Among the surnames derived from personal qualities, we have Russell, “red”; Gough, also “red”; Snell, “agile” or “hardy”; Read, Reid, or Reed, an old spelling of “red”; Duff, “black”; Vaughan, “little”; Longfellow, Moody, Goodenough, Toogood, and hundreds of others. Farebrother is a Scottish name for “uncle”; Waller means a “pilgrim,” or “stranger.” Of Puritan surnames derived from the virtues, Be-courteous Cole, Search-the-Scriptures Moreton, Fly-fornication Richardson, Kill-sin Pemble, Fight-the-good-fight-of-faith White, are examples. Surnames have even been derived from oaths, and other such exclamations. Profane swearing was a common vice in the early times, and when men habitually interlarded their conversations with oaths, they became sobriquets by which they were known. Just as Say-Say became the title of an old gentleman who always began a remark with “I say-say, old boy,” so a profane exclamation, repeatedly uttered, became a proper name. Godkin, Blood, and Sacré are said to be clipped oaths. Parsall is corrupted from Par Ciel, “By Heaven,” Pardoe from Par Dieu, and Godsall and Godbody from “By the soul and body of God!” the shocking but favorite oath of Edward III.
There are names which in the social circle will provoke a smile, in spite of every attempt to preserve one’s gravity; others that excite horror, hate, or contempt; and others which, inviting cheap puns and gibes, irritate the minds of the calmest men. Shenstone thanked God that his name was not liable to a pun. There is a large class of names indicative of personal blemishes or moral obliquities, such as Asse, Goose, Lazy, Leatherhead, Addlehead, Milksop, Mudd, Pighead, Trollope, Hussey, Silliman, Cruickshank, Blackmonster, etc. In many countries Devil is a surname. Kennard, once Kaynard, means “you dog,” also a “rascal.” The Romans had their Plauti, Pandi, Vari, and Scauri, that is, the Splay-foots, the Bandy-legs, the In-knees, and the Club-foots. Cocles means “one-eyed”; Flaccus, one of the names of Horace, “flap-eared”; and Naso points to a long “nose.” Cæsar, from whose name come the German Kaiser and the Russian Czar, was so called (or, at least, the first Roman with the name was so called) from his coming into the world with long hair (cæsaries), or from his unnatural mode of birth (a CÆSO matris utero). Who would introduce Mr. Shakelady into the circle of his friends, and what worthy deeds could be expected from a Doolittle? Who can blame Dr. Jacob Quackenboss for dropping a couple of syllables and the quack at the same time from his name, and becoming Jacob Bush, M.D.? Who can help sympathizing with Mr. Death, who asked the Legislature of Massachusetts to change his name to one less sepulchral; or with Mr. Wormwood, who petitioned for liberty to assume the name of Washington, declaring that the intense sufferings of so many years of wormwood existence deserved the compensation of a great and glorious name? Louis XI was less justified in changing the name of his barber, Olivier le Diable, into Olivier le Mauvais, then to Olivier le Malin, and then into Olivier le Daim, at the same time forbidding his former names ever to be mentioned. On the other hand, the ill-omened name of Maria Theresa’s noble minister, Thunichtgut, “Do-no-good,” was rightfully changed by the Empress into Thugut, “Do-good.” The original name of the great French writer, Balzac, was Guez, “a beggar.” Men who inherit names originally given in contempt and scorn have this compensation, that, as many a hump-backed and ugly-looking man has found in his deformity “a perpetual spur to rescue and deliver him from scorn,” so the inheritors of mean or degrading names are provoked and stimulated, as we see in the case of Brutus, “stupid,” to redeem them from their degradation by noble deeds, and make them for centuries the watchwords of humanity.
The dislike to vulgar and cacophonous names led some scholars and others, at an early period, to adopt Greek or Latin forms. The native name of Erasmus was Gherærd Gherærds. The root of Gherærd is a verb meaning “to desire,” and so the great scholar Latinized his Christian name into Desiderius, and Græcized his surname into Erasmus, both signifying the same thing. The name of Luther’s friend, the celebrated theologian and reformer, Melanchthon, is a translation of the German Schwarzerde, or “Black Earth.”
Considering the great variety of English proper names,—representing, as they do, nearly all the nationalities of Europe,—it is not strange that they have suffered much from corruption. The causes of this corruption have been the wear and tear of time and usage; the repetition of foreign sounds by alien lips; the falling of those sounds upon a dull or deafened ear; their disguisement by too thick or too thin an utterance; incorrect spelling; the practice of pronouncing the words as they were written; and the fluctuations of orthography. Many Norman names have been so mutilated, that their owners, if they could see them, would find them unintelligible. Thus we have Darcy from Adrecy, Boswell from Bosseville, Loring from Lorraine, and Taille-bois has been changed into Tallboys! Paganus became first Painim, and then Payne. But the most unhappy victims of this corrupting tendency were four Normans, whose names were anglicized from honorable into the most ill-omened and repulsive appellations. One, called De Ath, became Death; another, De-Ville, was transformed into a Devil; and the third, Scardeville, is now Skarfield, and—horresco referens—Scaredevil!
