Thursday, July 28, 2016

Word of the Month: Sky blue, peacock blue, indigo and luxury fabric colours

As part of my PhD thesis, I have been researching language contact between Anglo-Norman and dialects of medieval Italian.

The AND currently only has five entries labelled as Italianisms: comyt < It. comito (‘first officer on a galley’); cotegnate < It. cotognato (‘quince jam’); fangot (sub fagot) < It. fangotto (‘a bundle of cloth); sarme < It. sarma (‘a measure of capacity’) and sport < It. sporta (‘a basket’).[1] These words are all found in the same two sources from the city of Southampton: the Port Books of 1427-30 and the Local Port Book of 1435-36, administrative records which list the cargoes of the many Venetian and Genoese ships which docked in the Hampshire port in the early fifteenth century.

(Source: wikimedia commons; public domain)

However, my research has found that there is much more evidence to be uncovered of Italian influence on Anglo-Norman. One of the semantic fields that showed numerous potential loanwords was that of luxury and exotic textiles. The English market for silks, brocades and velvets was monopolised by the Italian traders who, for over two hundred years, imported fabric from the Middle East, China and Mongolia. Following the Crusades, the Republics of Venice and Genoa had both become powerful maritime states which established various rival colonies around the eastern Mediterranean, the Black Sea and the Levant: this Italian shipping empire was late medieval England’s only connection to many international commodities. Increasingly, from the 1300s onwards, silks of Eastern origin were manufactured in Italy itself, especially in Lucca (in Tuscany) and Venice. The dense, soft silk type we know as velvet was also invented in the weaving centres of medieval Italy and became one of noble Europe’s most sought-after products.[2] The AND corpus contains many records of purchases of such expensive fabrics, especially on behalf of the Royal Wardrobe: these were of varying thickness, smooth or textured, plain or adorned with gold or silver embroidery: e.g. attaby, baldekin, camaca, damaske, emperial, maramas, ragamas (sub frunt), satin, taffata, tartarin, velvet. The recently completed online database, The Lexis of Cloth and Clothing Project ( gives a very useful overview of the spread of textile lexis throughout medieval British languages and we also find some of these silk names in Latin, English, Scots, Welsh and Cornish.

 (Source: Silk from Lucca,14th century. Now in Uppsala Cathedral, Sweden)

It seems that the Italians imported not just sumptuous fabrics into England but also words associated with their colour.  In many cases, these colours gradually came to be used as cloth names in themselves. This blog focuses on the blue-purple spectrum for which we already have several colour names recorded in the AND: bleu, of course, but also azur, jacinte, jacintin, passe, pers, persan, plunket, purpre,[3] violettez (sub motlé) and, borrowed from Middle English, hawen and wachet. Three blues in particular found in Anglo-Norman texts appear to have close links to Italy. Our first example is ‘sky- / heavenly-blue’ or celestrin, a fabric colour most likely derived from Italian celestrino / cilestrino.  Panni celestrini are first attested in the Latin of Rome in 1287 and then in numerous Italian merchant texts form the 1300s and 1400s: see Tesoro della lingua italiana delle origini (TLIO) sub celestino and the Lessico Etimologico Italiano (LEI) sub caelistinum. Some cloth samples of this blue colour from c1402 have even survived, attached to a business letter, in the Datini Archive in Prato, as you can in the photograph below. The textile historian, Lisa Monnas has noted that there was more than one kind of ‘celestrine blue’, citing a Florentine document of 1419-28 which contrasts cilestrino per Roma (‘Roman celestrine’) with cilestrino al modo nostro (‘our celestrine’).[4]

(Source: Lettera 1173 con campione di tessuto, Bacellona-Firenze’, c1402, Datini Archive homepage)

In England, we find the colour / fabric name in Anglo-Norman and Middle English sections of the accounts of the Worshipful Company of Grocers (a London livery company with very close connections to Italian merchants) and, later, in the accounts of Richard III where, coincidentally, it appears alongside another blue cloth name of Italian origin (see OED2 sub turkin):

drap de colour celestryn (Grocers 90) (1401)  (AND sub celestrin)

