Tea-Leaf

Cockney Rhyming Slang and the Tea-Leaf

Cockney rhyming slang works on the principle of collocations; only in this case it is the collocation of commonly associated words with the final word being the placeholder for another word that was really intended. Thus, a Tea-leaf is cockney rhyming slang for ‘thief’ (leaf – thief). Cockney slang contains a lot of innuendo and humor, so ‘the trouble and strife’ is your wife, and ‘Gary Glitter’ is slang for….well, let’s just say it’s a euphemism for the toilet. It is said that Cockney rhyming slang developed as a type of street slang, allowing criminals to hold coded conversations within earshot of the law without being understood. Two fellows could be standing alongside a constable of the realm and have the following exchange:

“I don’t adam and eve’ it, the ‘trouble and strife’ was out with some ‘tea-leaf’ in a ‘whistle and flute’ tucking into some ‘Becks and Posh’.”

What Google translate would be unable to tell you is that one man has just told the other that he can’t believe that he saw his wife out with a thief in a suit eating some food.

“I don’t believe it, the wife was out with some thief in a suit tucking into some nosh (food).”

As it was a spoken form of language, it is difficult to pin down the exact moment Cockney slang appears. What we do know is that Cockney was, in the 18th century, discredited in print as the language of crime, poverty, and the uneducated. This didn’t stop it, however, from being liberally used by writers such as Charles Dickens, Mark Twain and Bernard Shaw, and with the transportation of criminals (mainly from London) to the new world of the Australian prison colonies, its reach has stretched across the world.

Pall Mall & Golf

I came across this word origin by accident the other day when a student asked me: “how do you pronounce ‘mall’ in shopping mall? Is it /mɔl/ or /mæl/? I went for the former, like the ‘all’ in ‘tall’. However, my student then followed up by asking how to pronounce the ‘Mall’ in ‘Pall Mall’, which is /mæl/. Some of you may remember Pall Mall from the Monopoly board, while London dwellers may be familiar with Pall Mall (SW1) itself.

So what is a Pall Mall anyway?

The Mall, a broad, tree-lined promenade in St. James’s Park London, was named as such in the 1670s; before that date it was called Maill (1640s) so called because it formerly was an open alley which was used to play ‘pall-mall’, a croquet-like game described in the book ‘Dictionary of Obsolete and Provincial English 1857 as “A game wherein a round box bowle is with a mallet strucke through a high arch of yron (standing at either end of an alley one) which he that can do at the fewest blowes, or at the number agreed on winnes.”. Anyone who has played croquet (and I’m guessing that isn’t many of you) may know that it involves hitting a ball with a mallet through a ring. Think of Victorian images of ladies in white dresses with long wooden sticks ending in a hammer head.

The English ‘name’ for the game comes from the French pallemaille, deriving from the Italian pallamaglio, from palla “ball” + maglio “mallet”.

An interesting history of Palle Maille can be found on Wikipedia where it is argued that Pall Mall may come from Middle French pale-mail or “straw-mallet”, in reference to target hoops being made of bound straw; however, the evidence put forward for that comes from a self-published 1901 article Les Sports et jeux ď exercice dans l’ancienne France . 

A much more interesting history is argued in … including a reference to the book: A method for travell: shewed by taking the view of France, in 1598, by Robert Darllington. Darllington was travelling on a Grand Tour across Europe when he came across the French game pallemaile. He bemoaned the fact that Palle-Maille, as he spelled it, wasn’t played in England:

‘Among all the exercises of France, I preferre none before the Palle-maille, both because it is a Gentleman-like sport, not violent, and yeelds good occasion and opportunity of discourse, as they walke from the one marke to the other. I marvell, among many more Apish and foolish toyes, which wee have brought out of France, that wee have not brought this sport also into England.’

It is interesting to note that the modern game of Golf might not be what it is today without the trailblazing of jeu de mail. Its substance and spirit are based on the ancient French game which contributed the concepts of unopposed singles or team matches – each player with his club and ball – caddies, pros, clubhouses, penalties, handicapping, the cry ‘Gare’ that led to ‘Fore’, the use of a tee for the initial drive, greenkeepers, and much more.

The original game of golf is first mentioned (along with fut-bol) in a 1457 Scottish statute on forbidden games.

‘That in na place of the realme thair be vsit fut-ballis, golf, or vther sic unprofitabill sportis’

[Acts James IV, 1491, c.53].

The word itself comes from mid-15c., Scottish gouf, meaning “stick, club, bat.” And before anyone writes; no, Golf is not an acronym of ‘Gentleman Only Ladies Forbidden’. This story seems to date back no earlier than 1997. Sorry, to disappoint.

I don’t mean to Brag….

I love the connection that mythology has with modern English. Anyone who saw my post on days of the week will understand the presence that mythic characters play in our everyday words. However, this example that I came across may be stretching it a bit.

Kenneth C. Davis states in his book Don’t know much about Mythology that the word brag derives from Bragi, God of poetry and eloquence.

On page 301, Davis writes:

Bragi God of poetry and eloquence, Bragi is called the ‘braggart’ by Loki, and the word ‘brag‘ is derived from his name.

Kenneth Davis states that Bragi’s complacent self assurance and verbal dexterity is what gave rise to the origin of the word ‘brag‘, and it seems logical enough, but before we go on, let’s talk about Bragi.

Bragi

Bragi is said to be one of Odin’s sons (or perhaps kin). Bragi may be the son of Frigg or perhaps giantess Gunnlod, which tells you something about the love-life of the Asgards.  He is the god of poetry as (wikipedia tells me) the Norse word for poetry is Bragr. So Kenneth Davis can be forgiven  for making the logical leap to associating the English word Brag with Bragi.

However, not being so forgiving myself, after reading Davis’ account, I did some digging in the on-line Etymology Dictionary and in my Chambers copy at home, and it surprised you to find that ‘brag’ may have nothing to do with Norse gods at all.

The Braggart

Around the 16th Century, the noun braggart was in common use to describe a show-off (or boaster) flaunting their wares in public. We can see it being used in a colourful insult in this passage from Strange Newes, Of the intercepting certaine Letters and a Convoy of Verses, as they were going Privilie the victuall the Lowe Countries by Thomas Nash

In earnest thus: there is a Doctor and his Fart that have kept a foule stinking stirre in Paules Churchyard. I cry him mercie: I flaundred him; he is fearce a doctor till he hath done his acts: this dodipoule, this didopper. This proferred poeticall braggart hath raild uppon mee, without wit in art, in certaine foure penny-worth of Letters &c. takes for coatch horses, for two that draw more equally in one oratoriall yoke of vaine-glory, there is no heaven.

I especially like the use of the insult ‘dodipoule‘ and ‘didopper‘ which seems to be unique to Nash, existing nowhere else save for an acrimonious exchange of letters between Nash and a contemporary writer Gabriel Harvey in the  16th Century. According to  Scorn: The Wittiest and Wickedest Insults in Human History, the pairs insults were so furious that the Archbishop of Canterbury ordered all their works to be burned. This may account for the death of these two insults from the English language.