It is natural to suppose that all families bearing English names are of English extraction; but there are examples of the contrary. The descendant of a German family, whose name in the Old World was Brückenbauer, calls himself in this country Bridgebuilder. A German called Feuerstein (“firestone,” or “flint”), having settled among a French population in the West, changed his name to Pierre à Fusil; but, the Anglo-American population becoming after a while the leading one, Pierre à Fusil was transformed into the pithy Peter Gun!
Mr. Lower gives an interesting account of the origin of certain famous historical names. The name of Fortescue was bestowed on Sir Richard le Forte, a leader in the Conqueror’s army, because he protected his chief at the battle of Hastings by bearing before him a massive escu, or shield. The name of Lockhart was originally given to a follower of Lord Douglas, who accompanied him to the Holy Land with the heart of King Robert Bruce. Hence some of the family bear a padlock enclosing a heart in their arms. The illustrious surname of Plantagenet, borne by eight kings of England, originally belonged to Fulke, the Count of Anjou, in the twelfth century. To expiate certain flagrant crimes of which he had been guilty, he went on a pilgrimage to Jerusalem, and wore in his cap, as a mark of humility, a planta genista, or “broom-plant,” and hence was surnamed Plantagenet. Another version of the story is that he suffered himself to be beaten with “broom-twigs,” plantagananstæ. The Scottish name, Turnbull, is said to have been given to a strong man, one Ruel, who “turned” by the head, a wild “bull” which ran violently against King Robert Bruce in Stirling Park. The celebrated and numerous Scottish family of Armstrong derive their surname from an ancestor who was an armor-bearer, and by whom an ancient King of Scotland was remounted, after his horse had been killed under him in battle. The Halidays were named from their war cry, “A holy day”; every day being holy, in their estimation, that was spent in ravaging the enemy’s country. A poor child, picked up at Newark-upon-Trent, was called by the inhabitants Tom Among Us. Becoming eminent, he was employed in several embassies, and changed his name to the dignified one of Dr. Thomas Magnus. Though the earliest names were short and simple, yet there appears to have prevailed, even in the olden times, a taste for long and sounding names. In a note to Coleridge’s “Literary Biography,” mention is made of an author whose name is of fearful length,—Abul Waled Mohammed Ebn Ashmed Ebn Mohammed Ebn Raschid. Think of the time wasted in speaking and writing such an appellation, which, unless he was blessed with a very tenacious memory, its owner himself must have been sometimes puzzled to recollect! The polytitled Arab, whose name thus “drags, like a wounded snake, its slow length along,” was born at Corinth about 1150, and died in Morocco in 1206. The Spaniards have been noted, beyond all other peoples, for a passion for voluminous and dignified names; and to enlarge them, they often add their places of residence. This is amusingly illustrated by a story told by Fuller in his “Worthies.” A rich citizen, of the name of John Cuts, was ordered by Queen Elizabeth to receive and entertain the Spanish ambassador; but the don was greatly displeased, feeling that he was disparaged by being placed with a man whose name was so ridiculously short, and who, consequently, could never have achieved anything great or honorable; but when he found that the hospitality of his host had nothing monosyllabic about it, but more than made up for the brevity of his name, he was reconciled. Lucian tells of one Simon, who, coming to a considerable fortune, aggrandized his name to Simonides. Diocles, becoming emperor, lengthened his name to Dioclesian; and Bruna, Queen of France, tried to give regal pomp to her name by transforming it to Brunehault.
Oddities, eccentricities, and happy accidents of names are common to all languages, and open a wide field of playful speculation and research. What queer yet felicitous conjunctions are Preserved Fish, Virginia Weed, Dunn Browne, Mahogany Coffin, and Return Swift? Especially remarkable is the extent to which the occupations of men harmonize with their surnames. In London, Gin & Ginman, and Alehouse are publicans. Portwine and Negus are licensed victuallers, one in Westminster, the other in Bishopsgate street. Seaman is the host of the Ship Hotel, and A. King keeps the Crown and Sceptre. Pye is a pastry cook, and Fitall and Treadaway are shoemakers. Mr. Weinmann sells sherries, madeiras, etc., in Chicago, and Mr. Silverman is a noted banker. It is a striking fact that Mr. Loud and Mr. Thunder were, some years ago, both organists in the same American town; and we must acknowledge that few names could harmonize better, or accord more happily with the double diapason and the swell to which their professional duties accustomed them. What name could be more picturesque for a pot-boy than Corker, for a dentist than Tugwell, or for an editor of “Punch” than Mark Lemon? What happier appellation for the owner of a line of stage-coaches than Jehu Golightly, the name of a southern proprietor, which the incredulous passenger refused to believe accidental?
Sometimes the name harmonizes ill with, or is positively antagonistic to, the occupation or character. The amiable and witty banker-poet, Horace Smith, even declares that “surnames ever go by contraries,” and, as proof, says:
“Mr. Barker’s as mute as a fish in the sea,