The clothing murrey and plunket celstyne (Some Acct. Worshipful Company of Grocers 419) (1435-36) (OED2 sub celestrine / celstine)

Cloth called Vervise, otherwise called Plonkets, Turkins, or Celestrines (Act 1 Rich. III c.8 §18) (1483) (OED2 sub celestrine / celstine)
(Source: BNF Français 343 - Queste del Saint Graal / Tristan de Léonois Folio: 3v)

Our second blue – paunace – is not yet found in the AND corpus but will be included when the Second Edition of ‘P’ is published online (early 2017). There is a clear link to Italy in the case of this expensive ‘peacock-blue’ fabric in England, even if the earliest records of its name are found in France (the Old French colour peonace or ‘rouge violacé’ is attested c1172, see FEW VIII, 84a: pavo). The cloth-name appears in the Latin Close Rolls in England from 1208:

item xxj uln’ de poenac’ ad opus camerar’ regine (Cl 88b) (1208) (DMLBS sub pounaceus)

and among other prized possessions (such as a cloth of gold and a silk-trimmed coverlet) in the Anglo-Norman wardrobe inventory of the knight, Osbert Spaldington, from 1298:

Ço est a saver .iij. dras d’or e un say e .j. coverlit linge od le bordur de cendel. E un coverture de gris od le drap de paunace 

The ‘peacock’ colour name was only applied to highest quality dyed silks and woollen cloth and by far the most prolific producers of such cloths were the Italians. As Lisa Monnas details, the Venetians, in particular, were famed for obtaining a unique iridescent, purplish colour with tinges of red (paonazzo) by mixing two costly dyes: indigo (see below) and the red ‘grain’ (grana).[6] Compare this cloth description of the exotic cloth cameletto (camelot or ‘camlet’)) which has been dyed in this way, recorded in another English Close Roll from 1252:

robam integram de optimo cameletto vel de ponacio tincto in grein  (Cl 290) (1252) (DMLBS sub pounaceus)


Our third and final blue is an especially exciting find for lexicographers! Indigo dye has been used since ancient times, first extracted from Indigofera tinctoria, a member of the bean family cultivated in India. Once again, it was the Italian maritime states, especially Venice, Genoa and Pisa, who dominated the import of this rare and expensive commodity from their overseas colonies until the sixteenth century (after which the Portuguese, Spanish and Dutch took over).

Indigo is not currently found in the AND corpus. It does not appear in Continental French until 1544, or in English until 1555 (as the dye) and until 1622 (as the colour): see TLFi sub indigo / OED2 sub indigo. In the Middle Ages, the term used for this dark blue in all dialects of French and in Middle English was inde / ynde from the same ultimate Latin root indicus (‘of India’): see, for example, AND sub inde1 (attested c1175), TLFi sub inde (attested c1150), DMLBS sub indicus (attested 9th century), OED2 sub inde (attested 1320).

However, I have recently found the colour yndigo used to describe satin in an Anglo-Norman account written in London as far back as 1440, 182 years earlier than the first OED entry. The text forms part of the Views of the Hosts of Alien Merchants (edited in English translation by Helen Bradley in 2012), a collection of bureaucratic documents recording the imports and exports of foreign (and mainly Italian) merchants in England.[7] The account in question deals with the Contarini family of Venice and it almost certain that yndigo is borrowed from the Venetian indigo /endego, a dialectal form first attested in 1246: see Dizionario Etimologico Italiano (DEI) sub indigo and TLIO sub indaco.

