Like most kids and even more adults my first act when encountering a new dictionary was to look up the forbidden words, the often four-lettered smut we all knew but seldom acknowledged (in the company of adults). I realize I haven’t done that lately, probably because such words are no longer tref and, thus, not especially noteworthy. Through overuse, we have enervated a potent portion of our vocabulary. The foul-mouthed have become merely tiresome and no longer shocking. In his 1937 review of A Dictionary of Slang and Unconventional English by the New Zealand-British lexicographer Eric Partridge (1894-1979), H.L. Mencken notes:
“Unlike most
of his predecessors, Mr. Partridge does not evade the dreadful vocabulary of
the schoolyard. All the four-letter unmentionables that everybody knows but
nobody (save the proletarian novelists) ever writes are listed, and though some
of them have their vowels replaced by sanitary stars, they are discussed at
length and their etymology and moral history are set forth boldly.”
In The American Language (1919; second ed.,
1921) Mencken treads more genteelly than Partridge. Contrasting American and
English in a section titled “Expletives and Forbidden Words,” he writes:
“The
Victorian era saw a great growth of absurd euphemisms in England, including second wing for the leg of a fowl, but
it was in America that the thing was carried farthest. Bartlett hints that rooster came into use in place of cock as a matter of delicacy, the latter
word having acquired an indecent significance, and tells us that, at one time,
even bull was banned as too vulgar
for refined ears. In place of it the early purists used cow-creature, male-cow
and even gentleman-cow.”
The most
amusing passages in Mencken’s endlessly re-readable volumes are such Homeric catalogues
of words. He notes that Partridge includes words of American origin only if
they have taken root in the U.K., though they are “not always the most vivid
and saucy”:
“An idle
tour of the book shows that whoopee, roadhog, hornswoggle, cutie, necking, fantods, attaboy, hoodoo, and speed-cop have been taken in, but that dingbat, pushover, hoosegow, palooka, harness-bull, jinx, hot-spot, jitney, corn-fed, bughouse, rumdumb, rabble-rouser,
and nerts have yet to be admitted. Fanny, in England, still lacks the American
sense of backside; it signifies, over there, an even more confidential area of the
female anatomy, and is thus, as Mr. Partridge says, ‘low.’ It is certainly not
low in this country, though one can hardly imagine a bishop using it in a
pastoral letter.”
Mencken
might have cited one of his favorite books, Huckleberry
Finn, Chapter 8, to illustrate the use of fantods: “By and by I was close enough to have a look, and there
laid a man on the ground. It most give me the fantods.” An English professor once
helpfully annotated for me the name of a minor but critical character in another
great American novel, Henry James’ The
Golden Bowl. Fanny Assingham
contains three synonyms for derriere in
a single name.
Mencken can
be silly. His occasional anti-Semitism is stupid and beneath him, and like most
writers he knew almost nothing about politics, but racy prose remains the reason
we read him. He concludes his review:
“His book is not to be reviewed in a column or two. It deserves hard and prayerful [!] study, and not only for its naughty words. It is a serious contribution to a difficult subject, and greatly surpasses all its predecessors.”
3 comments:
Sort of related, language-wise:
On Sunday afternoon, I picked up, at my local bookshop, two books that were considered important in their time: "Shakespearean Tragedy: Hamlet, Othello, King Lear, Macbeth" (1904) by A. C. Bradley (1851-1935), and "Shakespeare of London" (1949) by Marchette Chute (1909-1994). Chute, I think, is forgotten today, but one still hears Bradley's name bandied about on occasion. Being cheap paperback reprints that were pretty beat-up, I only paid $1 for both of them. I intend to read them with interest.
An interesting coincidence: neither Bradley nor Chute ever married or had children, and both authors lived to be 84.
I suspect that most of of those often repeated examples of Victorian euphemism are apocryphal. I don't think anybody used "second wing" for leg of fowl, or covered their piano legs with knitted socks. I suspect that a few instances of silly euphemism were noted and wildly exaggerated by post-Victorian generations for a laugh or to make themselves feel superior. Our current generation, with its linguistic delicacies, would have Mencken in stitches.
I agree with Faze -- I doubt the authenticity of those alleged instances of Victorian squeamishness; certainly, I doubt that, if authentic, they were at all widespread, and are trooped out for the reason Faze states. I've read many Victorian novels and other works, biographies, etc. and Mencken doesn't ring true.
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