Chapter 1 of 4 · 3920 words · ~20 min read

Part 1

LARS PORSENA

_or_

THE FUTURE OF SWEARING AND IMPROPER LANGUAGE

BY ROBERT GRAVES

New York E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY 681 Fifth Avenue

LARS PORSENA

Of recent years in England there has been a noticeable decline of swearing and foul language, and this, except at centres of industrial depression, shows every sign of continuing until a new shock to our national nervous system, a European war on a large scale or widespread revolutionary disturbances at home, may (or may not) revive the habit of swearing, simultaneously with that of praying. While, therefore, obscene and blasphemous tongues are temporarily idle, it would be well to inquire intelligently into the nature and necessity of their employment: a ticklish theme and one seldom publicly treated except in comminations from orthodox pulpits. It is to be hoped that this essay will steer its difficult course without private offence to the reader as without public offence to the Censor.

To begin with a few necessary common-places. The chief strength of the oath in Christian countries, and indeed everywhere, is that it is forbidden by authority, and the Mosaic injunction against taking the name of Jehovah in vain must mark the beginning of our research. This commandment seems to have had a double force, recording in the first place a taboo against the mention, except on solemn occasions, of the tribal god’s holy name (for so among certain savage tribes it is still considered unlucky to use a man’s real name, often only known to himself and the priest), and in the second place a taboo against the misuse of even a decent periphrasis of the god’s name: for the act of calling him to witness any feat or condition, or the summons to curse or destroy an enemy, must involve elaborate purifications or penalties. Any vain appeal to God to witness or punish a triviality was therefore forbidden as lessening not only the prestige of religion but also the legal dues of the priestly commissioners of oaths. Now, however, that the economic interest has dwindled, and priesthood has been shorn of temporal powers, the vain oath is no longer punishable with stoning or with the stake――it is regarded merely as a breach of the peace. “Goddam you, sir, for your interference,” spoken to a railway company official is not liable to greater penalties than “To the pigs with dirty King William” spoken in Belfast. Though the railwayman is given credit for possible religious fanaticism, and though the goddam-er is formally reminded of the solemn nature of the oath when he kisses the Book in the witness box, the Almighty is left to avenge the spiritual fault personally.

The taboo on vain mention of God or Gods is also extended to the divine mysteries, to the sacraments and sacred writings, and to the human representatives of Heaven where they are permitted direct communion with the Absolute. In Catholic countries, Saints and Prophets are, therefore, used for swearing in a low key, and it has meant a serious lessening of the dignity of the Almighty in England that Protestantism and Dissent have removed these valuable intermediaries from objurgation as from adoration. In Catholic countries, too, the Bible is not vulgarly broadcast, and an oath by the Great Chained Word of God is resonant and effective; while in England the prolific output of six pennyworths and even penn’orths of the Holy Scriptures from secular presses has further weakened the vocabulary of the forceful blasphemer. The triumph of Protestantism is, perhaps, best shown by the decline into vapidity of “By George!”, the proudest oath an Englishman could once swear; for the fact is we have lost all interest in our Patron Saint. It has been stated with detail and persistence that in the late summer of 1918 an Australian mounted unit sensationally rediscovered the actual bones of St George――not George of Cappadocia but the other one who slew the Dragon: they were brought to light by the explosion of a shell in the vault of a ruined church. The officer in command sent a cable to the Dean and Chapter of Westminster inviting them to house the holy relics. After some delay, the Dean and Chapter formally regretted the serious overcrowding of their columns; for, of course, though they could not very well mention it, St George was a bloody German. So the Saint was lost again by the disgusted Australians, this time beyond rescue. Or so one version of the story has it. The other version, more attractive if less authenticated, suggests that the Dean relented later and permitted the relics to be smuggled into the Abbey under the thin disguise of _The Unknown Warrior_, thereby avoiding offence to anti-Popish feeling.

