Swagger

Swagger (pronounced swag-er)

(1) A manner, conduct, or gait thought an ostentatious display of arrogance and conceit.

(2) To walk or strut with a defiant or insolent air.

(3) To boast or brag noisily.

(4) To bring, drive, force, etc by means of bluster (now rare).

(5) Elegantly fashionable and confident (listed by some dictionaries as “rare” but in UK use it remains understood as a way of differentiating from “arrogant” and appears often in the form “a certain swagger” on the model of a phrase like “a certain grandeur”).

(6) In historic Australian (mostly rural) slang, an alternative name for a “swagman” or “swaggie” (an itinerant worker who carried a swag (a kind of roll-up bed) (archaic).  Swagman remains familiar in Australia because of the opening line of the bush ballad Waltzing Matilda: “Once a jolly swagman camped by a billabong”.

1580–1590: The construct was swag + -er and it was a frequentative form of swag (in the sense of “to sway”), an early use of which appears in William Shakespeare’s (1564–1616) A Midsummer Night's Dream (1595): “What hempen homespuns have we swaggering here?” (Puck in Act III, Scene 1) and it appears also in Henry IV, Part 2 (circa 1598) & King Lear (circa1605).  The verb swag (in the Shakespearian sense of “to strut in a defiant or insolent manner” (which then could also mean “a gait with a sway or lurch”) was from the Middle English swaggen, swagen & swoggen, probably from the Old Norse sveggja (to swing, sway) and may be compared with the dialectal Norwegian svaga (to sway, swing, stagger).  The meaning “to boast or brag” was in use by the 1590s to describe the antics of the concurrent agent-noun swaggerer (blusterer; bully; boastful, noisy fellow), the noun appearing in the early eighteenth century in the sense of “an insolent strut; a piece of bluster; a boastful manner”.  The –er suffix was from the Middle English –er & -ere, from the Old English -ere, from the Proto-Germanic -ārijaz, thought most likely to have been borrowed from the Latin –ārius where, as a suffix, it was used to form adjectives from nouns or numerals.  In English, the –er suffix, when added to a verb, created an agent noun: the person or thing that doing the action indicated by the root verb.   The use in English was reinforced by the synonymous but unrelated Old French –or & -eor (the Anglo-Norman variant -our), from the Latin -ātor & -tor, from the primitive Indo-European -tōr.  When appended to a noun, it created the noun denoting an occupation or describing the person whose occupation is the noun.  Swagger is a noun & verb, swaggerer is a noun, swaggering is an adjective and swaggeringly is an adverb; the noun plural is swaggers.  The verb (used with object) out-swagger was used as a kind of “loaded” superlative, suggesting someone’s swagger had been “topped” by that of another.

Swaggering: Lindsay Lohan in swagger coat, New York City, March 2024.

A swagger coat was a (usually) calf-length overcoat with a distinctive cut which flared out below the knee.  They became fashionable in the early decades of the twentieth century, the wide, roomy silhouette, often without a belt, allowing for a “swaggering” or flowing appearance when worn.  The relaxed fit lent the garment a casual elegance and they often were worn, cloak-like, cast over the shoulders.  Swagger coats were commonly made from heavier fabrics like wool or tweed, making them ideal for outerwear in cooler weather and their air of “quiet sophistication” has made them a timeless classic.  A swagger stick was a short stick carried by a military officer as a symbol of authority but should not be confused with a field-marshal’s baton which was a symbol of the highest military rank.  Swagger sticks were shorter than a walking-cane, tended to be made from rattan or bamboo and adorned with a polished metal tip or cap.  A symbol rather than a practical tool, they are still seen during formal parades or other ceremonial events.  A “swagger-jack” was someone who copied or imitated the actions, sayings or personal habits of another.  The word “swagger” often carries a negative connotation but there’s a long tradition in the UK of it being used to distinguish for someone thought “arrogant”.  When one reviewer wrote of the Rolling Stones album Beggars Banquet (1968) as being the band “at their most swaggeringly debauched”, he really was giving them a compliment.  Much can context influence meaning.

The Swagger Portrait

A swagger portrait is a grand, usually large and often ostentatious portrait, typically commissioned by wealthy or influential individuals to display their status, power and prestige.  The term came into use in the late nineteenth century at the height of the British Empire when countless generals, admirals, politicians, governors, viceroys and others less exalted (though perhaps more deserving) decided it was something they deserved.  The distinguishing characteristics were (1) an imposing dimensionality, larger than life renditions not uncommon, (2) elaborate staging and poses, (3) an attention to detail, something of significance to the subjects often were dripping with decorations or precious jewels which demanded to be captured with precision and (4) a certain grandeur, something at which some artists excelled.  An exemplar of the breed was John Singer Sargent (1856-1925).

Portrait of Theodore Roosevelt (1903; left), oil on canvas by Théobald Chartran (1849–1907) and Portrait of Theodore Roosevelt (1903; right), oil on canvas by John Singer Sargent.

Nobel Peace Prize laureate Theodore Roosevelt (1858–1919; US President 1901-1909), famous also for waging war and shooting wildlife, after being impressed by Théobald Chartran’s portrait of his wife, invited the French artist to paint him too.  He was so displeased with the result, which he thought made him look effete, he refused to hang the work and later supervised its destruction.  Roosevelt then turned instead to expatriate US artist John Singer Sargent.  The relationship didn’t start well as the two couldn’t agree on a setting and during one heated argument, the president suddenly, hand on hip, took on a defiant air while making a point and Sargent had his pose, imploring his subject not to move.  This one delighted Roosevelt and was hung in the White House.

