My Latin name is Papaver somniferum. The derivation of my name is not altogether clear; the word ‘papaver’ may have come from ‘pap’, meaning ‘bloated’, referring to my swollen fruit.
It may also be derived from the Celtic word ‘papa’, meaning porridge. In the past, the sap of my fruit was used to make a porridge that would soothe crying infants.
‘Somniferum’ links two Latin words, ‘somni’ (sleep) and ‘fer’ (to bring), so it literally means ‘bringer of sleep’: what we would today call a soporific. This has to do with my milky sap, which does, indeed, induce sleep.
In Dutch I am also called ‘slaapbol’, the word ‘bol’ referring to the hard, round seed capsule that forms after the poppy has bloomed.
Pain is an unpleasant sensation, so we should not be surprised that humans have always searched for ways to alleviate it.
As long ago as the Stone Age, extracts from leaves of the henbane plant were used to dull pain.
The Ancient Greeks used me, the opium poppy. They cultivated me to harvest oil from my seeds, which have mildly sedative effects.
Later on they also discovered the white latex sap that drips out if the unripe seed capsule is cut, and which has a much stronger sedative effect.
They used it to treat asthma, stomach illnesses, and poor eyesight.
For a long time it was unclear what part of my milky sap had these effects. It was 1805 before the active ingredient was successfully isolated, by the German pharmacist Friedrich Sertürner.
Morphine turned out to be an excellent painkiller. During the First World War it was used on a huge scale to help wounded men sleep – or to let them die peacefully.
Morphine is still used today to alleviate severe pain, for instance after an operation or a heart attack – or to relieve pain and suffering in people who are not going to get better.
And they certainly knew it was a potent substance. In his ‘Historia Plantarum’ the physician Theophrastus says:
In the 17th century opium reached China, where under the influence of the Dutch East India Company it became both a malarial medicine and an intoxicant.
They look beautiful, but they are forbidden. The poppy fields also bring misery: many are in the hands of large terrorist organisations, and the fight against these groups is costing ever more lives.
I was not painted very much in 17th-century Dutch still lives of flowers, because I had not been seen very often in the Netherlands at that time.
It was only at the end of the century that the Dutch East India Company took me home with them from the Balkans. Still, I can be seen in a few still lives.
There’s a red and white poppy in ‘Vase of Flowers’ (1660) by Jan Davidsz. De Heem, for instance,
and a bright red one in Maria Oosterwyck’s ‘Bloemen in een versierde vaas’.
I also appear in ‘Vase with flowers’ (1700), a still life by Rachel Ruysch, one of the very few female master painters in the Netherlands, and the daughter of the famous Amsterdam professor of anatomy and botany Frederik Ruysch.
The painting shows a bouquet that’s past its best: the flowers are drooping and starting to fade.
A few years ago dozens of restaurants in China were caught seasoning their dishes with ground poppy.
The cooks were mixing the powder, containing low doses of opiates – codeine and morphine – into their soups and seafood dishes.
But why? They hoped that their customers would keep coming back for the ‘addictive’ taste. Whether that actually happened, or whether it’s even possible to get people addicted to such small amounts, is still unclear.
Hi, my name is Opium poppy. Do you want to know where my name comes from?
PAPAVER SOMNIFERUM (BOLPAPAVER)