘taken from his force of driving awaie agues’ [according to John Gerard’s Herball.] But it is equally possible that the Romans found the plant already here, and merely brought its properties to notice.
A double variety was brought into gardens at the beginning of the seventeenth century, and was then regarded as ‘peculiar onely to our owne Countrey’. ‘It abounds in Britain’, wrote the Dutch florist Crispin de Pass, in 1614, ‘because it appears to be grown there with skill and industry, and indeed from thence many kinds of flowers composed of a manifold series of petals are first brought into the neighbouring countries.’
Later on, it became popular as a foliage-plant for bedding-out purposes, particularly the golden-leaved variety, C. parthenium aureum. As to its properties, it was held to be ‘a special remedy to helpe those that have taken Opium too liberally… In Italy some use to eat the single kinde among other greene herbes… but especially fried with eggs, and so it wholly loseth his strong and bitter taste.’ It was ‘very good for them that are giddie in the head, or which have the turning called Vertigo… also it is good for such as be melancholike, sad, pensive and without speech’.
It appears on garden lists in various spellings — ‘Double Featherfew’, ‘Double Feaverfew’, and ‘Febrefeu’ are among them — for nearly a handful of centuries…. It was called Parthenium by the early botanists because of a tradition (recounted by Plutarch) that it saved the life of a man who fell from a height — having presumably become ‘giddie in the head’ — during the building of the Parthenon….
The scent is supposed to be particularly distasteful to bees. Varieties of C. parthenium are sometimes listed as Matricarias.”
From “A Stroll” by Selma Meerbaum-Eisinger in Harvest of Blossoms: Poems from a Life Cut Short, edited Irene Silverblatt and Helene Silverblatt:
The fields are merely clods of darkest brown
and here and there a bit of yellow-green,
and little sparrows, silly, fresh, and daring,
are darting over them like raucous children…
And far away the city with its towers,
with houses storming forth, so light and merry,
is like an image from a fairy tale.
The air is quiet, filled with yearning,
so that you wait for sky-blue larks
and want to ride in slender rowboats.
Here stand white asters, white and pure,
and there a head of cabbage, small and young.
They’re like a long forgotten parasol
in the middle of snow covered streets.
A rabbit, running past, cannot believe it….
Hello!
This is the second of two posts with photographs of Tanacetum parthenium — a plant whose common names include Feverfew, Featherfew, Bachelor’s Button, and many others listed here — that I took at Oakland Cemetery in October. The first post is Feverfew and Featherfew, or, Tanacetum parthenium (1 of 2).
Alert readers (like you!) might notice that the two excerpts above — from books published in 1982 and 1971 — refer to the plant as Chrysanthemum parthenium, something that emphasizes what I wrote about in the first post: its current name Tanacetum parthenium is a recent enough change that even contemporary botanical references use the previous name. Those two excerpts also elaborate on the parthenium part of the plant’s name (which has remained constant) with rescue stories, though one might still puzzle about whether “grabbing hold of a clump of feverfew” would have mitigated against gravity.
Thanks for taking a look!