The Bragues

Braggart is said to have been in vogue in the 16th Century coming from the earlier Middle French ‘braguer’. Below is an example of its usage in an obscure poem by Gilles Corrozet.

Certes, tu es le tabernacle,
le lieu secret et habitacle,
Ou sont les beaux joyaulx et bragues
Des dames qui font grosses bragues.

This is cheeky word play on religous texts concerning the Sacrement, roughly translating as the following.

Verily thou art the tabernacle,
The secret place and abode,
Where are the beautiful jewels and breeches
Ladies here make big flaunts.

The play on words in French is obvious and  Curiosités de l’étymologie française by Charles Nisard 1863 translates the word from French into ‘flaunt, brave or brag’, but we clearly see it being used to refer to clothes or garments too.

To Brag & Bray

Despite the origin of the word Braggart, the verb ‘to brag’ has an earlier usage.  We can see it in this 1576 text  The Rocke of Regard, divided into foure parts by Roberto Rinaldo

Beautie, leave off to brag, thy bravery is but brayd: Thou mayft (God wot) thy vifard vaile, thy wanton maskes are wrayd. Thy toyes in thy attire, thy plumes fortells thy pride, Thy coynes, thy caules, thy curling coft, thy furfling helpes are spide.

I’ve chosen this passage precisely because  ‘brag’ is directly followed by the verb ‘bray’. To illustrate, Etymonline gives this origin for the verb brag:

c.1360, braggen, origin obscure, perhaps related to bray of a trumpet.

The origin of ‘bray’ backs this claim up somewhat in Gallo-Roman.

c. 1300, from Old French braire “to cry,” from Gallo-Roman *bragire “to cry out” (11c.), perhaps from a Celtic source (compare Gaelic braigh “to shriek, crackle”)

Bragire is said to be from Barbarian Latin meaning to Bray, but is often confused with the French Braire, meaning to shout. In one source, Luciano Banchi states that the two do not have the same meaning in Latin texts, but can often be confused. He goes on to  say that it is better for us to accept the meaning as neigh or whinny to avoid confusion.

Uncertain Origins

As with other investigations I’ve made into word origins, we may never be able to find a definitive answer. Indeed, some sources suggest that the verb ‘brag’ may very well derive from the Old Norse ‘bragr’ meaning ‘the best, the toast (of anything)’ as well as ‘poetry’, so, while there may be some credence in Kenneth C. Davis’ claim that Brag is in someway related to the Norse god Bragi, he has, unfortunately, put the cart before the horse as sources point out that the origin is most likely from the Old Norse word for poetry bragr, not the deity Bragi.

Brag in Context

To give you an idea of how ‘bragr’ (the Norse word for poetry’) could be used in context, I found an interesting example in an obscure recent book More Than Mythology: Narratives, Ritual Practices and Regional Distribution in Pre-Christian Scandinavian Religions by Catharina Raudvere Jens Peter Schjødt. This extract is said to be taken from an Old Norse poem Hyndlulioð

He gives victory to some,

and wealth to some,

pronounciation and understanding

to many of the living;

fair wind to men,

and bragr to poets,

he gives manhood

to many a man.

I’ll leave it up to you to decide what ‘bragr’ means in this context.

 

 

Hairy Italian Proverbs

What is it about Italians and hair? If they do not have it on their stomachs, you can be sure to find it on their tongues.

No, I am not talking about hirsute sunbathers on the Costa Azure; I am talking about hairy proverbs. Here are a few of my favourites, along with their English variants (where possible).

Peli Sulla Lingua

[Lit.] “hairs on the tongue.”

Usually used in the negative form as in “Lui non ha peli sulla lingua” [“He doesn’t have hairs on his tongue”], the meaning is that he speaks plainly, perhaps even viciously; without flattery I.e. ‘he is a plain speaker’. I suppose it is the opposite of the English expression, “To have a silver tongue.” One explanation I saw was that a hairy tongue would impede speech; thus, not having hair on the tongue allows for fluid speech.

Peli Sulla Pancia

[Lit.] “hairs on the tummy.”

Usually used in the negative form as in “Lui non ha peli sullo stomaco”, [“He doesn’t have hair on his stomach”] not having hairs on one’s tummy means to be tough, able to stand up to criticism. Again, the same logic is applied here. No hair, means the person is able to ‘digest’ whatever they are ‘fed’. I guess the English equivalent might be ‘to be thick skinned’.

Pelo Sullo stomaco

[Lit.] “To have hair on the stomach”

“Lui ha pelo sullo stomaco”, [“He has hair on his stomach”]. In contrast to the ‘peli’ sulla pancia’ [strands of hair], ‘pelo’ sullo stomaco indicates ‘body hair’, meaning to be brave or able to withstand alot. Just think of hairy macho men and you get the picture. In English we use the expression “this will put hairs on your chest” when offering a strong alcoholic drink to a young man (or woman) secure in the knowledge that it will probably burn their oesophagus. The same central idea applies. Only real men have hairy chests.

Salvarsi per un pelo

[Lit.] “Saved by a hair”

The closest proverb in English is probably “To manage to do something by the skin of your teeth”. The basic idea is, ‘by the thinnest or margins’. So imagine Tom Cruise in the latest Mission Impossible film leaping through a 30 storey window just as the rope he is swinging on snaps, then he looking up to the camera and saying “Salvato per un pelo”.

Tira piu’ un pelo di figa che un carro di buoi

[Lit.] “A c*nt hair pulls or attracts more than an oxcart.”

The meaning here is that ‘the power of sex overcomes all other forces’, or, expressed in the most vulgar of terms ‘the c*nt is the centre of the universe’. Disgraceful, I hear you say, but prepare to be shocked. This expression has its roots in the ancient tradition of Figacentrism. This ‘dubious’ theory states that the ‘figa’ is not only at the centre of everything, but IS everything: the world, the galaxy, the universe. I am not sure how seriously we should take this, but it does demonstrate a central Italian obsession.

Fare Un Capello in Quattro

[Lit.]”To cut a hair in four”

Finally, we can end with an expression that we all agree on. Just as long as we agree not to Split Hairs.

The Weight of a Heavy Heart

In the Book of the Dead, it is written that Ancient Egyptians believed all the deeds performed throughout a person’s life remain in their hearts. Thus, when a person died and their spirit travelled into Duat (The Underworld) where the heart would be judged in the Weighing of the Heart Ceremony, if they had lived a good life then their heart would weigh less than the feather of truth worn on the head of Ma’at, and the deceased would consequently be allowed to spend eternity with Isis and Osiris; but if they had lived a bad life then the heart would be heavy, and judgement fierce, taking the form of being thrown into the jaws of Ammit, the crocodile monster, where they would be devoured for eternity.

I love myth stories, especially if they contain a gruesome ending. However, the reason for relating this tale is not one of simple sensationalism. On first reading about the Weighing of the Heart Ceremony, two expressions stood out for me, ‘as light as a feather’ and ‘a heavy heart’; but could this ancient Egyptian myth really be the origin of these oft-used expressions of Country singers and obituary writers? Or do they have some other origin a bit closer to home.