Undistinguished as the oath by St George has become, he has at any rate had the honour of outlasting all his peers. Where is there an Englishman who, mislaying his purse or his pipe, will threaten it in the name St Anthony? or blackguarding a cobbler for making a bad repair to his boots will swear by the holy last of St Crispin that, if that cobbler does not do the job again properly, he will have half-a-pound of his own blunt brads forced down his lying throat? And whom has England got to match the Pope as a swearing-stock? Once in a public-house a young Italian and a middle-aged Londoner were arguing politics. The Italian paid a warm tribute to the Vatican and its works. “Oh, to hell with the Pope!” remarked the Englishman. “And to hell”, replied the furious Italian, upsetting the glasses with a blow of his fist, “and to hell with your Archbishop of Canterbury!” The Englishman swallowed the insult agreeably, but expostulated on the waste of good liquor.

Bound up with the taboo on the mention of God, of Heaven His throne, and Earth His footstool, and of all His other charges and minions, is the complementary taboo on the Devil, His ministers, and His prison-house. At one time the vain invocation of the Devil was an even more dangerous misdemeanour than the breach of the third Commandment. God, though He would not hold him guiltless who took His Name in vain, might forgive an occasional lapse; but the Devil, if ever called in professionally, would not fail to charge heavily for His visit. However, since the great Victorian day when an excited working-man came rushing out of the City church where Dean Farrar was preaching the gospel and shouted out to his friends at the public-house corner: “Good news! old Farrar says there’s no ’ell”, the taboo has yearly weakened. “That dreadful other place”, as Christina respectfully called it in the death-bed scene of Butler’s _Way of all Flesh_, is now seldom dwelt upon in the home pulpit, though the Law still formally insists on it as true because deterrent. One regretfully hears that the threat of hell’s quenchless flames and the satyro-morphic view of Satan are now chiefly used for export purposes to Kenya and the Congo Basin, as a cement to the bonds of Empire.

There is no surer way of testing the current of popular religious opinion than by examining the breaches of the taboos in swearing. At the present day the First Person of the Trinity is not taken too seriously. “O God!” has become only a low-grade oath and has crept into the legitimate vocabulary of the drawing-room and the stage. The second Person, since the great evangelical campaigns of the last century overturned a despotism and inaugurated a spiritual republic, is far more firmly established. To swear by Jesus Christ is an oath with weight behind it. The Third Person is seldom appealed to, and makes a very serious oath, partly because of the Biblical warning that the sin against the Holy Ghost is the one unforgivable offence, and partly because the word _Ghost_ suggests a sinister spiritual haunting. “God” to the crowd is a benevolent or a laughable abstraction; Jesus Christ is a hero for whom it is possible to have a warm friendly feeling; but the Holy Ghost is a puzzle and to be superstitiously avoided.

From blasphemy and semi-blasphemy it is only a short step to secular irreverence. Many secular objects where they have become symbolic of deep-seated loyalties are held in the highest reverence by naval, military, and sporting society. The Crown and the Union Jack are for the governing classes enthroned beside the Altar and the Communion-cup. To call the smallest King’s ship a “boat”, let alone a “wretched tub” or “lousy hencoop”, is to invite broken ribs; to mistake a pack of hounds in full cry for a “whole lot of howling dogs” is social suicide. The ingenious General G――――r, so remarkable an artist in swearing that he must one day earn a paragraph in the revised _D.N.B._, used this form of profanity with the happiest effect. Once, when inspecting the famous “Z” Battery of the Royal Horse Artillery, he was dissatisfied with its response to his order “Dismount!” He bellowed out: “Now _climb back again_, you pack of consumptive little Maltese monkeys!” “Z” Battery complained to Headquarters of this affront, and General G――――r was in due course asked for his explanation and apology. He gave it briefly as follows:

Sir,

I have the honour to report that, on the occasion to which I am referred, my order to dismount was obeyed in so slovenly a fashion that for the moment I was deceived. I concluded that I was actually assisting at a performance by a troop of little Maltese monkeys, amusing enough but crippled by disease. I tender my apologies to all ranks of “Z” Battery for my mistake.