Item a John Olney le xxvij iour d’April v peces satyns yndigo vjli xiijs iiij (E101/128/30 ret. 6, Sir William Estfield, host to Bertucci and Tommaso Contarini, merchants of Venice) (1440)

Coincidentally, the first mention of indigo dye in an English-matrix text in 1555 is the form endego, found in a translation of a Venetian geographical treatise by Giovan Battista Ramusio (OED2 sub indigo). As the TLFi and the OED both highlight in their etymologies, Spanish indico and Portuguese indigo must have played a role in the transmission of this dye / colour name in the second phase of its trade history during the sixteenth century. But this much earlier yndigo is an important remnant of Anglo-Italian language contact in the later Middle Ages.

[Megan Tiddeman, Aberystwyth]

[1] The former Chief Editor of the AND, David Trotter, discusses these loanwords in an article from 2011: ‘Death, taxes and property: some code-switching evidence from Dover, Southampton and York’, in Code-Switching in Early English, ed. by Herbert Schendl and Laura Wright (Berlin: De Gruyter), pp. 155-89.
[2] The following three studies give a fascinating insight into the lucrative Italian silk industry in the Middle Ages: Monnas, Lisa. 1989. ‘Silk Cloths Purchased for the Great Wardrobe of the Kings of England, 1325-1462’, Textile History, 20: 283-308 / King, Donald and Monique King. 1988. ‘Silk Weaves of Lucca in 1376’, in Opera Textilia variorum temporum: To Honour Agnes Geijer on her ninetieth birthday, ed. by Inger Estham and Margareta Nockert (Stockholm: Staten Historiska Museum), pp. 66-77 / Molà, Luca. 2000. The Silk Industry of Renaissance Venice (Baltimore: John Hopkins University Press).
[3] See also AND editor, Heather Pagan’s blog on ‘purpre’ from February 2016.
[4] See Monnas, Lisa. 2014. ‘Some Medieval Colour Terms for Textiles’, Medieval Clothing and Textiles, 10: 25-57 (pp.28-29).
[5] See Lachaud, Frédérique. 1994. ‘An Aristocratic Wardrobe of the Late Thirteenth Century: The Confiscation of the Goods of Osbert de Spaldington in 1298’, Bulletin of the Institute of Historical Research, 67: 91-100 (p.90).
[6] See Monnas, Lisa. 2014. ‘Some Medieval Colour Terms for Textiles’, Medieval Clothing and Textiles, 10: 25-57 (p. 49).
[7] See Bradley, Helen. 2012. The Views of the Hosts of Alien Merchants, 1440-1444 (London: The Boydell Press).

Thursday, June 30, 2016

Word of the Month: body-parts ‘canel’, ‘canole’, ‘eskanel’, ‘chanel’, and which is which?

Part of the current revision process of the Anglo-Norman Dictionary ( is the provision of (live) links to other relevant dictionaries for every single entry. This places all Anglo-Norman words in their wider linguistic context, mapped against their equivalents in English (Oxford English Dictionary (OED) and Middle English Dictionary (MED)), Continental French (Godefroy’s Dictionnaire de l’ancienne langue française et de tous ses dialectes du IXe au XVe siècle (Gdf) and its Complément (GdfC), Tobler and Lommatzsch’s Altfranzösisches Wörterbuch (TL), Dictionnaire du Moyen Français (DMF) and Trésor de la langue française (TLF) and Latin (Dictionary of Medieval Latin from British Sources (DMLBS)). In addition, AND entries are also linked with two etymological dictionaries of (medieval) French: Französisches etymologisches Wörterbuch (FEW) and Dictionnaire étymologique de l’ancien français (DEAF). These in particular add an extra level of elucidation to AND entries by documenting the origins and original senses of words. And at times this type of information can shed new light on an entry or even suggest alterations or corrections.