Portrait of Madame X (1884), oil on canvas by John Singer Sargent, Metropolitan Museum of Art, Manhattan.

A controversial work in its time, Madame X was Virginie Amélie Avegno Gautreau (née Avegno; 1859–1915) a banker's wife.  Unusually in the tradition of swagger portraits, Madam X was not a commission but undertaken on the painter's initiative and he understood the critics as well as he knew his subjects, knowing the juxtaposition of a black satin gown and porcelain-white skin would create a sensation.  However he understood the Parisian bourgeoisie less well and after being exhibited at the Paris Salon of 1884, the public reception was such that Singer was just about run out of town.  However, the painting made his reputation and it remains his best known work.

The Duke of Wellington (1812), oil on canvas by Francisco Goya (1812-1814), The National Gallery, London.

Arthur Wellesley (1769-1852; First Duke of Wellington was a British military hero and a less successful Tory politician although he remains remembered as a classic “Ultra”, a calling which is a hallmark of twenty-first century ideology.  Goya’s work is a typical military swagger portrait and it was for his battlefield exploits rather than in parliament which saw him granted the rare distinction of a state funeral.

Portrait of Empress Eugénie (1854), oil on canvas by Franz Xaver Winterhalter (1805-1873), Metropolitan Museum of Art, Manhattan.

The Empress Eugénie (Eugénie de Montijo, 1826–1920, Condesa de Teba) was the wife of Napoleon III (Charles-Louis Napoléon Bonaparte, 1808–1873; first president of France (1848-1852) and the last monarch as Emperor (1852-1870)) and it wasn't an easy gig for her so she deserved a swagger portrait more than many, Winterhalter painting several.  They have many the elements of the swagger portraiture of royalty, lavish fabrics, the subject in regal attire, as much an almost as much an installation as any of the sumptuous surrounds, the message conveyed one of status, power and beauty.

Docker

Docker (pronounced dok-er)

(1) In seaport operations, a laborer on shipping docks engaged in the loading or unloading of a vessel (and sometimes “other duties as required”); known in North America also as a longshoreman or stevedore, the latter also used elsewhere in the English-speaking world (“stevedore” can also be used of corporations which run loading & unloading operations).  The general idea is of a “dock-worker”.

(2) A person who cuts off or trims the tails or (less commonly the ears) of certain animals used in agricultural production (used sometimes also of the tools they employ).

(3) In military aviation, a device used to connect (dock together) two aircraft during air-to air refueling operations.

(4) In aerospace, the assembly used to permit two space craft to “dock”, providing a port for access between the two.

(5) In engineering, any device allowing the temporary connection of two components.

(6) In commercial food preparation, as “roller docker”, a utensil resembling a small rolling pin with spikes, used to pierce dough to prevent over-rising or blistering, the device creating in food: “docker holes”.

(7) One who engages in the sexual practice of docking (where the tip of one participant's penis is inserted into the foreskin of their partner (the success of the act said to be judged by the “extent & effect” of the overlap).  It is a niche activity.

1755–1765: The construct was dock + -er.  Dock was from the Middle English dokke, from the Old English docce, from the Proto-West Germanic dokkā, from the Proto-Germanic dukkǭ (similar forms including the Old Danish dokke (water-dock), the West Flemish dokke & dokkebladeren (coltsfoot, butterbur), from the primitive Indo-European dhew (dark) (which may be compared with the Latvian duga (scum, slime on water)).  The –er suffix was from the Middle English –er & -ere, from the Old English -ere, from the Proto-Germanic -ārijaz, thought most likely to have been borrowed from the Latin –ārius where, as a suffix, it was used to form adjectives from nouns or numerals.  In English, the –er suffix, when added to a verb, created an agent noun: the person or thing that doing the action indicated by the root verb.   The use in English was reinforced by the synonymous but unrelated Old French –or & -eor (the Anglo-Norman variant -our), from the Latin -ātor & -tor, from the primitive Indo-European -tōr.  When appended to a noun, it created the noun denoting an occupation or describing the person whose occupation is the noun.  Docker is a noun, docking is a noun & verb and docked is a verb; the noun plural is dockers.

The use in agriculture (one who cuts off or trims the tails or (less commonly) ears of certain animals) dates from the early nineteenth century.  Although there are dockers who dock, in English there is no tradition of dockee (that which has been docked) which is unusual in English when referring to devices which sometimes use the male-female anatomical descriptor model.  In IT, there have been many “docks” (the best known being “docking stations” which allow something like a laptop temporarily to be tethered, gaining ports and such to allow various components and peripheral devices to be attached) but there never seem to have been “dockers”.

More than one authoritative site has rated the team song of Western Australia's Freemantle Dockers (1994) AFL (Australian Football League, which evolved from the old VFL (Victorian Football League (which apparently still own the AFL)) to become the national competition for football played under "Australian Rules") the worst of the 18 currently in use.  Some on-line polls have confirmed the view but Dockers’ fans, when offered four alternatives, opted to retain the original, presumably on the assumption opposition fans must hate hearing it played (it's a tradition to play the winning team's song at the end of each match).  The team’s name is an allusion to the docks at the Port of Freemantle.

Lindsay Lohan Leather Jacket (078LCJ) by Docker Trend, Kyiv.

