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!”