SWEARING.
The general run of our people do not swear much; and those that do commonly
limit themselves to the name of the devil either straight out or in some of
its various disguised forms, or to some harmless imitation of a curse. You
do indeed come across persons who go higher, but they are rare. Yet while
keeping themselves generally within safe bounds, it must be confessed that
many of the people have a sort of sneaking admiration--lurking secretly and
seldom expressed in words--for a good well-balanced curse, so long as it
does not shock by its profanity. I once knew a doctor--not in {67}
Dublin--who, it might be said, was a genius in this line. He could, on the
spur of the moment, roll out a magnificent curse that might vie with a
passage of the Iliad in the mouth of Homer. 'Oh sir'--as I heard a fellow
say--''tis grand to listen to him when he's in a rage.' He was known as a
skilled physician, and a good fellow in every way, and his splendid
swearing crowned his popularity. He had discretion however, and knew when
to swear and when not; but ultimately he swore his way into an extensive
and lucrative practice, which lasted during his whole life--a long and
honourable one.
Parallel to this is Maxwell's account of the cursing of Major Denis
O'Farrell--'the Mad Major,' who appears to have been a dangerous rival to
my acquaintance, the doctor. He was once directing the evolutions at a
review in presence of Sir Charles, the General, when one important movement
was spoiled by the blundering of an incompetent little adjutant. In a
towering passion the Mad Major addressed the General:--'Stop, Sir Charles,
do stop; just allow me two minutes to curse that rascally adjutant.' To so
reasonable a request (Maxwell goes on to say), Sir Charles readily
assented. He heard the whole malediction out, and speaking of it
afterwards, he said that 'he never heard a man cursed to his perfect
satisfaction until he heard (that adjutant) anathematised in the Phoenix
Park.'
The Mad Major was a great favourite; and when he died, there was not a dry
eye in the regiment on the day of the funeral. Two months afterwards when
an Irish soldier was questioned on the merits of his successor:--'The man
is well enough,' said Pat, {68} with a heavy sigh, 'but where will we find
the equal of the Major? By japers, it was a comfort to be cursed by him!'
('Wild Sports of the West.')
In my part of the country there is--or was--a legend--a very circumstantial
one too--which however I am not able to verify personally, as the thing
occurred a little before my time--that Father Buckley, of Glenroe, cured
Charley Coscoran, the greatest swearer in the barony--cured him in a most
original way. He simply directed him to cut out a button from some part of
his dress, no matter where--_to whip it out on the instant_--every time he
uttered a serious curse, i.e, one involving the Sacred Name. Charley made
the promise with a light heart, thinking that by only using a little
caution he could easily avoid snipping off his buttons. But inveterate
habit is strong. Only very shortly after he had left the priest he saw a
cow in one of his cornfields playing havoc: out came a round curse, and off
came a button on the spot. For Charley was a manly fellow, with a real
sense of religion at bottom: and he had no notion of shirking his penance.
Another curse after some time and another button. Others again
followed:--coat, waistcoat, trousers, shirt-collar, were brought under
contribution till his clothes began to fall off him. For a needle and
thread were not always at hand, and at any rate Charley was no great shakes
at the needle. At last things came to that pass with poor Charley, that
life was hardly worth living; till he had to put his mind seriously to
work, and by careful watching he gradually cured himself. But many score
buttons passed through his hands during the process. {69}
Most persons have a sort of craving or instinct to utter a curse of some
kind--as a sort of comforting interjection--where there is sufficient
provocation; and in order to satisfy this without incurring the guilt,
people have invented ejaculations in the form of curses, but still
harmless. Most of them have some resemblance in sound to the forbidden
word--they are near enough to satisfy the craving, but still far enough off
to avoid the guilt: the process may in fact be designated _dodging a
curse_. Hence we have such blank cartridges as _begob_, _begor_, by my
_sowkins_, by _Jove_, by the _laws_ [Lord], by _herrings_ [heavens], by
_this and by that_, _dang_ it, &c.; all of them ghosts of curses, which are
very general among our people. The following additional examples will
sufficiently illustrate this part of our subject.
The expression _the dear knows_ (or correctly _the deer knows_), which is
very common, is a translation from Irish of one of those substitutions. The
original expression is _thauss ag Dhee_ [given here phonetically], meaning
_God knows_; but as this is too solemn and profane for most people, they
changed it to _Thauss ag fee_, i.e. _the deer knows_; and this may be
uttered by anyone. _Dia_ [Dhee] God: _fiadh_ [fee], a deer.
Says Barney Broderick, who is going through his penance after confession at
the station, and is interrupted by a woman asking him a
question:--'Salvation seize your soul--God forgive me for cursing--be off
out of that and don't set me astray!' ('Knocknagow.') Here the substitution
has turned a wicked imprecation into a benison: for the first word in the
original is not _salvation_ but _damnation_. {70}
'By the hole in my coat,' which is often heard, is regarded as a harmless
oath: for if there is no hole you are swearing by nothing: and if there is
a hole--still the hole is nothing.
'Bad manners to you,' a mild imprecation, to avoid 'bad luck to you,' which
would be considered wicked: reflecting the people's horror of rude or
offensive manners.
'By all the goats in Kerry,' which I have often heard, is always said in
joke, which takes the venom out of it. In Leinster they say, 'by all the
goats in Gorey'--which is a big oath. Whether it is a big oath now or not,
I do not know; but it was so formerly, for the name _Gorey_ (Wexford), like
the Scotch _Gowrie_, means 'swarming with goats.'
'Man,' says the pretty mermaid to Dick Fitzgerald, when he had captured her
from the sea, 'man will you eat me?' '_By all the red petticoats and check
aprons between Dingle and Tralee_,' cried Dick, jumping up in amazement,
'I'd as soon eat myself, my jewel! Is it I to eat you, my pet!' (Crofton
Croker.)