One case in point is the emergence of the following group of AND entries under ‘C’ and ‘E’, all referring to body-parts:

canel1: ‘outer membrane of the brain’
canole: ‘collar-bone’
eskanel: ‘shinbone’
chanel2: ‘shin-bone’

Formally these words are very similar, with differences entirely within the realm of the phonetic or orthographic variation one expects to find in Anglo-Norman: variance between non-tonic ‘e’ and ‘o’, and the interchangeability of ‘c’, ‘k’ and even ‘ch’ are common. Even in the case of eskanel, the use of an epenthetic or superfluous ‘es-‘ prefix is not abnormal in Anglo-Norman (see for example eschine (and chine), eschivacher (and chivacher) and eschose1 (and chose)). So are these similar-looking entries, some with very different senses (but all referring to body-parts), really separate words? And how can etymology help us to determine this?

('Talbot Shrewsbury book', Royal 15 E. vi, f. 21v (c.1445)
Alexander meeting blemmyae)

In the case of canole (‘collar-bone’) the FEW suggests an origin in the Latin word *cannabula (2,214b): a compound of canna (‘schilf’, i.e. ‘reed’) and the suffix -abula (‘was umschliest’, i.e. ‘that which surrounds’). Apparently, the sense of ‘reed’ or ‘cane’ widened to refer to anything tube-shaped or a conduit,[1] and the possible anatomical senses listed by the FEW include ‘clavicule’, ‘vertèbres du cou’ (i.e. ‘vertebrae of the neck’), ‘trachée-artere’ (i.e. ‘windpipe’), and ‘gosier’ (i.e. ‘throat’) – body-parts that are connected with or part of the neck. There are no attestations in Latin of cannabula itself (as the asterisk suggests: the word is a reconstruction on the basis of what the FEW believes must be the origin of certain romance word), but medieval Latin has canola: clearly the same term and glossed in the DMLBS as ‘cannel-bone’ i.e. ‘neck-bone’ or ‘collar-bone’ (DMLBS 259b)[2].

What is the likelihood then of Anglo-Norman canel1 (‘outer membrane of the brain’) being merely a variant spelling of this canole? Currently he FEW does not list any -el variants sub *cannabula. Medieval Latin has canella (‘channel, watercourse’, ‘tube’ and, most significantly, also ‘cannel-bone’) (DMLBS 257a-b)[3] as a separate entry. The DMLBS tentatively suggest that this word may be a diminutive form of canna, but also presumes the influence of Anglo-Norman canel and Old French chanel. Both etymologies are possible, and language evolves in such a way that one should not exclude the other.

(Diagram of the Muscles, Bodleian Library, Ashmole 399, fol. 22r)

Turning to English, we have the word cannel bone, attested from the second half of the fourteenth century (in Chaucer’s Book of the Duchess), with a sixteenth-century variation as channel-bone.[4] A shorter form, cannel, is also attested as early as in Sir Gawain and the Green Knight (c.1390) with, from the fifteenth century, also channel appearing. The OED’s glosses include ‘neck-bone’ as well as ‘collar-bone’ and ‘cervical vertebrae’), so despite the absence of any -ol spellings in English, semantically the word overlaps with Anglo-Norman canole. It seems that where French used the term canole, English had canel, perhaps under the influence of channel – the word for ‘canal’, which shares a similar etymology: channel derives from the adjectival form of canna i.e. cannalis (FEW 2/i,168a).

So while Continental French has one form (canole) and English another (c(h)annel), Anglo-Norman seems to have both: canole and canel1. While slightly different etymologies seem to have been involved (*cannabula vs. cannalis, or even, as suggested by the DMBLS, a diminutive of canna), they all revolve around the etymon canna. And even this simplex form is attested, both in Anglo-Norman and Latin, with anatomical senses (‘spinal column’ sub AND can, and ‘windpipe’ sub DMLBS canna1 (258c). To conclude, it appears that canna, in a variety of possible forms or derivatives, produced vernacular words for a range of related or interconnected body-parts.

(Cambridge Trinity College's, O.1.20, Doctor closing a neck-wound)

This complicated etymological intersection has its semantic consequences, which also call into question some of the AND’s definitions.

