“Double, double toil and trouble; Fire burn and cauldron bubble.” – William Shakespeare
The Duality of Roots
In the moonlit corners of the poisoner’s garden, where shadows cling like loyal familiars, grow herbs that defy simple categorisation. They are both healers and destroyers, keys to visions and locks on forbidden doors. Tonight, we wander among two of those enigmatic herbs. Handle them with reverence- or regret.
Belladonna: The Silent Siren
Deadly nightshade, fairest of poisons
Belladonna’s glossy black berries and star shaped flowers have lured the curious to their doom for centuries.
A History Steeped in Blood and Vision
A plant with ancient origins, named Atropa Belladonna for the Greek goddess Atropos, the Fate who cuts the thread of life. Roman assassins dipped arrows in its sap, while priestesses of Delphi allegedly inhaled its fumes to commune with Apollo’s oracle. The use of Belladonna as a poison was known as far back as Roman times, with rumours claiming that Livia Drusilla used it to murder her husband, the emperor Augustus.
By the Middle Ages, it became a key ingredient in a ‘flying ointment’ said to be used by witches to induce trances. The hallucinogenic alkaloids (atropine, scopolamine) blurred the line between ecstasy and agony, birthing tales of broomstick flights and Sabbaths with the Devil.
In the middle ages, Venetian women dripped its juice into their eyes to dilate pupils- a dangerous fashion trend immortalised in its name, meaning beautiful lady. Even Goethe wrote of its allure in Faust where it symbolises forbidden knowledge.
Mandrake: The Screaming Root
Mandrake, the little man of the earth.
Its forked root, said to scream when pulled from the soil, has fuelled legends from Babylon to Hogwarts.
A Root Wrapped in Myth and Terror
In Ancient Egypt, Mandrake was buried in pharaohs’ tombs as a gateway to the afterlife. The Hebrew Bible references it as a fertility charm, with Rachel bartering mandrakes for Jacob’s love (Genesis 30:14-16). The myth of mandrake was further deepened in Greek lore as Hippocrates prescribed it for melancholy, albeit sparingly, while Dioscorides warned in De Materia Medica that its cry could kill harvesters. Pliny the Elder claimed sorcerers wore it as an amulet to defy fate.
In Medieval Europe apothecaries sold mandrake manikins- carved from bryony roots, claiming they guarded against plague and poverty. German folklore said they grew beneath the gallows from the semen of hanged men. Shakespeare himself immortalised the dread of mandrakes in Romeo and Juliet: “Shrieks like mandrakes torn out of the earth.”
Reflections
Belladonna and mandrake are not merely plants- they are mirrors. They reflect humanity’s oldest obsessions: the hunger for transcendence, the fear of mortality, the dance between sin and salvation. To walk their history is to walk a knife’s edge, where poison and cure are divided by a breath.
I gather these with gloved hands, and a humbled heart. They remind me that every garden holds graves, every remedy a requiem.
This post explores historical and folkloric uses of plants. They are toxic and should only be handled with the utmost care.