Starting Points

First off, I am not suggesting that these modern English expressions are inherited undeviatingly from this Egyptian myth (so many ideas from ancient writing often reach us in indirect ways, going to ground for centuries before resurfacing in later eras), but it does afford me the opportunity of taking you on a hunt for clues (the origin of that word deserves a post all to itself), to uncover the beginnings of an expression still in common use today.

With a Heavy Heart.

The first point of call in investigating the provenance of any expression should be a good etymology dictionary. Here is what The American Heritage dictionary has to say on the subject of a heavy heart:

“Heavy Heart: In a sad or miserable state, unhappily, as in He left her with a heavy heart, wondering if she would ever recover . The adjective heavy has been used in the sense of “weighed down wit grief or sadness” since about 1300. Its antonym light dates from the same period. The latter use survives only in light heart , meaning “freedom from the weight of sorrow” that is, “a happy feeling.”
American Heritage

No examples are given to support the 1300 date, and no etymology is offered for ‘heavy heart’ itself; but at least we have a rough origin for ‘heavy’ in the expression.

The Good Book

Another port of call most certainly should be the Bible as it is one of the earliest English translated documents still in popular circulation. You can find on-line searchable databases of every printed edition of the Bible dating back to Wycliffe’s 14^th Century translation on Biblegateway, which makes the job of the etymologist so much easier. The interested etymologist can also perfom cross reference searches of the various additions, which, in the case of ‘heavy heart’, throws out some interesting results:

The Biblegateway database contains the following:

Wycliffe Bible   1 Samuel 6:6 Why make ye heavy your hearts, as Egypt and Pharaoh grieved their heart(s)? Whether not after that he was smitten, then he delivered God’s people, and they went forth? (Why be ye stubborn, or stiff-necked, like Egypt and Pharaoh were stubborn, or stiff-necked? For after God had struck them, did they not let God’s people go, and they went away?)   Psalm 4:2 Sons of men, how long be ye of heavy heart? why love ye vanity, and seek leasing? (Sons and daughters of men, how long shall ye insult me? why love ye empty and futile, or worthless, things, and go after lies?)   Matthew 26:37 And when he had taken Peter, and two sons of Zebedee, he began to be heavy and sorry [he began to be sorrowful and heavy in heart].

King James Version   1 Samuel 6:6 6 Wherefore then do ye harden your hearts, as the Egyptians and Pharaoh hardened their hearts? when he had wrought wonderfully among them, did they not let the people go, and they departed?       Psalm 4:2 2 O ye sons of men, how long will ye turn my glory into shame? how long will ye love vanity, and seek after leasing? Selah.     Matthew 26:37 37 And he took with him Peter and the two sons of Zebedee, and began to be sorrowful and very heavy.

I have given the Wycliffe quotes alongside the King James Version to show that heavy heart was later changed to ‘harden your heart’ Samuel 6:6 ‘turn glory to shame’ Psalm 4:2 and ‘troubled’ or ‘anxious’ Matthew 26:37.

Interestingly we can also see a new addition of Heavy Heart in the New King James Version:

Proverbs 25:20 Wycliffe Bible (WYC) 20 and loseth his mantle in the day of cold. Vinegar in a vessel of salt is he, that singeth songs to the worst heart. As a moth harmeth a cloth, and a worm harmeth a tree, so the sorrow of a man harmeth the heart. (Like him who taketh away a mantle on a cold day, and like vinegar in a vessel of salt, is he who singeth songs to an aggrieved heart. Like a moth harmeth a cloak, and a worm harmeth a tree, so a person’s sorrow harmeth his heart.)

Proverbs 25:20 King James Version Like one who takes away a garment in cold weather, And like vinegar on soda, Is one who sings songs to a heavy heart.

The King James version is a collection of various translations dating back at least as far as 1380 AD when John Wycliffe translated the Bible into English for the first time. We have no exact date for when these passages were translated though. Most modern English versions of the Bible seem to follow the translation of the King James version, using ‘heavy heart’ only in Proverbs 25:20, though Keil and Delitzsch’s Biblical Commentary on the Old Testament says that a more exact translation would be “a heart morally bad, here a heart badly disposed, one inclined to that which is evil.” None of the modern Bible versions follow Wycliffe’s use of ‘heavy heart’ suggesting either a fault in the early Wycliffe translations, or a change in the common usage and understanding of the expression over time. For an audience to understand Wycliffe’s usage of ‘Heavy Heart’, it required a common understanding of the term, thus suggesting it was used in common parlance.

The Bard

Another excellent source material to examine is Shakespeare. Shakespeare uses the combination of ‘heavy’ & ‘heart’ in a number of his plays.

All’s Well That ends Well

My heart is heavy and mine age is weak;
Grief would have tears, and sorrow bids me speak.

Love’s Labour’s Lost

Prepare, I say. I thank you, gracious lords,
For all your fair endeavors; and entreat,
Out of a new-sad soul, that you vouchsafe
In your rich wisdom to excuse or hide
The liberal opposition of our spirits,
If over-boldly we have borne ourselves
In the converse of breath: your gentleness
Was guilty of it. Farewell worthy lord!
A heavy heart bears not a nimble tongue:
Excuse me so, coming too short of thanks
For my great suit so easily obtain’d.

Much Ado About Nothing

God give me joy to wear it! for my heart is
exceeding heavy.

Othello

The time, the place, the torture: O, enforce it!
Myself will straight aboard: and to the state
This heavy act with heavy heart relate.

Richard II

Twice for one step I’ll groan, the way being short,
And piece the way out with a heavy heart.

Richard III

An if they live, I hope I need not fear.
But come, my lord; and with a heavy heart,
Thinking on them, go I unto the Tower.

Troilus and Cressida

What a pair of spectacles is here!
Let me embrace too. ‘O heart,’ as the goodly saying is,
‘—O heart, heavy heart,

Venus and Adonis

‘My tongue cannot express my grief for one,
And yet,’ quoth she, ‘behold two Adons dead!
My sighs are blown away, my salt tears gone,
Mine eyes are turn’d to fire, my heart to lead:
Heavy heart‘s lead, melt at mine eyes’ red fire!
So shall I die by drops of hot desire.

In all these examples, Heavy Heart suggests grief and misery, quite different from Wycliffe’s use of the expression to mean ‘hardening the heart’, ‘shame’ or ‘troubled’. Interestingly, Shakespear does use hard-hearted in Henry VI, Part III.

Henry VI, Part III

There, take the crown, and, with the crown, my curse;
And in thy need such comfort come to thee
As now I reap at thy too cruel hand!
Hard-hearted Clifford, take me from the world:
My soul to heaven, my blood upon your heads!

….and the Martyrs

The earliest quote I can source in Modern English for the exact term ‘heavy hearted’, outside of the Bible, is Foxe’s book of Martyrs (1563), an account of Protestant martyrs throughout Western history from the 1st century through the early 16th centuries, which contains the expression ‘with a heavy heart‘ in two places. I will give one example here:

“The father, on being dismissed by the tyrant Bonner, went home with a heavy heart, with his dying child, who did not survive many days the cruelties which had been afflicted on him. 