To begin with the simplex, the AND entry for can currently defines the word as ‘spinal column’ – a sense supported by Gdf (cane 1 1,778c). However, Tobler-Lommatzsch (chan 2,206) rejects this and suggests the meaning ‘collar-bone, clavicle’, synonymous with canole. As editors have pointed out, a blow to the collar-bone is not normally lethal, whereas in the following case, striking someone on the can de col clearly is:

El can del col l’a si feru Qu’a terre l’a mort abatu [Waldef BB 11905]
(‘He hit him so hard on the spinal column / clavicle / ...  (?) that he struck him dead on the ground’)

On another occasion, the effects are less extreme:

Le glotun fert si lez la cane […] Ke les orailles ad estunez [Mir N-D153.87]
(‘He hit the glutton so hard along his spinal column/clavicle/ ... (?) [...] that his ears started ringing’)

The DMF (sub canne) adds another interpretation, and translates the word as ‘windpipe’ or ‘oesophagus’.

As for canole, the sense ‘clavicle’ seems plausible in the following example:

Par le bras l’ad saké […]; Mes le bras estret de la cavole (l. canole) [Man pechez 6972]
(‘He has dragged him by the arm [...]; But he pulled the arm away from its clavicle’)

Bringing together all these senses, and keeping in mind the meaning of the FEW’s proposed etymon (‘(around) the neck’), a conclusion might be that these different translations are perhaps too precise – that the words can (de col) and canel/canole are being used with reference to different parts of the body, distinguished by the taxonomies of modern science, but perhaps seen as one zone of the body in medieval times. What these usages have in common is that they refer to the neck and its surrounding anatomy, thus including the nape of the neck (with the uppermost part of the spinal column), the windpipe, and the clavicles or collar-bones to the sides.

(Nuremberg Chronicle, 1493)

The OED, sub cannel-bone n., best acknowledges this modern ambiguity by listing the two senses: “1. The ‘neck-bone’: perh. properly the cervical vertebræ, which form the medullary canal. (But it is not easy to know in what sense early writers used it [...]) 2. The collar-bone or clavicle.” The OED’s third edition, which includes the revision of etymologies, is likely to expand upon the interpretation of this 1888 entry.

Even so, the AND’s definition of ‘outer membrane of the brain’ sub canel1 still stands out. This, however, is based upon a single citation and is supported solely by the fact that the word is glossed in Middle English as tey:

[...] Toup, canel (M.E. tey) et cervel [...] [Nom 5]

This Nominale is basically a collection of thematic word-lists (juxtaposing Anglo-Norman and Middle English vocabulary), at this point naming the different parts of the head:  ‘hair on top of the head, “canel” and the brain’.

The very same citation is glossed in MED (for their entry teie n.2) as ‘the membrane forming the outer covering of the brain, the dura mater’, and this is what must have prompted the AND’s definition. Without calling into question the meaning of the Middle English gloss, the Anglo-Norman word and its presumed etymology suggest that the part of the body referred is perhaps the upper part, or nape, of the neck, in this case the cervical vertebrae.

It becomes apparent that some revision of the definitions of these AND#2 articles is called for, reminding us of how medieval scientific terms often require a different approach than our modern classifications suggest. The entries canel1 and canole should perhaps be merged, while a broader definition, along the lines of ‘(anat.) area of the neck and shoulders (including the clavicles, nape of the neck and throat)’, seems necessary.

*     *     *

But no anatomical system could confuse these parts of the body with the shin-bone ... And this is exactly what seems to be happening with eskanel and chanel2 (the latter listing canel and kanel as a variant spellings)[5] – if indeed these words share the same etymology as well.