The surname Docker was from the ancient Anglo-Saxon culture of the Britain Isles and was occupational, the name for a trapper of small game and translating literally as “cut the hare's tail”, derived from the Old English dokc (cut off) and hare, a very old word which meant then what it means now.  So the surname definitely predates the Norman Conquest and the oldest known instance is the parish records in what is now the county of Cumberland. However, there was also a second linguistic fork for the surname and that was not occupational but locational, traced back to two small hamlets in Westmoreland and Lancashire, both named “Docker”, the name meaning “the grazing land in the valley”, from the pre seventh century Olde Norse-Viking dokr.  Quite when the settlements were founded or named is uncertain but village in Westmoreland appears in the charters of the county for the year 1155 as Docherga, while the associated surname seems not to have been recorded before the sixteenth century and, given the high reliability of English parish records, is believed to indicate it had not previously been in use. 

Historians suggest this suggests it’s possible the village was “cleared” in the period of the Enclosure Acts (a kind of “land grab” by the ruling class, a tradition which continues to this day) which occupied parliamentary time for over three hundred years between 1450-1750.  Under these acts, tenant farmers gradually were deprived of their ancient rights to the “land held in common” for grazing & tilling, forced from their humble homes to seek shelter and employment elsewhere, often from the very beneficiaries of the “enclosure project”.  One consequence of this was those expelled often took or were given as their surname the name of their former village.  There were (not unusually) many alternative spellings of what evolved as “Docker”, the form not standardized until well into the 1800s, the alternatives including Docker, Dockwra, Dockray, Dockwray & Dockrell, some differences existing even within the one family, a not uncommon practice of “branch differentiation” in the pre-modern era.  In a phenomenon typical of the period of European colonization, as the British Empire spread around the globe, the Docker name travelled thus and is now known in Australia, the US, Canada, the West Indies, New Zealand, a number of African states and the Indian sub-continent.

The Docker Daimlers

In the slang of English divorce lawyers, chatelaine was a term for a sub-set of husband-hunting women for whom the most important criterion in their search was the quality of the house which came with the prey, the play on words based on the ancient role of the chatelaine being the "the keeper of the castle".  Applied mostly either to the impoverished gentry or aspirational young ladies seeking upward-mobility, chatelaines were famously good "housekeepers"; after the divorce often "she kept the house".  The more accessible modern form is gold-digger.  An exemplar of the type was the admirable Norah Docker (Lady Docker, formerly Callingham, formerly Collins, née Turner; 1906–1983) a dance-club hostess who was thrice-married, each husband proving more lucrative than the last.  Her most famous acquisition was Sir Bernard Docker (1896–1978), chairman of the Daimler motor company for which she helped design half a dozen cars; known as the Docker Daimlers, they were an acquired taste but certainly large and conspicuous as intended, each generating much publicity though it's doubtful they made any positive contribution to Daimler's bottom line.  Some of the more generous critics were prepared to concede some weren't as bad as the others.

1955 Daimler DK400 Golden Zebra

The last of the Docker Daimlers, the Golden Zebra was a two-door fixed head coupé (FHC) with coachwork by Hooper, built on the existing DK400 (1954-1959) chassis.  The interior was finished with an African theme, the dashboard of ivory and the upholstery in zebra-skin while external metal trim was gold-plated.  Lady Docker personally chose the zebra skin, claiming she found mink unpleasantly hot.  It was first shown at the 1955 Paris Motor Show and it's of note this stylistic mashup of pre-war motifs and mid-century modernism appeared in the same building used for the debut of the Citroën DS (1955-1975) which, although with some parts under the skin more ancient than any of the Daimler's underpinnings, contained enough that was revolutionary to give the crowds a vision of the future, even though decades would elapse before some of its implications were realized.

Sir Bernard (with cigar, left) and Lady Docker (in mink) unveiling the "Golden Daimler", Earls Court Motor Show, London, 1951.

Imposing though it was, dimensionally, being DK400-based, the Golden Zebra was actually less extravagant than some Daimlers built on the even bigger DE chassis (1946-1953) which was the last car in the UK with a straight-eight engine offered for general sale, the even more exclusive Rolls-Royce Phantom IV (1950-1956) available only to crowned royalty and heads of state.  The UK in the early 1950s was still living through a period of post-war austerity but the Docker Daimlers were surprisingly well-received by the public which seemed to enjoy the splash of color they brought to the dreariness of the time when some consumer products were still rationed.  The reaction of critics generally was less kind, the “Docker Specials” decried variously as “archaic”, “irrelevant”,  “vulgar” or that worst of English insults: “tiresome”.  It’s thought also not a coincidence that it was during Lady Docker’s supervision of the Daimler drawing boards the royal family’s automotive allegiance switched to Rolls-Royce, the association pre-dating even the royal warrant granted in 1902 by King Edward VII (1841–1910; King of the UK & Emperor of India 1901-1910), shortly after his accession to the throne, a Daimler 6hp mail phaeton delivered to Buckingham Palace on 28 March 1900, fulfilling an order place by the king while still Prince of Wales.  So the Daimlers, in the Royal Mews since the nineteenth century, began to be relegated to secondary roles and another wouldn’t be ordered until well after Jaguar's takeover of the company in 1959.

Straight-eight Docker Daimler "Blue Clover" (1952), trimmed in blue lizard skin, now on display in a museum in Seoul, RoK (Republic of Korea (South Korea)).