Page 354          2007 reprint

If anyone has had a chance to look at this wonderful piece of Protestant propaganda, they will know it is full of the most horrific woodcuts displaying martyrs being killed in such gruesome ways that it would put most slasher movies to shame. Well worth a peak.

So, at this junction we have the following questions:

• Firstly, the expression ‘a heavy heart’ does not appear to be a true translation from the Bible text, but it appears in the King James Bible. Does this mean that perhaps the expression was well known enough to be used at the time of the translation? If this is the case, why is there not more writing containing ‘heavy heart’ between the 14th C. and the 16th C.?
• Secondly, did Foxe pick up on the phrase from a source, such as the King James Bible or from somewhere else?
• And finally, did Shakespeare get the expression from the King James Bible, from Foxe or somewhere else?

 A sinking feeling

Have you ever heard it be said that a heart can break, or that a heart sinks when disappointed? The idea of the heart being the seat of personality and emotion seems so natural to us but, I would argue, it is a cultural construct. When you are sad you do not feel any ‘sinking’ feeling in your heart, or a ‘breaking’ at love lost. These are concepts ‘learned’ through culture. This statement can be supported by the fact that there are limited examples of ‘broken heart’ (circa. 1464) or ‘sinking heart’ (circa 1700s) in early writings, they are ideas that took off in literature during the romantic period. The examples of where the King James Bible uses ‘heavy heart’ are not direct translations from the original texts but rather substitutions for some other idiom particular to Hebrew. Substitution of idioms in translations would mean the contemporary audience for that work would already be familiar with the substituting idiom, otherwise it would lose all sense; so why are there no earlier sources in writing?

Before getting to that, I thought I would do a comparison with other languages that I am familiar with.

Cuore Pesante

Modern Italian does not use the heavy/light heart metaphor much. However, I have found references to it turning up in Italian literature from 1850, once in a discussion on Egyptian history:

Gli Egizii dicono dunque etscem, che letteralmente significa picciol cuore, ed esprime l’ idea di pauroso, codardo ; arsciet , cuore pesante oppure lento di cuore, cioe paziente; ssaciet, cuora alto o alto di cuore, orgogliosa; ssab.et, …
1834

In a medical text:

Cuore pesante 652 grammi. Idro-pericardite, vegetazioni sulle valvole aortiche e sulla mitrale , false membrane rivestenti l’interna superficie del ventricolo sinistro. Uomo di 22 anni, affetto già da sei anni di malattia di cuore in …1843

..and Biblical scholarly text:

… come erano insensati, ed il loro cuore pesante e tardo a credere quello che i Profeti dissero ; e per convii*- cerli incominciò da Mosè , e percorrendo appresso tutte le profezie, spiegò loro quello «he era stato predetto di lui 2. …
1822

Cœur Gros

In French ‘heavy heart’ translates as ‘cœur gros’ and this turns up in French texts from the 1560s onwards, mainly in Biblical texts and translations of Shakespeare. There are, however, a couple of examples of it used descriptively outside of these texts. For example:

Or, les Hespagnols , ayans le cœur gros à cause de leur victoire et acharnez à partuer le reste des François, braquèrent les canons du fort contre les navires et bat- teaux. Mais à cause du temps pluvieux et que les canons aussi …
Brief discovrs et histoire d’un voyage de quelques François en la Floride:
1579

In Spanish, ‘heavy heart’ translates just as ‘pesar’ (regret, sorrow). There is no correlation between them.

So, in Italian there is no real connection. However, French and English texts contain the expression from the 1500s onwards. I wonder why? A religious source seems likely, seeing as there is a mass of biblical writing from that time onwards which uses the expression in both French and English. That would seem plausible, but why just these two languages? What is the common thread? Could it in be connected to the Reformation, Henry VIII breaking from the Catholic Church, Protestantism? Is Foxe indeed the source?

The Seat of Emotion

The idea of the heart being the seat of emotion is one passed down to us from Ancient Greek thinkers. The most commonly held belief in ancient Greece was that the heart was the seat of thought and logic (sentience) as endorsed by Aristotle; Galen thought of the heart as a heat chamber where the soul most likely resides and that it controlled all other organs with an intelligence of its own. These ideas were based on misguided views on the development of human embryos and structures of the organs. They believed that the heart was the first organ to form in the body’s development, and, thus, it must be the seat of logic, thought and emotion [Hippocrates writings did contradict these views and locate pleasure, sensation and thoughts in the brain; however, he was an exception]. The faulty views of Aristotle and Galen stood as THE authority on the heart in Europe until about the Renaissance when it was finally possible for laymen to dissect corpses without fear of a visit from the inquisition or some other such church authority. Before that, knowledge of anatomy was confined to church scholars who did not make practical observation themselves. This thinking about anatomy led me to do some research into historical developments in the anatomy of the heart and I found some interesting things.

Enter William Harvey

It seems the belief that the heart was the seat of emotion continued up until the time of a certain William Harvey who was the first European to correctly map the heart and the flow of blood. De Motu Cordis, Harvey’s book outlining his views on the circulation of blood was not well received by his peers due to their persisting belief in Galen. Although Harvey did supported the Aristotelian notion of the heart, he carefully examined the function of all of its different parts and came to a reverse conclusion from that of Galen and his medieval and Renaissance readers: he believed that the heart was actively at work when it was small, hard and contracted (systole), expelling blood, and at rest when it was large and filled with blood (diastole). He wrote in 1653:

“The heart is situated at the 4th and 5th ribs. Therefore [it is] the principal part because [it is in] the principal place, as in the centre of a circle, the middle of the necessary body.”

Harvey did not challenge the metaphysical interpretation of the heart though. He agreed that the heart was the primary “spiritual member” of the body, thus the seat of all emotions (the idea of the ancient Greek thinkers). As a contemporary wrote:

“If indeed from the heart alone rise anger or passion, fear, terror, and sadness; if from it alone spring shame, delight, and joy, why should I say more?”

Andreas de Laguna in 1535.

Harvey metaphorically described the heart as the “king” or “sun” of the body to underscores its cosmological significance, an idea popular in religious iconography and alchemy.

This sudden renewed interest in anatomy at that time probably spiked interest in the popular imagination, and Harvey’s position as the King’s physician could account for his views coming to the churches attention. Educated men were more often than not church scholars, so the intertwining of science and religion would have been inevitable.

All the references to heavy and heart appear to start appearing at about the same time. I did some searches on variations of the ‘heavy heart’ theme such as ‘a heaviness of heart’ and it only seemed to confirm my suspicions. However, take note of my use of the word ‘seemed’…..