Interestingly, all instances of these two words appear in Walter of Bibbesworth’s mid-thirteenth-century Tretiz de langage or in the closely related fifteenth-century Femina text. The only other dictionary to attest these words/uses (be it only in the form without the ‘es-’) is TL (chanel 3, 2,216: ‘schienbein’), and only uses the same Bibbesworth source. The words are absent from any of the abovementioned other dictionaries, and without any clear etymological support, the current AND definition is based entirely upon the ME gloss: ‘shynbon’ and the context:

En la chaunbe avez la zure, et tant cum braoun i est ensure De meillur force home se assure, Si l’eskanel seit saunz blezure [Bibb Roth (G) 148]
(‘On the leg you have the calf, and the more muscle on it, the more a man can be sure of his strength, if the shinbone is unharmed’)

(unidentified medieval Bible)

Where does this word come from? And how did it acquire this sense? With no other etymology readily available, and considering the formal similarity with canel1 and canole, can these words be interpreted as deriving from the same canna etymon? In that case, is it possible that Bibbesworth used the wrong Anglo-Norman word? There seems to have been a common confusion in medieval English of ‘shin-bone’ and ‘chin-bone’ (cf. MED sub shin(e n.1), and indeed, some variant manuscripts of the Bibbesworth text gloss eskanel with ‘chin-bone’[6]. A chin-bone, or jawbone, once more belongs to the aforementioned general area of the neck, and indeed some of the uses of canole may be interpreted as ‘jaw’ or ‘jaw-bone’:

Cil feri le Gyu lez cele joue Ke la canole le deslowe [Mir N-D 158.282]
(‘He hit the Jew on the cheek, so much that it dislocated his jaw’)[7]

But since this sense hardly fits the context (which talks about leg-muscle and physical strength), must we assume that Bibbesworth hit upon the wrong French word based on a formal/orthographical confusion of two very different Middle English body-parts? Not only is this near impossible to prove, it seems an unlikely slip-up for an author like Bibbesworth – particularly as none of the variant manuscripts seem to have felt the need to correct.

In the absence of any other etymological explanation, it may be suggested that while the word for ‘shinbone’ may have come from the same etymon (canna), using the general sense of ‘tube-like shape’ to refer to the elongated shin-bone or tibia. Why, however, the word, with this sense, does not appear anywhere else than in this Bibbesworth/Femina cluster remains odd.

('The Rutland Psalter', BL Add. 62925 fol. 072v (c.1260))

How will these findings further alter the AND entries? Allowing for the possibility that the word for ‘shinbone’ after all derives from a (hitherto unidentified) different etymology (and do let us know if you have any suggestions!), eskanel/chanel2 (‘shinbone’) will be kept separate from canole/ canel1 (‘area around and including the neck’). However, instead of four there will now only be two entries, both of which provided with revised definitions and a commentary discussing the possibility that ultimately they may derive from the same Latin etymon or group of etyma.


[1]  The same word lies at the origin of chanel1, i.e. ‘channel, bed (of river)’, which in medical text was used for passages or tubular cavities in the body. See also English channel n.1 (and post-medieval canal n.). Further English derivatives are, for example, cane n.1, cannon n.1, and canel n. (an obsolete word for cinnamon, probably in the form of tube-like strips of bark), which have their Anglo-Norman counterparts in can, canon1, and canele1.
[2]  The earliest attestation of this word dates from 1267, i.e. later than the use in Anglo-Norman.
[3]  The anatomical sense is attested from 1260.
[4]  In fifteenth-century Latin we even come across os canale[4], a straightforward translation of cannel-bone (DMLBS canalis1 254a)
[5]  The separation of the two forms is complicated: the Bibbesworth text inevitably uses a definite article, with editors unsure about whether to leave ‘le chanel’ as such, or transcribe as ‘l’echanel’ – producing a variant spelling for eskanel. Even allowing for the possibility of the coexistence of forms with or without prefixes, it seems logical to create one AND article to cover all citations.
[6]  With ‘ch’ usually interpreted as a mere orthographical variant of ‘sh’.
[7]  Also the abovementioned Mir N-D citation Le glotun fert si lez la cane […] Ke les orailles ad estunez (Mir N-D 153.87) might make best sense if ‘cane’ is interpreted as (lower) jaw.