Lady Docker’s intention however was to achieve sensation and if some thought the cars vulgar so be it, subscribing to the axiom of both Oscar Wilde (1854–1900) & Dr Joseph Goebbels (1897-1975; Nazi propaganda minister 1933-1945): “It doesn’t matter what people are saying about us as long as they’re saying something.”  To ensure her vision would be rendered in metal as she intended, she had her obedient husband appoint her to the board’s of Hooper’s, (the corporation’s in-house coach-builder) as a director with “special responsibility for styling matters”.  The irony was that unlike those on the Daimler board, she was quite correct in perceiving their cars had become staid and unexciting with a change of stylistic direction required; the problem was the direction she followed.  When Lady Docker’s first project, the spectacular “Golden Daimler” was unveiled at the 1951 Earls Court Motor Show, it certainly got people talking, mostly about money.  The “Golden” appellation, while not a designation of a victory, was well deserved, gold plate applied to the trim where chrome usually appeared, some 7000 gold stars appearing on the flanks, below the waistline.  Quickly the press did their calculations and determined the Stg£900 of the metal used would have been enough to purchase two small cars and a motor-cycle but when asked, Lady Docker explained: “It was practically impossible to obtain chrome.” which wasn't bad for the spur of the moment.  Inside, the theme continued, the headliner and upholstery in the rear compartment hand-made from gold silk brocade woven on a loom, the timberwork all Australian camphor, selected for its honey-gold hue, the traditional burl walnut just too dark.  The timber fittings were fine examples of the coach-builder’s craft, a matched pair of cabinets containing a gold & crystal cocktail set to the left while in the right sat a gold and black china tea set with a gold-plated Thermos tea jug.  Built into the electrically-operated central divider were two folding picnic tables, able to be laid with the linen tablecloth and napkins kept in a natty little container while just in case a fingernail might be damaged when one was adjusting the gold-plated radio controls in the armrests, a vanity set (in a gold case) was provided.  Really, Lady Docker thought of everything.

Straight-eight Docker Daimler "Stardust" (1954), trimmed in hand-woven silver silk brocatelle and pale blue crocodile leather, the coachwork (left), Lady Docker "touching up" (centre) and the rear compartment (right).  

Unfortunately, the comparison which was obvious was with the new Daimler Regency (1951-1958) which also made its debut at Earls Court.  The Regency was emblematic of the very problem Lady Docker had identified: it was conservative, staid and owed more to the past than the present, let alone the future; compared with the modernist lines being seen in the US and even Europe, it looked like something which could have come from a decade earlier.  The company was aware the world was moving on without them and did embark on new projects, developing two of the best V8 engines of the post-war years (in 2.5 litre (155 cubic inch) & 4.6 litre (278 cubic inch) displacements) and even an unexpected sports car which used the smaller V8.  The car was not a success and while the drive-train attracted unqualified praise, reaction to the rest of the package was muted at best; it was an engine crying out for a car and typified the company’s piecemeal approach to things, culminating in Jaguar’s takeover in 1959.  Jaguar had some fine cars but really needed V8 engines for the US market so it would have seemed logical to combine the two but, obsessed with the notion engines should have six or twelve cylinders, neglected the opportunity and made only niche use of the eights, retiring them in 1969.

Docker Daimler "Silver Flash" (1953).  

As a design, the Silver Flash was the most interesting of the Dockers and was a representation perhaps of what a large FHC (fixed head coupé) would have looked like circa 1946, had there been no war.  What can't be guessed is whether the design trends in the US, Europe and the UK (all with different traditions although always exchanging influences) would have tended to drift apart or begin to assume the kind of "international style" which came to architecture in the post-war years.

Satisfied however with what she had achieved in 1951, Lady Docker continued undeterred and oversaw the development of a further four “Docker Daimlers”, designed on the basis of “more of the same” (it's not known if she had in mind an old Docker family motto: Semper eadem (Always the same)).  Released annually, usually to a not uncritical reception but there was always the splash of publicity she craved so in that sense the designs worked.  Within the corporation though, as the 1950s dragged into middle-age, the lifestyle and spending habits (with Daimler’s money) of the Dockers was causing increasing disquiet and early in 1956, a “boardroom coup” was organized, the conspiracy culminating in May when a special meeting of the board was summoned at which Sir Bernard was voted out, his wife departing with him.  As if to exorcise the demons, the board ordered the Docker Daimlers be stripped of their expensive trimmings and sold.  Despite these vicissitudes, 

Macaronic

Macaronic (pronounced mak-uh-ron-ik)

(1) A text composed of or characterized by Latin words mixed with vernacular words or non-Latin words given Latin endings (known in literary theory as the “macaronic verse”).

(2) In latter-day use, a text constructed with words from more than one language (written in a hodgepodge; a work of macaronic character).

(3) In structural linguistics, as macaronics, the study of or instances of macaronic language.

(4) Used loosely, anything mixed of stuff from different sources; a gallimaufry; a jumble (now rare).

(5) Of men, a dandy, foppish, trifling, affected (based on like “a macaroni” when used in that sense) (archaic).

