A post inspired by ‘Seeing Green: A Philadelphia Story‘ by Yeah, Another Blogger
Our English word for the colour ‘green’ comes from the Old English word grene which has the same word root as that of the words grass and grow. It’s no surprise, then, that we associate green with nature and new life. Similarly, in the Middle Ages, the colour green – with its profuse representation in the natural world – was a potent symbol of the beauty of God’s creation. God’s promise of hope, fertility, and abundance was renewed each year as people witnessed the green shoots of Spring pushing through the cold, hard earth of Winter.
The great 12th century abbess and visionary, Hildegard of Bingen, seems to have had quite a fondness for the colour green. Firstly, there is her detailed knowledge of, and admiration for, the plants and herbs of her locality which she used in healing medicines and ointments for her nuns and others needing treatment. Then, there are the green-themed ‘upmarket’ remedies that Hildegard recommended: She regarded the emerald as the “jewel of jewels” for treating many ailments – heart and stomach problems, headaches, even epilepsy. The emerald’s efficacy was due to its excessive greenness which, for her and others of the time, signified that it had absorbed all the green goodness of the natural world as it sprang back to new life each Spring. The emerald was not necessarily ingested, however; just wearing it as a charm or drinking some wine in which it had been placed was considered effective. (No doubt many of us would agree that wearing an emerald might make us feel better!). Hildegard also evoked greenness in relation to spirituality. She used the word viriditas (from the Latin meaning ‘greeness’) to describe the vitality, verdant beauty, and potential for growth of the human soul.
Not everyone saw green as a positive force, however. Some medieval churchmen were wary of the colour precisely because of its association with the natural world. That is, some saw green as representative of the pre-Christian religions that worshipped nature, and found their meaning in the renewal and abundance that the seasons brought. The medieval ‘Green Man’, depicted with his face and head surrounded by foliage, is a motif often found carved into medieval (English) churches. His incorporation into Christianity points to the way that the Church often managed to ‘neutralise’ the power of the Old Religions by appropriating their symbols. Some scholars think that the rise – in literature if not in fact – of the legendary outlaw, Robin Hood (topic for a later post), and his distinctive green clothing, was associated with some people’s yearning for a return to the old forms of worship.
The beauty of the colour green, however, overshadowed the negative associations and it was a popular choice in the illuminated manuscripts of the time. But it was tricky to make. The naturally occurring earth and plant greens were not lightfast and so a mix of the more sturdy primary colours – yellow and blue – gave the best effect. Or, sometimes, verdigris – made from the blue-green rust of copper – was a good alternative but, again, the green colour thus-produced tended to darken over time.
Actually, it was not until the 18th century that a vivid green was produced; and, unfortunately, as it was made by mixing copper with arsenic, it was a dangerous hue, considered responsible for the deaths of many, possibly even Napoleon Bonaparte who had a penchant for green (arsenic-based) wallpaper in his palaces. It was not until the early 20th century that a vivid and safe green was produced. As that great philosopher Kermit the Frog so often said: “It’s not easy being green”.