Heart to Hart

As is often the case with investigations of the origin of expressions, the researcher (in this case me) will  come to a point in where their investigations will inevitably start going awry. This happened when I realised that Heart was not always spelt as such in English, but was for a long time written as ‘hart’. Initially I found a solitary earlier quote with this new spelling it 1587, from an Italian translation:

Amorous Fiammetta
Giovanni Boccaccio – 1587
Nor yet secure of her voluble and flattering Fortune, with howe heavy hart did shee celebrate her newe espousalles, which greefes and extreame myseries, with a tragicall ende at last, and with a stout enterprise, she did fully finish. …

As this is a translation from Italian, it does not necessarily mean that the original text contained the expression ‘heavy hart’ or ‘cuore pesante’; After all, in Italian, ‘cuore pesante’ actually means something closer to ‘sinking heart’ or ‘sinking feeling’. But this does appear to still locate the usage of the phrase in the English language around the same time as dissections were taking place in Bologna (where Harvey studied). Wiki has some interesting info regarding this:

The first major development in anatomy in Christian Europe, since the fall of Rome, occurred at Bologna in the 14th to 16th centuries, where a series of authors dissected cadavers and contributed to the accurate description of organs and the identification of their functions. Prominent among these anatomists were Mondino de Liuzzi and Alessandro Achillini.

The first challenges to the Galenic doctrine in Europe occurred in the 16th century. Thanks to the printing press,  a collective effort proceeded across Europe to circulate the works of Galen and Avicenna and later publish criticisms on their works. Vesalius was the first to publish a treatise, De humani corporis fabrica, that challenged Galen “drawing for drawing” travelling all the way from Leuven[13] to Padua for permission to dissect victims from the gallows without fear of persecution. His drawings are triumphant descriptions of the, sometimes major, discrepancies between dogs and humans, showing superb drawing ability. Many later anatomists challenged Galen in their texts, though Galen reigned supreme for another century.

Wikipedia

Weighing my Options

I started this investigation to see if a heavy heart came into the English Language from the Egyptian Book of the dead. Unfortunately it’s looking highly likely that the Egyptian myth was a red herring and had nothing to do with the expression after all. I have also shown that it was used in Wycliffe’s Bible, but not in later editions, suggesting a mis-translation of Hebrew.  So, some pertinent questions raised are:

• Why is there an absence of the expression in written print from the 14^th Century to the 16^th Century?
• Was the re-emergence in the 16^th Century due to the renewed interest in anatomy?

And this is where the Archaic English spelling comes in. I already mentioned that heart was often written as hart, but imagine my surprise when I find that heavy could be written as heauvy.

In the book The Facts on File Dictionary of Proverbs a number of quotes are given that fill in this 14^th-16^th Century gap in the record.

“The proverb [[a light purse makes a heavy heart]] was first recorded in 1555 by J. Heywood.”

An early edition of The Oxford English Dictionary also offers the following information:

HEAVY-HEARTED: Proceeding from or caused by a heavy heart; sad, doleful.

1562 “Lyght purses Make heauy hartes, and heuy harted curses.”—Proverbs and Epigrams (1867) by John Heywood, page 151
HEAVY-HEARTED: Having a heavy heart; grieved, sad, melancholy.

circa 1400 “Heuy herted men and stille studious men.”—Cato’s Morals 235 in Cursor Mundi: A Northumbrian Poem of the 14th Century, page 1672

1535 “Thou art not sicke, that is not ye matter, but thou art heuy harted.”— Coverdale Bible, Neh. ii. page 2

So we can now see that the earliest quote I have been able to faithfully source is the Wycliffe bible text (an early OED gives a c.1400 quote from a book of Northumbrian poems which I am unable to track down), and, despite the apparent two-century gap in the source material, there is indeed an abundance of intermediary sources with alternative spellings dating up to that crucial 16^th Century marker when the expression started to appear both as a metaphor for sad and as a scientific measurement of a heart engorged with blood.

Happy Paraskevidekatiaphobia Day

The fear of Friday the thirteenth is so commonplace that it even has its own phobia-name, ‘paraskevidekatiaphobia’.

In Italy, Friday itself has long been seen as an unlucky day. It is said that you should never start a new venture or to sign a contract on a Friday. The fear or Friday the 13th, however, is relatively recent, having being adopted from American or British culture.

Likewise, thirteen also has a long and illustrious history: Thirteen people at the Last Supper, Judas being the thirteenth and responsible for the downfall of Christ. Similarly, Loki was the thirteenth god of Viking lore who brought down the gods or Asgard. The incidents of unlucky thirteen can be found as far back as ancient Persia.

But, despite both Friday and 13 having been unlucky since before the Christian era, the fear of Friday the thirteenth is surprisingly relatively new.

There appears to be no evidence of anyone having mentioned “Friday the thirteenth” until around the 19th century. The earliest mention of the evils of that date are seen in an 1869 biography of Gioachino Rossini. Even then, the superstition did not really kick off until the 20th century, when Thomas W. Lawson’s novel Friday, the Thirteenth became a best seller. In Lawson’s novel, a broker picks this day to bring down Wall Street. After the success of the book, the stories about how unlucky Friday the 13th was became popular folklore. Maybe we should dedicate every Friday the 13th to Thomas W. Lawson.

 

 

 

 

Inauguration and the birds.

With the impending inauguration of Donald Trump as President of the United States, I got to wondering about the origin of this most ancient of words ‘inaugurate’. My research into its origins took me on a fascinating journey through the very archaic origins of inauguration ceremonies that still resonate today.

Inaugurate comes from the Latin inaugurare, a verb meaning to take omens from the flight of birds. However, there is another definition that is ‘to consecrate or install when such omens or auguries are favourable’ [Chambers]. Our current use of the word comes from this origin. To put this into context, we will need to place ourselves at the very founding of the cradle of civilization, Rome.

Two brothers Romulus and Remus, the mythical founders of Rome, were quarrelling over the location in which to found their new city. Romulus wished to build the city on the Palatine Hill, while Remus wished to found it on the Aventine Hill. In order to settle their disagreement, they turned to Augury. Augury is a type of prophecy in which birds are examined and observed to determine what actions or persons the gods favour; thus, each brother prepared a sacred space on their respective hills and began to watch for birds. Remus claimed to have seen six birds, while Romulus said he saw twelve birds. Romulus asserted that he was the clear winner by six birds, but Remus argued that since he saw his six birds first, he had won. The quarrel unresolved, Romulus began digging trenches and building a great wall around his hill. Remus, mocking Romulus’ efforts, took to jumping over this defensive wall, mocking his brother; this led to Remus’ inevitable death either at the hands of Romulus, one of his supporters, or his own clumsiness, depending on which myth you read. Augury was obviously a common enough practise in those times to allow for it’s inclusion in the foundation myth of Rome, otherwise it would have been illogical to common folk. The story of Romulus and Remus shows that Augury could be practised by an individual, but when the occasion required someone with more expertise, one might well turn to an Augur.

The Augur was a fortune-teller in the classical worlds and was consulted before any major undertaking or officiation. In ancient Rome, the Augur would have been part of a collegium of priests who advised government officials and could even play a part in their election to office. The Augur’s role was central to much of Roman society. Chambers points to an origin from the Latin augere, to increase in growth (as of crops). The Augur’s main mode of divination was the observation of bird flight. The Augur would interpret the movement of the birds, which was known as ‘taking the auspices‘, coming from the Latin auspicium and auspex, literally ‘one who looks at birds.’ The omens these birds gave could be auspicious or inauspicious. The Augur thus held a key role in decision-making and could hold huge influence over political decisions. Inevitably, this power led to accusations of corruption on the part of the Augurs in casting aspersions on candidates to office.