1605–1615: From the sixteenth century New Latin macarōnicus, from the dialectal Italian maccarone (coarse dumpling), from the French macaronique (from the association of macaroni (the pasta) as peasant food with the vernacular language of peasants, thus the implication that mixing languages was indicative of “a lack of sophistication; being uneducated”, the construct being macaron(i) + -icus.  The Latin suffix -icus (feminine -ica, neuter -icum) was from i-stem + -cus and occurred in some original cases, becoming influential in adjectival formation and later used freely.  It was cognate with the Ancient Greek -ικός (-ikós), the Proto-Germanic -igaz (source of the Old High German and Old English -ig, the Gothic - -eigs, the Sanskrit -इक (-ika) and Proto-Slavic -ьcь (the latter becoming fossilized as a nominal agent suffix, but it likely originally also served adjectival functions).  The suffix was appended to nouns to form adjectives denoting (1) belong to, (2) derived from or (3) pertaining to and thus may be compared to the suffixes -ic & -ish.  The spelling macaronick has been obsolete since the eighteenth century.  Macaronic is a noun & adjective and macaronically is an adverb; the noun plural is macaronics.  The comparative is “more macaronic” and the superlative “most macaronic” and those presumably can be used either of (1) the number of “foreign” words in a text or (2) the extent of the perceived inelegance thus created.

Teofilo Folengo (1491–1544 (who wrote under the pseudonyms Merlino Coccajoa & Merlinus Cocaius)) is regarded as one of the earliest and certainly most celebrated of the Italian macaronic poets.  He had become a Benedictine monk after being disowned (and more to the point, disinherited) by his father, disappointed at his son being sent down from university for “bad behavior”, a character trait which the Benedictines seemed not wholly to have suppressed because while in the village close to the monastery, he was ensorcelled by the comely waif Girolama Dieda who led him astray.  They eloped but after years of wandering, he returned to the church, performing the necessary rites of repentance, remaining in “the arms of God” until he died.  It was in 1519 he published Maccaronea, a volume of burlesques in a style which proved influential, encouraging a host of imitators to pen a literature of rough and ribald satire in mingled Latin and Italian verse.  Helpfully, Brother Folengo in 1517 coined the Modern Latin macaronicus, based on the dialectal Italian maccarone (the pasta macaroni) and provided a verse referencing the ingredents: “Quoddam pulmentum farina, caseo, botiro compaginatum, grossum, rude, et rusticanum” which may be translated as “A certain dish made of flour, cheese, and butter, thick, crude, and rustic”, the elements deconstructed as farina (flour), caseo (cheese), botiro (butter), compaginatum (put together), grossum (thick), rude (crude; rough) & rusticanum (rustic).

So the macaronic verse was what might now be called a “mash-up” of vernacular words in a Latin context with Latin endings; applied loosely to verse in which two or more languages are jumbled together with little regard to syntax but so constructed as to be intelligible; that was what lent them the humor, they were obviously “wrong” but enough remained of conventional structures that the meaning was clear.  Because the dish maccarone was so associated with the rural poor (thus “peasant food”), the idea of the tangled, tortured language(s) of the verse was a caricature of the “talk of the uneducated, unsophisticated yokel”; in other words, a literary analogue of macaroni.  Although it was Folengo who popularized the technique its name, he wasn’t the first to publish verse in the style, Tifi (dagli) Odasi (the pen-name of Italian poet Michele di Bartolomeo degli Odasi (circa 1450–1492) in 1490 issuing Carmen macaronicum de Patavinis (Macaronic Song from Padua).  After the enthusiastic response to Folengo, the idea spread throughout Europe and much macaronic verse soon existed in French and German literature (the Germans calling them Nudeloerse although the works seem now to be listed as Knittelvers among the “amusing doggerel).

Portrait of Madame de Pompadour (1756), oil on canvas by François Boucher (1703-1770), Bavarian State Collection.

Soldiers liked pseudo Latin and Illegitimi non carborundum (Don't let the bastards grind you down) a classic of “Barracks Latin” while schoolboys & undergraduates were drawn to the macaronic limerick, the more bawdy the better:

King Louis, when passing through Bruges
Met a lady whose cunt was so huge
That he said, as he came
In that fabulous dame,
“Atta girl! Apris moi le deluge.” 

Apris moi le deluge (After me, the flood) was a phrase attributed to Louis XV (1710–1774; le Bien-Aimé (Louis the Beloved), King of France 1715-1774) who is reputed to have uttered the words to the Marquise de Pompadour (styled usually as Madame de Pompadour (Jeanne Antoinette Poisson (1721-1764), the king's official chief mistress 1745-1751)).  It conveys a feeling both narcissistic and nihilistic, the notion that once one is dead it matters little what happens in the world, an intoxicating sentiment expressed by characters in many novels.  Whether the king really spoke these exact words isn’t certain and there are different versions but it’s likely based on something he said and historians don’t doubt the fragment of thought is a glimpse into the royal mind.  In a more romantic telling of the tale, he whispers to his concubine: Après nous, le deluge (After us, the flood).

There was a young lady of Nantes
Très jolie, et très élégante, [Very pretty, and very elegant]
But her cunt was so small
It was no good at all,
Except for la plume de ma tante.

La plume de ma tante (The quill (pen) of my Aunt) is notorious for its use in French language teaching and derided as being as useless in general discourse as “The rain in Spain stays mainly in the plain”, neither “often coming up in conversation”.