I have the honour to be, Sir, Your obedient servant, J. G――――r. _Major-General._

Besides these religious and semi-religious taboos there is a whole series forbidding the mention of any realistic danger or misfortune that may be lurking round the corner. So it is a greater personal offence to tell a taxi-man “May your gears seize up and your tyres burst, and may you get pitched through your windscreen and break both legs against a lamp-post” than merely to ejaculate “Blast your bleeding neck!” or “Plague take you!” Instances of necks bleeding and divinely blasted are rarely met in General Hospitals, and England has been free from plague these two hundred years. To curse effectively one must invoke a reality or, at the least, a possibility. Any swearing that fails to wound the susceptibility of the person sworn at or of the witness to the oath, is mere play. Few people enjoy being sworn at, but there are no forms of humour more boring than guaranteed non-alcoholic substitutes for the true wine of swearing. “Great Jumping Beans!”, “Ye little fishes!”, “Snakes and ladders!”, and “Mind your step, you irregular old Pentagon!” If Sinclair Lewis has done nothing else in _Martin Arrowsmith_, he has at least nailed up as an abominable type Cliff Clawson, the medical student, who indulged perpetually in this form of heartiness.

Among the governed classes one of the unforgivable words of abuse is “bastard.” Bastardy is always a possibility, and savagely tormented whenever it appears; so that “You bastard!” must be regarded as a definite allegation. Whereas in the governing classes there is far greater tolerance towards bastards, who often have noble or even royal blood in their veins, and who, under the courtesy title “natural sons and daughters,” have contributed largely to our ancestral splendours. On the other hand, the other common word in “b.,” which originally meant a Bulgarian heretic, but later implied “one addicted to unnatural vice”, is not a serious insult among the governed, who are more free from the homosexual habit. Dr. Johnson rightly defined the word as “a term of endearment among sailors”. Whereas in the governing classes the case is reversed. When some thirty years ago the word was written nakedly up on a club notice-board as a charge against one of its members, there followed a terrific social explosion, from which the dust has even now not yet settled. Had the accusation been “Mr. Wilde is a bastard”, shoulders would merely have been shrugged at the noble lord’s quixotic ill-temper. As it was....

And this brings us to the sex-taboo, from the violation of which abusive swearing draws its chief strength; mention even of the privy parts of the body is protected by a convention which has lost little of its rigidity since mid-Victorian times. The soldier, shot through the buttocks at Loos, who was asked by a visitor where he had been wounded, could only reply “I’m so sorry, ma’am, I don’t know: I never learned Latin.” Public reference to a man’s navel, thighs, or arm-pits, even, is a serious affront; from which the size of the “breeches of fig-leaves” tailored in Eden may be deduced. It is difficult to determine how far this taboo is governed by the sense of reverence, and how far the feeling is one of disgust and Puritanic self-hate. But in any case the double function of the tabood organs, the progenitive and excretory principles, has confused the grammatic mind of civilization.

The words “whore” and “harlot” are among the angriest properties of swearing in any class: in the governed classes they are taken realistically, the conditions of life being often so difficult under industrialism that the temptation for a woman to embark on this career is a serious one. In the governing classes the accusation is one of aesthetic coarseness: to have a _liaison_ is excusable, and sometimes, if the lover chosen is sufficiently distinguished, even admirable; but the amateur status must be strictly maintained in love as in sport. (It may be noticed in passing that the word “pro.” is a deadly insult among Public School soccer players, and the greatest compliment in village or waste-ground football.) In no class, it is to be regretted, does the accusation against a man that he consorts with harlots rank as a serious insult, though “pimp”, “ponce”, and “procurer” are ugly enough. For some reason or other the hatred of cuckoldry has abated: the very word is forgotten in popular talk; I would welcome an explanation of this. But the prevalence of “unnatural vice” has added to the unforgivable list the synonyms “Nancy-boy”, “fairy”, and “poof.” The chastity of sister or daughter has become a far more serious consideration than the faithfulness of a wife. When once the master of a Thames tug, remonstrated with for fouling a pleasure-boat and breaking an oar, leant over the rails and replied hoarsely: “Oh, I did, did I, Charlie? And talking of oars, ’ow’s your sister?,” he did so only in his detestation of the leisured classes and in confidence of a clean get-away.[1]