I mentioned that Augury and Augurs still command an influence on our modern language today. We still have the inauguration ceremony, and, if the signs are auspicious, it can augur well for the future, but Augury even influences the very months of the year, specifically the month of August. August takes its name from the Latin Augustus, which was inserted as the eighth month into the original 10-month calendar in honour of Augustus Caesar (July was inserted as the seventh month in honour of Julius Caesar). Augustus was a name adopted by Roman Emperors after Julius Caesar, and it derives from the Latin adjective augustus meaning ‘majestic, venerable, worthy of honour’. The name literally comes from the sense of ‘consecrated by the Augurs’ or ‘consecrated with favourable auguries‘. Interestingly for such a possibly fortuitous month, there are no major religious or federal holidays in the United States of America during the month of August.

So, come January 20th, let us look to the skies and hope that the birds augur an auspicious sign for the incoming presidency.

The Raggamuffin

English is rich in words to describe the underbelly of society. One despicable noun that recently caught my eye is ‘raggamuffin’. Where does this shadowing character originate from? I went a-hunting for the answers and found myself lost in a diabolical (and at times fruity) rabbit hole of origins.

 Raggamuffin is, at heart, a collocation. This type character description is a common motif in the English Language. From the couragous ‘Daredevil’ to the macarbre ‘Cutthroat’, the English Language is littered with treasures. The Hangdog , for example, is “a despicable, degraded fellow, so called … from being fit only to hang a dog” (so says etymonline); nowdays, more commonly used as an adjective to describe a browbeaten, defeated, shamefaced or guilty look. [See my post  It’s a Dog’s Life.] Skullduggery, on the other hand, is not a collocation and has nothing to do with the digging up of skulls. Its  origins, though not confirmed, are said to be in the Scots dialect: ‘sculdudrie’ [adultery/fornication].

So if raggamuffin is a collocation, what do the two words ‘ragga’ and ‘muffin’ really mean? [spolier alert: they have nothing to do with cakes].  Before we get to that, some history.

The Ragged Man

The Raggamuffin is quite literally a ‘ragged man’. Shaggy in appearance and consequentially disrespectful, a ‘raggamuffin’ is often associated with rude street children (or urchins). The Raggamuffin may be a bit of a ‘toe-rag’ [someone that used old rags for socks or shoes] or perhaps just the ‘bedraggled, beat up and burnt-out’, as Brennan Manning calls them in his ‘Ragamuffin Gospel’. The Raggamuffin does not, however, crop up much in writing. The Rag(g)amuffin first enters in print around 1600 in works by authors such as Ben Johnson, but did not appear to be in common usage until around the 19th Century. Around this time we start to see attempts at defining its meaning in glossaries and commentaries. One such illustration of this can be found in a Glossary of Words Used in the County of Chester (Volume 16, 1886) in which Raggamuffin is classed as an adjective meaning “idle, loose, scampish”. The example sentence supplied contextualizes it wonderfully:

“He’s sitch raggamuffin ways wi’ him.”

 A particularly colourful passage in an 1820 edition of the Comedies of Aristophanes by Thomas Mitchell finds him sandwiched between obloquies:

A prating, prettyfogging lim o’ th’ law;
A sly old fox, a perjurer, a hang-dog,
A raggamuffin made of shreds and Patches,
The leaving of a dunghill-Let ‘em rail,
Yea, marry, let ‘em turn my guts to fiddle-strings,
May my bread be my poison! if I care.

 And even Lord Byron got in on the act in his second letter on Bowles Strictures:

It is of little use to call him”a rascal, a scoundrel, a thief, an imposter, a blackguard, a villain, a raggamuffin, a – what you please;” all that he is used to.

 So we know that from as early as 1800 ‘raggamuffin’ [two ‘g’s] was being used as a noun and a an insult; But where did this insult arise from? Well, the Raggamuffin may have a more demonic origin.

The Ragomoffyn

A number of authoratitive sources cite the origins of the Raggamuffin as being from the poem ‘Piers Plowman’ by Willjam Langland.  This text, said to be written sometime between 1360-1390, is an allegorical poem that follows a narrator named Will on his quest for salvation. It contains a description of Christ’s descent into hell during which he meets Lucifer and, what appears to be one of his demon helpers, the Raggamoffyn.

Original: Ac rys up Ragamoffyn and reche me all the barres
Ar we throw bryghtnesse be blent. barre we the gates
Cheke we and cheyne we. and eche chyne stoppe
And thow Astrot hot out. and have out knaves
Coltyng and al hus knne. our catel to save
Brynston boilaunt brenning. out casteth hit
Al hot in here hevedes. that entren in ny the walles
Setteth bowes of brake. a brasene gonnes
And sheteth out shot e ynowh.

Translation: Arise Ragamuffin and bring all the bars, before we are blinded with the brightness. Bar we now the gates, bolt we and chain we, and stop up every chink. And though Astaroth go forth and muster the servants, Colting and all his kindred to save the chattels. Cast boiling and burning brimstone, all hot upon their heads who shall enter with these walls. Set the steel bows, and brazen guns, and shoot out shot in plenty.

This extract can be found in ‘Parallel Extracts from Twenty-nine Manuscripts of Piers Plowman’, by William Langland, ‎Walter William Skeat – 1866.

It is hard to believe that from this single mention in a poem of the 14th Century, our Raggamuffin sprung into being. Whether the Ragamoffyn of the original text (translated in later editions as Ragamuffin, only one ‘g’)  is the progenitor is much debated over, and many suggest that it is merely  an invention of Langland himself. Other more recent books on the occult and devil worship have gone so far as to create a whole mythology around the demon Ragamoffyn, as if he were already a well documented character in history prior to Langland’s work, but despite their dubious conjecture, all seem to agree that Willjam Langland’s work is the first written source of the Ragamoffyn. Having said this, we cannot exclude the possibility that the name came from another source, perhaps a spoken tradition. I have, for example, seen it said that the ‘moffyn’ in ragamoffyn derives from an Anglo-Norman word ‘malfelon’, meaning ‘devil’. That said, I have also seen mention of a possible …[saucy] French Connection.

Ragemon Le Bon

In thirteenth Century Norman-Britain, household games were quite the thing among the gentry. I’m not talking Cluedo and Scrabble (though we know from sources such as mosaics and painting that chess and dice were popular pastimes), what I’m talking about is the less well-known ‘game-texts’.

For the medieval ‘gamer’, recreational literature was just as relevant as a game of chess. One such text from the 13th Century is called ‘Ragemon le Bon’.In  Games and Gaming in Medieval Literature, Serina Patterson writes, “Ragemon le Bon is an amorous game of chance that consists of fifty stanzas, each revealing a player’s fortune, and often about matters of love. Found in manuscripts over a 300-year period, Regemon le Bon surfaces in various guises in manuscripts for gentry audiences in England, including into Anglo-Norman sermons and Middle English Chaucerian games, attesting to its chameleon-like nature, the game-text moves from provincial households of the emerging gentry to networks of urban players in London.”