Macaroni is of course an obviously Italian word, a quality once exploited for jocular effect by Adolf Hitler (1889-1945; Führer (leader) and German head of government 1933-1945 & head of state 1934-1945), someone not noted for his sense of humor.  In his (partly reliable) memoir, Albert Speer (1905–1981; Nazi court architect 1934-1942; Nazi minister of armaments and war production 1942-1945) recalled Benito Mussolini’s (1883-1945; Duce (leader) & prime-minister of Italy 1922-1943) 1937 state visit to Berlin being discussed during one of the Führer’s usually dreary social gatherings, recounting the way the sycophantic Dr Joseph Goebbels (1897-1975; Nazi propaganda minister 1933-1945) responded to Hitler having praised the Italian’s virtues and “Caesarean look.”:

“Goebbels interposed.  He was surely speaking in the name of all present, he said, if he called attention to the enormous difference between the Duce and the Führer.  After all, the Führer was quite another kind of personality. In Italy Mussolini might be something special, a Roman among plain ordinary Italians, as the Führer had sometimes remarked; but here in Berlin he was, after all, just an Italian among Germans. At any rate he, Goebbels, at times had felt that the Duce had come walking out of an operetta.  Hider’s initial response to this seemed to be one of contradictory emotions. His new friend was being denigrated, but at the same time he felt flattered and stimulated. When Goebbels followed this up with two or three skillful remarks, Hitler began imitating a few of Mussolini’s poses that had struck him as outré: the outstretched chin, the right hand braced against the hip, the straddle-legged stance. While the onlookers laughed obediently, he flung out a number of Italian or Italian-sounding words like patria, Victoria, macaroni, bellezza, belcanto, telegrafico, and basta. His performance was very funny.”  Speer was not much noted for a sense of humor either.

The curious adoption in England, late in the eighteenth century, of “a macaroni” to describe “a dandy, a foppish and extravagantly well-dressed young man” was an allusion to London’s fashionable Macaroni Club, popular with elegant young men from the what were then called “the better classes” who after their obligatory “Grand Tour of the Continent” arrived home affecting French and Italian fashions and accents, something which brought them some derision.  Interestingly, among twenty-first century entertainment figures, affected foreign accents are still heard.  Macaroni also provided the English ruling class with (yet) another way of putting down foreigners: there were “macaroni philosophers” (anything from other than Greek, German or English empiricist traditions), “macaroni marquises” (European titles of nobility of dubious provenance) and “macaroni makers” (a Foreign Office term for Italian diplomats (a later alternative being “ice-cream salesmen”).  Fortunately though, macaroni cheese (Mac ’n’ Cheese) which upon its eighteenth century introduction to London was an “exotic dish” survived to become truly classless comfort food, albeit one which dieticians are inclined to preach against, at least if enjoyed too much or too often.  In the English-speaking world, the spelling “macaroni” is almost universal although the original Italian form, maccaroni, was for centuries common and remains listed still by some dictionaries as an alternative.  The Italians now use maccheroni and in other countries this can be seen in menus of those Italian restaurants sprinkling a little linguistic flavor.   

Lindsay Lohan’s official Mac ‘n’ cheese recipe.

Banjax

Banjax (pronounced ban-jaks)

(1) In UK (originally Irish) slang, a mess or undesirable situation created through incompetence

(2) In UK (originally Irish) slang, to ruin, incapacitate or break; to batter or destroy (a person or thing).

Early 1900s (contested): Apparently a regional (Dublin) slang of unknown origin but the most supported theory is it being a euphemism for “ballocks” (a variant of “bollocks” (in this context meaning “rubbish; nonsense”, but associated also with “the tentacles”, the latter the origin of the vulgarity which demands a euphemism.  The alternative spellings were banjack, bandjax, such variations not unusual in the evolution of slang where so much transmission is oral.  Banjax is a noun & verb and banjaxing & banjaxed are verbs; the noun plural is banjaxes or banjaxs.  The suggestion a banjax was a “type of electric banjo” was wholly facetious.

Although one dictionary of Hiberno-English (the collective name for the dialects of English native to the island of Ireland (known also as Irish English (IrE) & (more confusingly), Anglo-Irish), The Irish Use of English (2006) compiled by Irish lexicographer Professor Terence Dolan (1943–2019) offers two possible sources (1) a possible combination of “bang” & “smash” and (2) a Corkese (a regional dialect of English native to County Cork) word meaning “for public lavatory for females”.  There is support for the link with Corkese because in that dialect the vowel sounds in Corkese significantly can differ from other varieties of IrE and the “a” in “cat” can sound more like “cot” to non-locals which would make “banjax” sound closer to “ballocks” and as early as the 1920s the idea of it as a euphemism for “ballocks” had appeared (described in some cases as a “semi-euphemism”).  Whether or not it’s in any way related to the later meaning isn’t known but there’s a document from 1899 listing “Banjax” as the name of a racehorse belong to one Mr Sweeney; the names of race horses are among the more random studies in language so any link is speculative but the meaning was obvious by September 1909 in the report of court proceedings in the Dublin Daily Express, where the transcript recorded: “In the case of a Nationalist claim when the witness entered the box the Unionist agent said that this was a complete ‘banjax’ (laughter)."

It appears also in Act 3 of the play Juno and the Paycock (1924) by the Irish dramatist and memoirist Seán O'Casey (1880–1964): “I’m tellin’ you the scholar, Bentham, made a banjax o’ the Will.”  O’Casey was of the socialist left and regarded as the “first Irish playwright of note” to focus on the working classes Dublin, including them as fully-developed and explored characters rather than as caricatures or political symbols.  He wasn’t exactly a proto-Angry Young Man (said by some to a tautology in the case of Irish youth) but his Irishness, while genuine, was “tuned”: in 1907 he Gaelicised his name from John Casey to Seán Ó Cathasaigh.  It must have been known as a popular oral form because it’s in a number of examples of Irish literature including A Nest of Simple Folk by Seán Ó Faoláin (1900–1991): “For two streets Johno kept complaining to the driver that it was a nice banjax if a fellow…”  The Oxford English Dictionary (OED) noted the certain literary respectability banjax gained when Nobel Prize laureate (Literature, 1969) Samuel Beckett (1906-1989)) included it in a passage in 1956.