[1] There is a great opportunity for ethnological research in swearing of this sort. Why is it, for instance, that in India the insult “brother-in-law”, carrying with it the implication that a man has a liaison with his brother’s wife, is the one unforgiveable insult (and the first word therefore that the Imperialistic Englishman picks up thoughtlessly for general conversational purposes)? Why in Egypt is a man insulted best, paternally; “O you father of sixty dogs!” The answer will be found in a comparison of religions, the Hindu laying most stress on the decencies of family life in a large household, the Mohammedan on the passing down of male perfection from father to son.

Another serious abusive accusation in most classes is, fortunately enough, of venereal infection. “Fortunately” because, though the stigma may tend in some cases to concealment of the disease, there have been times when infection has been considered a mark of manliness, a fashionable martyrdom. It was so considered on its first introduction into England, for Henry VIII was one of the first sufferers from the Neapolitan sickness; and it has been so considered in Central European military circles in quite recent times. This view was met even among young line-officers during the War. But the lasting and painful results of venereal disease are now generally realized, so “pox-ridden” and “clap-stricken” are daily gaining in offensiveness as epithets.

It is only a minor taboo that prevents reference to human excrement, but major swearing is strengthened by lavatory metaphors implying worthlessness or noisome disgust. Again, it is only a minor taboo that forbids mention of lice, fleas, and bugs. But the imputation of lousiness (except in the trenches, where it was a joke) carries serious implications with it; and the metaphorical “You louse!” is ripe with hatred.

Now, the odd combinations that a witty and persistent mind could contrive from the breach of several of these taboos at once are far more numerous than appears at first sight. The lewd fellow who can go on swearing, without repetition, for a mere hour or more should not deserve the high popular esteem that he wins by the feat. Consider for a moment. It takes nine hours or more to exhaust the combinations of a full peal of church bells: then, while there are still so many taboos major or minor that a daring mouth can find to outrage, with such an ancient wealth of technical and associative matter to be excavated within each of these taboos, and so constant an enrichment of this ancient wealth by new pathological research, by religious sectarianism, and by the advance of our imperial frontiers; and while the effect of a discord played between the taboos which protect sacred objects and those which repress disgust or terror can be so shattering――well, then the recourse that most celebrated swearers take to foreign tongues or dialects must be considered a confession of imaginative failure.

Add to this positive foulmouthedness the art of negative swearing, and the thermodynamic entropy of the ingenious swearing-bout becomes even more intense. The sequel to General G――――r’s inspection of “Z” Battery is to the point here. He had been privately given to understand that another instance of abusive or foul language on parade would cause him to lose his command. Then the day came when he was not inspecting but being inspected, by the Commander-in-Chief of the Forces. His brigade had assembled on the field of parade half-an-hour before the C.-in-C. was expected, and General G――――r had posted a trumpeter at the gate where the beflagged motor was expected to pull up. The lad had been ordered to sound the call for “Steady!” as soon as he saw the car approaching; but, even if it did not arrive sooner, the call was in any case to be given three minutes before the hour. He was to watch the church clock. Time passed, no car came, the call did not sound. Then the hour chimed. Infuriated by this, the General set spurs to his charger and thundered down to the gate. Passion choked him, his face grew crimson. He reined up by the terrified trumpeter, and pointing down at him with his finger, spoke in ogreish tones:

“Oh, you naughty, naughty, naughty little trumpeter!” And at that moment, under cover of a hedge, for they had left their motor-cars on the high road, up came the Commander-in-Chief and his staff on foot.