An example of a stanza from Ragemon le Bon goes:

Vous fausez trop sovent vos dis,
Touz jours irrez de mal en pis:
Ore vous repentez come sage
Ou vous averez la male rage.

You often unreasonably falsify your words.
Every day goes from bad to worse:
Now you should repent as one who is wise,
Or you will have violent pain.

 It is clear that these mock moralistic poems were meant to amuse and titillate in equal measures, much the same way a bawdy limerick does. An example of the raunchy nature of Ragemon le Bon can be seen in this stanza:

Lovely Lady, embodying whoreishness, indeed you do not heed virtue;
You will have plenty of children, but never produce a soul.

 It stanza speaks of the evils of unbaptised bastard children (hence, soulless) while also titillating the reader with the insinuation of whorish behaviour.

But, what does all this have to do with our Ragamuffin, I hear you cry. Well….

The Ragmane Roll

While on my hunt for clues, I stummbled into a similar looking (and apparently unrelated) word, rigmarole. A curious entry in the Courier-Journal from Louisville, Kentucky, Wednesday, March 25, 1987, discussing its origins thus:

In the Middle Ages, there was a parlor game in which players would draw from a little bin a verse describing one of the many characters in the game. One of those characters was known in Old French as Ragemon le bon, or Ragemon the Good. As the game moved into England, the cast of characters became known because of Ragemon as the Ragmane rolle. The game apparently was quite complex, and that’s why Ragmane rolle would eventually became our rigmarole

Rageman le bon, peaked my curiosity. Who was this ‘Ragemon the Good’ and was he related in any way to our Raggamuffin?

The usually reliable Etymonline add a little more detail to the origin story of Rigmarole: 

“a long, rambling discourse,” apparently from an altered, Kentish colloquial survival of ragman roll “long list or catalogue”. In Middle English a long roll of verses descriptive of personal characters, used in a medieval game of chance called Rageman, perhaps from Anglo-French Ragemon le bon “Ragemon the good,” which was the heading on one set of the verses, referring to a character by that name.”

 So, according to etymonline ‘Ragemon le bon’ became  ‘ragman roll’, and the ‘Ragemon’ of the games title was a character from a set of verses. What both of the above extracts fail to pick up on, however,  is that the Ragman Roll is, in fact, a legal document, and the ‘Ragman’ of the title appears to have been a real person.

The Ragman Roll

According to Brewer’s Dictionary of Phrases and Fables, the ‘ragman roll‘ was a series of documents containing the ‘acts of fealty and homage done by the Scotch nobility to Edward I. In 1296; these four rolls consisted of thirty-five pieces sewn together. The originals perished, but a record of them is preserved in the Rolls House Chancery Lane.’. Brewer’s postulates that the origin of the Ragman Roll was ‘The Statute of Rageman (De Ragemannis), a legate of Scotland, who compelled all the clergy to give an account of their beneficies, that they might be taxed at Rome accordingly.’ Despite, there being conflicting accounts of this origin story, the existence of the document itself carrying the name Rageman cannot be overlooked. How far reaching this document was, and how well know the name Rageman (Ragemannis) came to be, may have an impact on how we interpret the Rageman of texts of this period.

So, to summarize, we have seen a parlour game that goes by the name of Ragemon the Good, a series of legal documents from Scotland called the Rag(e)man roll. Could all these names be connected, and what has this got to do with our Raggamuffin? Well…..

The Raggeman / Rageman

From around the 1300s, the ‘Raggeman’ or ‘Rageman’ crops up in various guises. This Raggeman appears in print in none other than Willjam Langland’s  the Vision Concerning Piers Plowman, the same text in which the Raggamuffin first makes an appearance .

He buncheth hem with his brevet and blereth here eye, And raughte with his raggeman, ringes and broches. Thus they given here gold glotones to helpe And leneth it loseles that lecherie hauten.

A Medieval Song : Full of Alliterations : The Field Full of Folk

In the above extract the raggeman is refering to parchment scrolls. I know this because in later versions of the text, ‘raggeman’  translates into ‘parchment-rolls’… Oh, did I not mention that there are ‘multiple’ versions of Piers Plowman?

The various versions of Piers Plowman are usually divided into three distinct flavours, all produced during the lifetime of the author: the shortest and earliest A Text, the much longer B Text, and the final, probably incomplete, revision called the C Text. Multiple manuscripts of each of these versions survive and each manuscript is unique. A rather excellent site called the Piers Plowman Electronic Archive allows you to compare  the various versions of the B-text side by side. If you click on the link above you can see that the ‘parchment roll’ carried by the priest is alternatively called Rageman, rageman raggeman, ragman, ragaman in the many versions of the B-text. This demonstrates the difficulty in researching a word origin from so far back, and it also demonstrates why Piers Plowman is such an important text in the English Language as it affords us the opportunity to compare similar sources for spelling and context.

The various incarnations of the Rageman appear inconsistent. Sometimes a man, sometimes a scroll; in fact, in reprints of and commentaries on Langland’s work around the 19th Century, a number of texts can be found trying to decifer the various meaning of the Langland’s rag(g)eman. One claims that he ‘is a dealer in rags’, while others mention ‘ vagrant or drifter of ragged and dirty appearance‘. Disappointingly, no-one seems to make any connection between the Rageman and our Raggamuffin.

Mystery of the Ragomoffyn

Thus, the question remaining is, from where did Langland draw inspiration for his demonic Ragomoffyn? Was it truly a collocation of ‘Rag’ combined with the French borrowing ‘Malfelon’, or an anamorphosis of ‘Ragemon’? As Langland was writing in the time of the medieval, with its irregular spelling and lack of historical sources, we will probably never know. What I can tell you is that Rogomoffyn appears only in the later C-text, which is generally considered the later version.

Thomas Durnham Whitaker was the compiler of the C-text. He was born in the parsonage-house of Rainham, Norfolk, June 8, 1759 and rose from the position of deacon to magistrate and finally Vicar of Whalley & Blackburn which he held till his death in 1821. He was a prolific writer and compiler, Piers Plowman (C-text) being one such publication. The often quoted passage containing our ‘Ragomoffyn’ is Whitaker’s work and cannot be found in the B-text, and it seems fair to question from where Whitaker took his version exactly.

The omission of the Raggamuffin from the B-text seems to point to the addition of extra passages at a later date. Indeed, Thomas Wright suggested that Whitaker’s version might be a political revision by someone other than the original poet. If the C-text is a type of political revisionism then the ‘Ragomoffyn’ could be a veiled comment on the Rageman Roll which “compelled all the clergy to give an account of their beneficies, that they might be taxed at Rome accordingly”. What better person to serve as satan’s henchman than ‘the taxman’ himself.

All this, unfortunately, is speculation…..and speculation is the enemy of certainty (thus etymologists hate it). What I hope I have demonstrated though is that the story of the Raggamuffin holds still some mysteries yet to be resolved.

 

Into the Wolves’ Mouth (sic)

I recently came across this exchange on a website in which various people begin by discussing the origin(s) of the common Italian idiom “in bocca al lupo” [good luck] before descending into….well, I will let the post stand for itself.