Banjaxed cars in California: 2005 Mercedes-Benz SL 65 (R230) AMG roadster (2005, left) and 2012 Porsche 911 (997) Carrera S (2012, right).  Lindsay Lohan had some really bad luck while driving black, German cars.

Not for the first time, word nerds can thank the Daily Mail for enriching the current vernacular for in September 2024 it began publishing extracts from Unleashed, the memoir of Boris Johnson (b 1964; UK prime-minister 2019-2022) to be released on 10 October.  Being the Daily Mail, the fragments chosen as extracts are perhaps not representative of the whole but they’re doubtlessly the best click-bait, including discussions in Number 10 about the British Army invading Continental Europe (and thus NATO territory) for the first time since the D-Day landings (6 June 1944), observations about the “long and pointy black” nostrils of his predecessor, a non-apologia dismissing the “Partygate” scandal as much ado about, if not quite nothing, not a great deal, his treacherous colleagues and, of course, something about Meghan & Harry.  The probably brief revival of banjax came in the account of his stay in hospital under the care of the National Health Service (NHS) after testing positive in 2020 in the early stages of what would later be named the COVID-19 pandemic.  Fond of quoting the classics, Mr Johnson recalled the plague of Athens (430 BC) which killed perhaps a third of the population but resorted also to the earthy, detailing his declining health as he was “banjaxed” by the virus, descending from his usual “bullish” and “rubicund” state to within days having a face “the colour of mayonnaise”.

Boris Johnson (right) with prize bull (left), Darnford Farm, Banchory, Scotland September, 2019.

Best though was his vivid pen-portrait of Sir Keir Starmer (b 1962; prime-minister of the UK since 2024), his “irritable face” during a COVID-19–era debate in the House of Commons said to be “like a bullock having a thermometer unexpectedly shoved in its rectum”.  That was an allusion to a prime-ministerial barb accusing the then leader of the opposition of being unable to say schools were safe to re-open because it would “go against his masters in the teaching unions”.  “A great ox has stood on his tongue” he told the speaker.  Although the Daily Mail didn’t bother, the use of a simile in which a politician is compared to a bullock does need some footnoting for an international audience.  In the UK, a bullock is “a castrated male bovine animal of any age” while in US English it’s “a young bull (an uncastrated male bovine animal)” and in other places of the old British Empire (Australia, India & New Zealand) it’s an “ox, an adult male bovine used for draught (usually but not always castrated)”.  One can see how these regional differences might make a difference to someone reading Unleashed.

Cyrus Eaton (1883–1979, centre), Mr Eaton’s prize bull (left) and Harry Truman (1884–1972; US president 1945-1953, right), Cleveland, Ohio, June 1955.

Pleasingly, it’s not the first time one politician has used the imagery of another having a medical device “shoved” in his rectum.  Harry Truman in 1951 wrote to an old friend expressing the wish he could shove a trocar (a sharp-pointed hollow cylindrical instrument (enclosed in a cannula), used (1) in medicine for removing fluid from bodily cavities and (2) by vets and ranchers to “relieve intestinal gas” in cattle) up some of the “stuffed shirts” in Congress: “You know what happens when you stick one of them in an old bull that’s clovered [ie suffering excessive internal gas as a result of eating too much clover].  “The report is loud and the wind whistles – but the bull usually comes down to size and recovers.”  President Truman liked “windy” as a way of describing talkative politicians, applying it to the infamous William “Wild Bill” Langer (1886–1959; US senator (Republican-North Dakota 1940-1959)), long a thorn in his side but he never forgot the lessons he learned from old Tom Pendergast (1872–1945) who ran the corrupt Democratic Party machine in Kansas City & Jackson County, Missouri, 1925-1939.  Accordingly, Republicans generally got attacked and another called “windy” was Arthur Vandenberg (1884–1951; US senator (Republican-Michigan 1928-1951)) who was generally supportive of Truman’s foreign policy, something which didn’t save him from being shoved with the (figurative) presidential trocar.  The noun & verb trocar dates from the early 1700s and was from the French trocart (literally “three-sided”), the construct being tro- (a variant of trois (three)) + cart (a variant of carre (side)), from the Latin quadra (something square) (the connection being as a corruption of trois-quart (three-quarters).

Melodrama

Melodrama (pronounced mel-uh-drah-muh or mel-uh-dram-uh)

(1) A dramatic form (used in theatre, literature, music etc) that does not observe the laws of cause and effect and that exaggerates emotion and emphasizes plot or action at the expense of characterization.

(2) Loosely, (sometimes very loosely), behavior or events thought “melodramatic” (overly dramatic displays of emotion or behavior and applied especially to situations in which “things are blown out of proportion”).

(3) In formal definition (seventeenth, eighteenth & nineteenth centuries), a romantic dramatic composition characterized by sensational incident with music interspersed.

(4) A poem or part of a play or opera spoken to a musical accompaniment (technically, a passage in which the orchestra plays a somewhat descriptive accompaniment, while the actor speaks).

(5) A popular nickname conferred on highly-strung young women with a Mel*.* given name (Melanie, Melissa, Melina, Melinda, Melisandre, Melodie, Melody et al).

