I
Nothing short of an imperative sense of duty could tempt me to set forth
on that most perilous emprise, a discussion of the American language.
The path is beset with man-traps and spring-guns. Not all the serious
causes of dissension between England and America have begotten half the
bad blood that has been engendered by trumpery questions of vocabulary,
grammar, and pronunciation. I cannot hope to escape giving offence,
probably on both sides; but if I can induce one or two people on either
side to think twice before they scoff once, I shall not have written in
vain.
In the way of scoffing, we English have doubtless (and inevitably) been
the worst offenders. We have habitually used "Americanism" as a term of
reproach, implying, if not saying in so many words, that America was the
great source of pollution, and of nothing but pollution, to the
otherwise limpid current of our speech. Dean Alford wrote offensively
to this effect; Archbishop Trench, on the other hand, discussed the
relations between the English of America and the English of England with
courtesy and good sense.[Q] He protested against certain transatlantic
neologisms, including in his list that excellent old word "to berate,"
and a word so useful and so eminently consonant with the spirit of the
language as "to belittle;" but, whether wise or unwise, his protest was
at least civil. Other writers, both in books and periodicals, have been
apt to take their tone from the Dean rather than from the Archbishop. It
may even be said that the instinct of the majority of Englishmen, which
finds heedless expression in the newspapers and common talk, is to
regard Americanisms as necessarily vulgar, and (conversely) vulgarisms
as probably American. If challenged and brought to book, they can
generally realise the narrowness and injustice of this way of thinking;
yet they relapse into it next moment. It is time we should be on our
guard against so insidious a habit. Its reduction to absurdity may be
found (alackaday!) in _Fors Clavigera_ for June 1, 1874. With shame and
sorrow I transcribe the passage, for the time has not yet come for it
to be forgotten. If it were merely the aberration of an individual,
however distinguished, it were better kept out of sight, out of mind;
but it is, I repeat, the reckless exaggeration of a not altogether
uncommon habit of thought:--
"England taught the Americans all they have of speech or thought,
hitherto. What thoughts they have not learned from England are
foolish thoughts; what words they have not learned from England,
unseemly words; the vile among them not being able even to be
humorous parrots, but only obscene mocking-birds."
Can we wonder that Americans have retorted with some asperity upon
criticisms in which any approach to such insolent insularism is even
remotely or inadvertently implied?
The American retort, however, has not always been judicious or
dignified. It has too often consisted in the mere pitting of one
linguistic prejudice against another. It is very easy to prove that
there are bad speakers and bad writers in both countries, and the
attempt to determine which country has the more numerous and the greater
sinners is exceedingly unprofitable. The "You're another" style of
argument has been far too prevalent. Here we have Mr. Gilbert M. Tucker,
for instance, in a book entitled _Our Common Speech_ (1895) implying,
if he does not absolutely assert (p. 173), that a "boldness of
innovation" in matters linguistic, amounting to "absolute
licentiousness," is more characteristic of England than of America. The
suggestion leaves my British withers entirely unwrung, for I approve of
bold innovation in language, trusting to the impermanence of the unfit
to counteract the effects of licentiousness. If I could believe that we
British were the bolder innovators, I should admit it without blenching;
but observation and probability seem to me to point with one accord in
the opposite direction. New words are begotten by new conditions of
life; and as American life is far more fertile of new conditions than
ours, the tendency towards neologism cannot but be stronger in America
than in England. America has enormously enriched the language, not only
with new words, but (since the American mind is, on the whole, quicker
and wittier than the English) with apt and luminous colloquial
metaphors; and I know not why Mr. Tucker should disclaim the credit.
He next sets forth to show how recent English writers are corrupting the
language; and, in doing so, he falls into some curious errors.
Dickens was boldly innovating when he made Silas Wegg say, "Mr. Boffin,
I never bargain"--"haggle," it would seem, is the proper word. But if
Mr. Tucker will look into the matter, he will find it extremely probable
that this was the original sense of the word "bargain," and quite
certain that it was a very early sense; for instance--
"So worthless peasants bargain for their wives,
As market-men for oxen, sheep, or horse."