 (names have been changed to protect people’s pride)

Person 1: “In bocca al lupo” probably refers to the way a wolf carries their offsprings. I guess it could mean something like “be so lucky as the small wolves who have such a caring mum”

Person 2: Actually it refers to hunters: it means “find yourself right in front of the wolf so you won’t miss the shot”. If it referred to what you say, the second part of the saying, crepi il lupo, wouldn’t make much sense…

Person 3 Sorry but you’re wrong. When people says “crepi il Lupo” is because are literally ignorant.. the right meaning, historically, is what (Person 1) has written. The original meaning is to wish to somebody the be so lucky to have someone who take care of him like the wolves does with puppies when they catch them in their mouth to make them safe. And referred to Romolo and Remo as well.

Person 4 Sorry but you are wrong. The story you told is a recent invention / interpretation.
“In bocca al lupo” is understood in the negative sense, because In ancient times the wolf was a negative figure. Many ancient greeting phrases are of the same type. An example: “break a leg”, “mucha mierda”, etc or another italian phrase “in culo alla balena”.
These phrases have an apotropaic function .

Person 5 actually mucha mierda isn’t negative at all…in the past (shakespeare times) people went to theatre by horse, so if there was a lot of shit on the floor it meant a lot of people went to see your piece and liked it. so mucha mierda isn’t negative and neither apotropaic, as well as “in culo alla balena” which comes from the bible when Jona managed to save himself from a huge storm thanks to a whale who kept him in its belly for 3 days. so they don’t wish the contrary they actually wish a lot of public and success, and a safe place to be.

Person 6: the only “negative” might be break leg but is very uncertain, since in some cultures, break a leg means to bow (bending theknee while putting one foot behind the other “breaks the line of the legs) = public was applausing a lot and actors were bowing multiple times, or public used to stomp instead of applauding, and breaking a leg might be the result of stomping super hard, or bang the chairs instead of applause, and if they were enthusiastic enough the leg/s of the chair/s would break. Leg is as well the side courtain of the stage.

Person 7: the new interpretation spurs from the recent animal rights/vegan standpoint. They claim you should answer Viva il lupo! go figure!

Person 6: (anyway don’t forget that Rome was founded (according to the legend) by 2 guys who were brought up by a wolf…so there are good chances that the meaning of wolf has different origins depending on the country, e.g. safe place or sure shot. Still the origins of the legend of romolo and remo are very ancient and have nothing to do with animal rights or vegan people. in that old legendary context the wolf didn’t have a negative meaning nor a dangerous one. and it’s true that wolves carry their babies in the mouth….)

Person 8: Hi I’m Italian and I can tell you that it’s the other way. The negative mean of the phrase came out only recently. When someone tells you in bocca al lupo You say thanks because the wolves care a lot for their cubs that they usually transport taking them from the back of the neck with their teeth.

Person 9: We actually say “crepi il cacciatore” (may the hunter die)
…go figure.
If one thing

Person 10: As you are Italians, this argument could go on for weeks! 😉

National Identity

In these troubled times, people are prone to express strong emotions when talking (or ranting) about their nation. I thought therefore that it would be interesting to look into when this concepts first arose in the English language.

Nation c.1300, from O.Fr. nacion, from L. nationem (nom. natio) “nation, stock, race,” lit. “that which has been born,” from natus, pp. of nasci “be born”

Online Etymology dictionary

It was the Middle Ages which gave rise to the idea of nation and allegiance to a nation. Before this time people(s) allied themselves with rulers, popes, local kings and queens and these allegiances would change with each conquest or change of ownership. The common people were like property, while the noblemen could be from any birth place. It is Worth noting that in the Italian Language the word for ‘stranger’ (estanero) is the same as the word for ‘foreigner’, reflecting Italy’s origins as a collection of fiefdoms or kingdoms; anyone outside of your town walls was a ‘foreigner’. This is, in fact, very close to the original sense of foreigner in English.

1297, ferren, foreyne “out of doors,” from O.Fr. forain, from L.L. foranus “on the outside, exterior,” from L. foris “outside,” lit. “out of doors,” related to fores “door;” spelling altered 17c. perhaps by influence of reign, sovereign. Replaced native fremd. Sense of “not in one’s own land” is first attested 1393.

Online Etymology dictionary

The original sense of nation in English was of ‘in-group’ birth, or what we now call race, not of country. The political sense of nation did not come into being until much later. Indeed, the word ‘nationality’ isn’t recorded in the literature until 1828.

In the Middle Ages a nobleman’s birth place was arbitrary to his allegiance, as can be seen in the number of ‘foreign’ kings and queens that ruled England France or Spain; inter-marriage for reasons of maintaining peace meant a constant changing of country of residence. A sense of national identity logically needed to be invented to rally the population to causes which they would otherwise have had not interest in. Along with the increase in personal wealth and power of the average person, there also came an increase in a sense of national identity of the nation. With the dissolution of serfdom, a sense of belonging to a nation became a necessity to maintain power. Thus, national identity needed to be invented.

It is often cited that after the conquest of Britain in 1066 by the Norman invaders, Britain was ruled by French speakers for 333 years. In 1366 King Richard II was deposed by Henry, Duke of Lancaster, and for the first time in over three hundred years the King was crowned in English. In truth, this was also a shrewd political decision for after more than 60 years of what was to be The Hundred Years War, a French identity was no longer seen as viable to promoting loyalty among those fighting the French. In many ways, this war hastened the revival of an English identity.

Geographic differences suggest that nations have less in common than they think. Northern Italians feel that Southern Italy is for all intents and purposes a different country, except when there is a World Cup. People who live in Bolzano, in Northern Italy, feel more German than Italian, having belonged to Germany before the Second World War. It seems in Italy that there is less national unity than regional ‘in-group’ mentality. But then consider the relationship between national identity and Kingdom. In a past referendum the people of Gibraltar (a tiny Island off the coast of Southern Spain) voted to remain part of the UK, but with the looming Brexit they may have to reconsider their postion. Are they part of the UK or part of Europe? And what does it mean to be British when you no longer live in Britain?

National identity can be used as a tool to repel others as much as to identify a people. It comes to the fore on issues such as immigration, homeland security, during the football matches and when discussing the EU. It is interesting to note that during the Middle Ages, national identity was used as a subterfuge to secure personal wealth and business: something not too dissimilar to the present day city bankers and economists. It’s also interesting to note when nation and nationality are brought into play against peoples who are usually excluded. During the Second World War many African people with British passports fought on the side of the British. These same Africans would then suffer racism at the hand of the ‘native born’ British when they try to integrate because they were not ‘of that country’. Where was the sense of national brotherlyness then? Australians firing at the bows of boats trying to reach their shores can show the ugly face of political racism. But go back a few hundred years and it was the British invading those shores uninvited.What would they have said then if they had been turned back by a volley of spears? It seems incredible that such concepts of identity can be formed over such a short space of time. These thoughts are now extremely relevant for me, as I, a life-long European,  may soon find myself being forceably ejected from the EU thanks to nationalistic pride of ‘my people’, condeming me to ‘the outskirts of the fortress’.