1784 (used in 1782 as melodrame): From the French mélodrame (a dramatic composition in which music is used), the construct being mélo- , from the Ancient Greek μέλος (mélos) (limb, member; musical phrase, tune, melody, song) + drame (refashioned by analogy with the Ancient Greek δρᾶμα (drâma) (deed, theatrical act) and cognate to the German Melodram, the Italian melodramma and the Spanish melodrama.  The adjective melodramatic (pertaining to, suitable for, or characteristic of a melodrama) came into use in 1789 (unrelated to political events that year).  Melodrama, melodramaticism, melodramaturgy, melodramatics & melodramatist are nouns, melodramatize, melodramatizing & melodramatized are verbs, melodramatic is an adjective and melodramatically is an adverb; the noun plural is melodramas or melodramata.

As late as the mid-nineteenth century “melodrama” was still used of stage-plays (usually romantic & sentimental) in which songs were interspersed, the action accompanied by orchestral music appropriate to the situations.  By the 1880s, the shift towards a melodrama being understood as “a romantic and sensational dramatic piece with a happy ending” and this proved influential, the musical element ceasing gradually to be an essential feature, the addition of recorded sound to “moving pictures” (movies) the final nail in the coffin.  Since then, a “melodrama” is understood to be “a dramatic piece characterized by sensational incidents and violent appeals to the emotions, but with (usually) a happy ending”.

The origins of melodrama lie in late sixteenth century Italian opera and reflect an attempt to convince audiences (or more correctly, composers and critics) that the form (ie opera or melodrama) was a revival of the Classical Greek tragedy.  It was a time in Europe when there was a great reverence for the cultures of Antiquity, something the result of the scholars and archivists (and frankly the publicists) of the Renaissance building a somewhat idealized construct of the epoch and the content providers noted the labels, the German-British Baroque composer Frederick Handel (1685–1759) using both for his works.  In the late eighteenth century French dramatists began to develop melodrama as a distinct genre by elaborating the dialogue and adding spectacle, action and violence to the plot-lines, a technique still familiar in the 2020s, sensationalism and extravagant emotionalism as effective click-bait now it was for ticket sales in earlier times.

The use of “melodrama” to refer to the life of a troubled popular culture figure represents a bit of a jump in meaning but it’s now well-understood.

The path of the musical form had earlier been laid in text, something becoming a more significant influence as the spread of the printing press made mass-market publications more accessible and they spread even within non-literate populations because as public and private readings became common forms of entertainment.  Although elements of what would later be understood as melodrama exist in the gloomy tragedies of the French novelist Claude Prosper Jolyot de Crébillon (1707–1777), more of an influence on the composers would be those who wrote with a lighter touch including the Swiss philosopher Jean-Jacques Rousseau (1712–1778) whose Pygmalion (1775) and French theatre director and playwright René-Charles Guilbert de Pixerécourt (1773–1844) whose Le Pèlerin blanc ou les Enfants du hameau (The White Pilgrim (or The Children of the Village)) both came to be regarded as part of the inchoate framework of the genre.  Literary theorists still debate the matter of cause & effect between melodrama and the growing vogue of the Gothic novel, one of fiction’s more emotionally manipulative paths, many concluding the relationship between the two was symbiotic.

There was also the commercial imperative.  Literary historians have documented the simultaneous proliferation of melodramas produced for the English stage during the nineteenth century (notably adaptations of novels by popular authors such as Charles Dickens (1812–1870) and Sir Walter Scott (1771–1832)) and the paucity in original work of substance.  There are some who have argued the writers had “lost their ear” for dramatic verse and prose but it more likely they realized they had “lost their audiences” and these were people with bills to pay (the term “potboiler” was coined later to describe “books written only to provide food for the stove” but few authors of popular fiction have ever been far removed from concerns with their sales).  The reason the melodramas which flourished in the 1800s were so popular will be unsurprising to modern film-makers, political campaign strategists and other content providers for they can be deconstructed as a class of naively sensational entertainment in which the protagonists & antagonists were excessively virtuous or exceptionally evil (thus all tiresome complexities reduced for something black & white), the conflict played out with blood, thrills and violence (spectres, ghouls, witches & vampires or the sordid realism of drunkenness, infidelity or personal ruin used as devices as required).

The word “melodrama” appears often in commentaries on politics and that’s a trend which was probably accelerated by the presentation moving for most purposes to screens and Donald Trump (b 1946; US president 2017-2021) revolutionizing the business by applying the tricks & techniques of reality TV (itself an oxymoron) meant the whole process can now be thought an unfolding melodrama, indeed, the Trump model cannot work as anything else.  The idea of “politics as theatre” was first discussed in the US in the 1960s but then a phenomenon like Mr Trump would have been thought absurdly improbable.

Because of the popularity of the form, melodrama has rarely found much favor with the critics and that old curmudgeon Henry Fowler (1858–1933) in A Dictionary of Modern English Usage (1926) noted (and, one suspects, not without some satisfaction) that the term generally was “…used with some contempt, because the appeal of such plays as are acknowledged to deserve the title is especially to the unsophisticated & illiterate whose acquaintance with human nature is superficial, but whose admiration for goodness and detestation of wickedness is ready & powerful.”  Henry Fowler moved among only a certain social stratum.  He added that the task of the melodramatist’s was to establish in the audience’s mind the notion of the dichotomous characters as good & wicked and then “…provide striking situations that shall provoke and relieve anxieties on behalf of poetic justice.”  One device once used to produce the desired effect was of course music and a whole academic industry emerged in the mid-twentieth century to explain how different sounds could be used to suggest or summon certain emotions and because music increasingly ceased to be an essential part of the melodramatic form, the situations, dialogue and events in purely textual productions became more exaggerated.