A physical training expert at Aldershot before the War knew the value of this negative form, the sarcastic Balaam’s blessing where cursing is expected, the triviality more impressive than the thunder and whirlwind which went before it. Many of this staff-sergeant’s best extempores have since been learned by rote and repeated by his pupils in season and out. Failing once after repeated positive efforts in swearing to induce in a squad the supple gymnastic style he expected, he moodily gave the “Stand easy!” and beckoned the men up to hear a story. “When I was a little nipper”, he began, “on my seventh birthday my dear old granny gave me a little box of wooden soldiers. Oh dear, you wouldn’t imagine how pleased I was with them! I drilled them up and I drilled them down, and then one day I took them down to the seashore and lost them. Oh, you wouldn’t believe how I cried! And when I came home to tea that night, late and blubbering, my dear old granny――her hair was white as snow and her soul whiter still――she says to me: ‘Little Archie, cheer up!’ she says. ‘For God is good and one day you’ll find your little wooden soldiers again.’ and Oh, good God, she was right, I _have_. You wooden stiffs with the paint sucked off your faces!” And at another time, more simply and despairingly: “Now, men, I’ve done my best for you. I’ve sworn at you and sweated and coaxed you and it’s all so much labour in vain. Now I say to you solemnly, solemnly, mind: ‘May the blessed Lord Jaycee take you into his merciful and perpetual keeping’; for I’ve done with you. Class; Dismiss!”

* * * * *

Of the necessity for swearing there is more than one opinion: large numbers both of the educated and the uneducated stand for the rigour of the taboo and for self-control: for them yea must always be yea, and nay, nay. Yet in practice they permit a few sterilized ejaculations, such as “you silly beggar”, which is the drawing-room synonym for the double b. of the street-corner; “bother”, “blow”, and “dash” do service for “damn”, “curse”, and “blast”, which are just beyond the old-fashioned limit. For oaths there are “By Jove!”, “By George!”, and “By Goodness!”, and on comic occasions “Oddsboddikins!”, “Strike me!”, “Swelp me Bob!”, and “By my halidom!” are dragged out, their blasphemy purged by the lapse of time. It is one of the curiosities of English that an oath by “God’s little bodies”――that is, by the Host――is a Christmas-annual jest, while “Bloody”, still stringently disallowed, does not mean more than “By Our Lady” as an oath, nor as an adjective more than “worthy of the Bloods”, those aristocratic disturbers of City peace in the eighteenth century. Another section of the community swears luxuriously, from anti-institutional conviction; but a middle course is, as usual, the most popular one: bad language is permitted only under extreme provocation, and even then must stop short of complicated invention.

* * * * *

Swearing as an art probably reached its highwater-mark in the late eighteenth century. The aristocracy was as careful in its protection of a corrupt Church as it was cynical about religion; and swearing as an assault on a coffee-house rival and introductory to a duel demanded a nice refinement of oratorical blasphemy; as the contemporary sermon demanded a nice refinement of oratorical eulogy. The Elizabethan Age may have been richer in far-fetched profanities and wild conceits than the Augustan Age, but swearing is an art that cannot trust to mere adventure for its success; it must have a controlled purpose, and always flourishes most strongly in a pure aristocracy, particularly a leisured town-dwelling aristocracy. The Elizabethan age swore, it hardly knew how or why: and it was an excitable age with few settled convictions. The Augustan age swore with deliberation and method, as clearly appears in Sheridan’s _Rivals_:

_Acres_: “If I can find out this Ensign Beverley, odds triggers and flints! I’ll make him know the difference o’t.”

_Absolute_: “Spoken like a man! But pray, Bob, I observe you have got an odd kind of a new method of swearing.”