Tag Archives: hapax legomenon

What Is The Origin Of (193)?…

High dudgeon

Getting annoyed is a natural human emotion. Most of us encounter something irksome during the course of the day. So it is not surprising that there are many words and phrases available to describe our blood boiling. One of my favourites is in high dudgeon by which we mean having a feeling of anger, resentment or simmering outrage. There is an air of theatricality around its usage – people often storm out of rooms in high dudgeon.

Dudgeon is a curious word, not least because its ending –udgeon is a fairly uncommon one in the English language. The only other two I could bring to mind without causing my little grey cells irreparable damage were bludgeon and curmudgeon – a state to which I aspire and the only English word ending in –mudgeon. My researches also unearthed gudgeon, a small fish which is easily caught and by extension is used to describe someone who is gullible, the Scottish humdudgeon, used to describe an unnecessary cry or complaint or an imaginary illness, and trudgeon which is a variant of trudgen, a type of swimming stroke.

The other curious feature of our word is that its origin is far from certain. One theory is that it comes from the Welsh word, dygen, which means malice or resentment, a suggestion rather firmly scotched by the Oxford English Dictionary. It does not give any reason for this rejection and whilst there is a similarity in form, the meaning of the two words is some distance apart. Perhaps we should bow to the OED’s superior knowledge and decidedly anti-Celtic stance.

The next suggestion is that it comes from the Italian, aduggiare, meaning to overshadow, rather like the English word umbrage, which is also used to describe a temper tantrum. But there is no citation to move this on from pure speculation. Another, perhaps more hopeful, suggestion is that we look at the French word, indign, which spawned our indignant. The English are notorious for mangling foreign words and phrases and perhaps in dudgeon came from mangling en indign. Endugine does pop up once, in 1638, and the sense is the same but to build too much on this hapax legomenon may be dangerous. But it certainly intrigues me.

What is certain, though, is that dudgeon existed from around the 16th century and was used to describe the wood that made up the handle of a knife or a dagger. Shakespeare uses it in Macbeth to describe the hilt of the dagger; “I see thee still,/ and on thy blade and dudgeon gouts of blood/ which was not so before.

It is tempting to think that Shakespeare was at the cutting edge of all developments in the English language but in the usage of dudgeon he was pretty old school. Gabriel Harvey was a pre-eminent writer in the Elizabethan era and pretty disputatious too. In his Letter-Book of Gabriel Harvey, published in 1573, he provided the first example of dudgeon being used to describe temperament; “who seem’d to take it in marvelus great duggin.

It was Samuel Butler, the 17th century poet not to be confused with the 19th century novelist, who first linked the adjective high to dudgeon in his mock heroic poem, Hudibras, published in 1663; “when civil dudgeon first grew high/ and men fell out they knew not why..”  There’s no point in being in low dudgeon, I suppose. And in 1885 we see its modern-day usage, the Manchester Examiner reporting; “[He] resigned his position as reporter of the Committee in high dudgeon.

Whilst it is tempting to see the figurative grasping of the handle of a dagger as illustrative of a temper, I rather like the idea that dudgeon comes from the mangling of a French word. My only hesitation is that the singular appearance of endugine comes sixty years after Harvey’s use of dudgeon.

What Is The Origin Of (94)?…

upsidedown

Upside down

Four years ago today I wrote my first post for this blog because I found it increasingly more difficult to make sense of things in this strange old world of ours. The natural order of things often seems inverted. In fact, I often find myself muttering that something is upside-down – what should be top is now at the bottom.

It seems that this sense of the world being out of kilter has been with man for many centuries. In print it first surfaces in the Pricke of Conscience, published around 1340 by the mystic and hermit, Richard Rolle, “tharfor it es right and resoune/ that thy be turned up-swa-doune”. Another 14th century poem, a translation of the Seven Sages of Rome, contains the couplet, “the cradle and the child thai found up so down on the floor”. These early sightings of our phrase have a couple of interesting features – firstly, the phrase is used as an adverb and, secondly, the sense in which so was is used can only be to mean “as if” – a peculiar usage, sniffs the Oxford English Dictionary (OED).

One of the beauties of the English language is its dynamism and within a century “so” in this context merged to form the compound “upse” which in turn created upset and “upsa”. Rather like one of those puzzles where you make one word into another but by only altering one letter at a time, during the 15th and 16th centuries upside-down could be found in a number of guises such as  opsadoun, upsedoun, up set dune, upset downe, upsydowne and vpsyde downe before settling down to the familiar upside down in the 17th century.

Nowadays we use upside down as an adverb as our medieaval forefathers did but also as an adjective. The usage as an adjective, denoted at least in print with a hyphen between the two words, is a relatively new development, dating to the mid 19th century. And for those who like neologisms or, as those of us studied hard to increase our ancient Greek vocabulary, the dreaded hapax legomenon – only one citation – there is the noun upside-downism. It appears in Frederick Metcalfe’s The Oxonian in Iceland of 1861, “..and been hurled by the Demons of Misrule and Upside-Downism into a disjointed maze of confusion”.

Whilst upside down describes a static state the phrase topsy-turvy conveys a sense of motion and dynamism. Things are in a state of flux which may, indeed, result in the natural order being inverted. The phrase appeared in print in the 16th century – Richard Eden in the Decades of the Newe Worlde of 1555 wrote, “they say that..they see the houses turne topsy turuye and men to walke theyr heeles vpwarde”  – but the OED suggests that it was used in popular speech earlier than that.

Topsy probably owes its origin to top and its plural tops. Turvy is much more problematic. It may come from the Old English, tearflian, which meant to roll over or to overturn. The etymological pursuit is not helped by the number of variants that appear in the early citations – tervy, tirvy, turvy and turvie. There are some 31 variations in total. One theory is that it relates to turf with the idea that someone has fallen and their head – the top – is now on the turf. This is an appealing thought but there is no evidence that it is correct. It was used as an adjective from the 1610s.