'Where did he get the whiskey?' 'Sorrow a know I know,' said Leary. 'Sorrow
fly away with him.' (Crofton Croker.) In these and such like--which you
often hear--_sorrow_ is a substitute for _devil_.
Perhaps the most general exclamations of this kind among Irish people are
_begor_, _begob_, _bedad_, _begad_ (often contracted to _egad_), _faith_
and _troth_. _Faith_, contracted from _in faith_ or _i' faith_, is looked
upon by many people as not quite harmless: it is a little too serious to be
used indiscriminately--'Faith I feel this day very cold': 'Is that tea
good?' {71} 'Faith it is no such thing: it is very weak.' 'Did Mick sell
his cows to-day at the fair?' 'Faith I don't know.' People who shrink from
the plain word often soften it to _faix_ or _haith_ (or _heth_ in Ulster).
An intelligent contributor makes the remark that the use of this word
_faith_ (as above) is a sure mark of an Irishman all over the world.
Even some of the best men will occasionally, in an unguarded moment or in a
hasty flash of anger, give way to the swearing instinct. Father John Burke
of Kilfinane--I remember him well--a tall stern-looking man with heavy
brows, but really gentle and tender-hearted--held a station at the house of
our neighbour Tom Coffey, a truly upright and pious man. All had gone to
confession and Holy Communion, and the station was over. Tom went out to
bring the priest's horse from the paddock, but in leading him through a gap
in the hedge the horse stood stock still and refused obstinately to go an
inch farther. Tom pulled and tugged to no purpose, till at last his
patience went to pieces, and he flung this, in no gentle voice, at the
animal's head:--'Blast your _sowl_ will you come on!' Just then unluckily
Father Burke walked up behind: he had witnessed and heard all, and you may
well say that Tom's heart dropped down into his shoes; for he felt
thoroughly ashamed. The crime was not great; but it looked bad and
unbecoming under the circumstances; and what could the priest do but
perform his duty: so the black brows contracted, and on the spot he gave
poor Tom _down-the-banks_ and no mistake. I was at that station, though I
did not witness the horse scene. {72}
If a person pledges himself to anything, clinching the promise with an
adjuration however mild or harmless, he will not by any means break the
promise, considering it in a manner as a vow. The old couple are at tea and
have just one egg, which causes a mild dispute. At last the father says
decisively--'The divel a bit of it I'll eat, so there's an end of it': when
the mother instantly and with great solemnity--'FAITH I won't eat it--there
now!' The result was that neither would touch it; and they gave it to their
little boy who demolished it without the least scruple.
I was one time a witness of a serio-comic scene _on the head of_ one of
these blank oaths when I was a small boy attending a very small school. The
master was a truly good and religious man, but very severe (a _wicked_
master, as we used to say), and almost insane in his aversion to swearing
in any shape or form. To say _begob_ or _begor_ or _by Jove_ was
unpardonably wicked; it was nothing better than blindfolding the devil in
the dark.
One day Jack Aimy, then about twelve years of age--_the saint_ as we used
to call him--for he was always in mischief and always in trouble--said
exultingly to the boy sitting next him:--'Oh _by the hokey_, Tom, I have my
sum finished all right at last.' In evil hour for him the master happened
to be standing just behind his back; and then came the deluge. In an
instant the school work was stopped, and poor Jack was called up to stand
before the judgment seat. There he got a long lecture--with the usual
quotations--as severe and solemn as if he were a man and had perjured
himself half a {73} dozen times. As for the rest of us, we sat in the
deadly silence shivering in our skins; for we all, to a man, had a guilty
consciousness that we were quite as bad as Jack, if the truth were known.
Then poor Jack was sent to his seat so wretched and crestfallen after his
lecture that a crow wouldn't pick his bones.
'By the hokey' is to this day common all over Ireland.
When we, Irish, go abroad, we of course bring with us our peculiarities and
mannerisms--with now and then a little meteoric flash of
eccentricity--which on the whole prove rather attractive to foreigners,
including Englishmen. One Sunday during the South African war, Mass was
celebrated as usual in the temporary chapel, which, after the rough and
ready way of the camp, served for both Catholics and Protestants: Mass
first; Protestant Service after. On this occasion an Irish officer, a
splendid specimen of a man, tall, straight, and athletic--a man born to
command, and well known as a strict and devoted Catholic--was serving
Mass--aiding and giving the responses to the priest. The congregation was
of course of mixed nationalities--English, Irish, and Scotch, and the
chapel was filled. Just outside the chapel door a nigger had charge of the
big bell to call the congregations. On this day, in blissful ignorance and
indifference, he began to ring for the Protestant congregation too
soon--while Mass was still going on--so as greatly to disturb the people at
their devotions. The officer was observed to show signs of impatience,
growing more and more restless as the ringing went {74} on persistently,
till at last one concentrated series of bangs burst up his patience
utterly. Starting up from his knees during a short interval when his
presence was not required--it happened to be after the most solemn part of
the Mass--he strode down the middle passage in a mighty rage--to the
astonishment of everybody--till he got to the door, and letting fly--in the
midst of the perfect silence,--a tremendous volley of _damns_, _blasts_,
_scoundrels_, _blackguards_, &c., &c., at the head of the terrified nigger,
he shut him up, himself and his bell, while a cat would be licking her ear.
He then walked back and resumed his duties, calm and collected, and
evidently quite unconscious that there was anything unusual in the
proceeding.
The whole thing was so sudden and odd that the congregation were convulsed
with suppressed silent laughter; and I am afraid that some people observed
even the priest's sides shaking in spite of all he could do.
This story was obtained from a person who was present at that very Mass;
and it is given here almost in his own words.
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