VERBAL DELICACY.
There are certain words which appear to offend public delicacy more than
the very objects they designate; till it might almost be inferred that all
the sensitiveness of human nature had concentrated itself in the ear. The
study of ancient and modern languages will attest the truth of this
assertion; for many things are to be learned in a vocabulary besides the
idiom it pretends to teach.
The stern Romans, for instance, who affected so stoical a disregard of
death, would not allow the word to be pronounced in their presence; though
the lives of their children was by the law placed at their mercy. Their
sense of delicacy would have been offended had it been mentioned before
them that such a one was "dead." It was necessary to say, "he hath lived."
In the noble defence of Milo, by Cicero, he dared not qualify by the
appropriate word the act of assassination committed by the slaves of his
client; but declared by periphrasis that under these circumstances, "the
slaves of Milo did what it became them to do."
To the title of King, the Romans had vowed an eternal hatred, created by
the traditionary opprobrium of the Tarquins, and their contempt of the
innumerable Kings subjected to their arms, and dragged behind their
triumphal cars. But when Cæsar proclaimed himself Emperor, and assumed a
more sovereign power than the history of nations had as yet recorded, the
Roman people applauded the kingly office presented to them under any other
than the name abhorred. The same circumstance occurred in France at the
commencement of the present century. The French, after devoting themselves
to the extermination of Kings, hailed with delight the coronation of an
Emperor; though to proclaim himself "King" would have ensured the
premature downfall of Napoleon.
Of late years, the ears of the world have become more than ever chaste and
refined; and certain words freely used by Shakspeare, in presence of the
Court of the Virgin Queen, and by Molière, in presence of that of the most
dignified of European monarchs, are now utterly proscribed, and expunged
from the modern stage. The fluctuations of opinion on these points, are
highly diverting. Dean Swift relates that, in his early days, the word
"whiskers" could not be mentioned in a lady's presence; a fact we should
be inclined to class among the ingenious fictions of the Dean of St.
Patrick; but that at the present day, that rational nation, the Americans,
have not courage to pronounce the word leg, even in talking of the limb of
a table or of a partridge. The false delicacy of the English takes refuge
in a foreign language. All such articles of dress or furniture as are held
of a nature unmentionable to ears polite, are named in French; as if the
word _chemise_ were a less explicit designation of an indispensable under
garment than the matter of fact word shift! All this is contemptible
hyprocrisy, and a silly compromise with common sense. Such an abbreviation
as crim. con. conveys fully as indelicate an allusion as the same words
written and pronounced in full.
The author of the School for Scandal objected to so great a variety of
words as coarse and indelicate from female lips, that there sometimes
existed a difficulty in narrating to him the ordinary events of life.
On the other hand, it is surprising how much may be effected by a change
of name with those whose ears are more impressionable than their
understanding. The French had signified pretty loudly at the revolution
their national opposition to a conscription, and to the _droits réunis_.
Against these exercises of administrative tyranny, they were prepared to
break into rebellion. Instead, however, of arguing with their pertinacity,
the Government wisely applauded it; substituting for a conscription, the
recruiting system, and for the _droits réunis_ the _contributions
indirectes_. We should be glad if any one would point out to us what was
changed in these two important departments of public service, besides the
name? This paltering, in a double sense, reminds us of the story of a
Frenchman, who was examining a library with persons more enlightened than
himself. "Ah! there are the works of my friend, Cicero," cried he.
"_Cicéron, c'est le même que Marc-Tulle._"