Mark Twain on German and English

I’ve had to look these up a couple of times, so I’m going to just copy them here. One is know to be from Twain, the other has some questionable attribution.

First off, English and spelling.

A Plan for the Improvement of English Spelling

by Mark Twain

For example, in Year 1 that useless letter “c” would be dropped

to be replased either by “k” or “s”, and likewise “x” would no longer

be part of the alphabet. The only kase in which “c” would be retained

would be the “ch” formation, which will be dealt with later. Year 2

might reform “w” spelling, so that “which” and “one” would take the

same konsonant, wile Year 3 might well abolish “y” replasing it with

“i” and iear 4 might fiks the “g/j” anomali wonse and for all.

Jenerally, then, the improvement would kontinue iear bai iear

with Iear 5 doing awai with useless double konsonants, and iears 6-12

or so modifaiing vowlz and the rimeining voist and unvoist konsonants.

Bai iear 15 or sou, it wud fainali bi posibl tu meik ius ov thi

ridandant letez “c”, “y” and “x” — bai now jast a memori in the

maindz ov ould doderez — tu riplais “ch”, “sh”, and “th” rispektivli.

Fainali, xen, aafte sam 20 iers ov orxogrefkl riform, wi wud

hev a lojikl, kohirnt speling in ius xrewawt xe Ingliy-spiking werld.

Then German.

I can soft of puzzle out a little German, but always had some “problems”. This finally made it clear to me just why…

The Awful German Language
by Mark Twain

[This is Appendix D from Twain’s 1880 book A Tramp Abroad. This text is basically a HTML conversion of the plain ASCII e-text formerly found at gopher://, with some further editing. Report errors to; note that the German orthography is that of the late 19th century.]


The Awful German Language.

Tale of the Fishwife and its Sad Fate.

A Fourth of July oration in the German tongue, delivered at a banquet of the Anglo-American club of students by the author of this book.

A little learning makes the whole world kin.
— Proverbs xxxii, 7.

I went often to look at the collection of curiosities in Heidelberg Castle, and one day I surprised the keeper of it with my German. I spoke entirely in that language. He was greatly interested; and after I had talked a while he said my German was very rare, possibly a “unique”; and wanted to add it to his museum.

If he had known what it had cost me to acquire my art, he would also have known that it would break any collector to buy it. Harris and I had been hard at work on our German during several weeks at that time, and although we had made good progress, it had been accomplished under great difficulty and annoyance, for three of our teachers had died in the mean time. A person who has not studied German can form no idea of what a perplexing language it is.

Surely there is not another language that is so slipshod and systemless, and so slippery and elusive to the grasp. One is washed about in it, hither and thither, in the most helpless way; and when at last he thinks he has captured a rule which offers firm ground to take a rest on amid the general rage and turmoil of the ten parts of speech, he turns over the page and reads, “Let the pupil make careful note of the following exceptions.” He runs his eye down and finds that there are more exceptions to the rule than instances of it. So overboard he goes again, to hunt for another Ararat and find another quicksand. Such has been, and continues to be, my experience. Every time I think I have got one of these four confusing “cases” where I am master of it, a seemingly insignificant preposition intrudes itself into my sentence, clothed with an awful and unsuspected power, and crumbles the ground from under me. For instance, my book inquires after a certain bird — (it is always inquiring after things which are of no sort of consequence to anybody): “Where is the bird?” Now the answer to this question — according to the book — is that the bird is waiting in the blacksmith shop on account of the rain. Of course no bird would do that, but then you must stick to the book. Very well, I begin to cipher out the German for that answer. I begin at the wrong end, necessarily, for that is the German idea. I say to myself, “Regen (rain) is masculine — or maybe it is feminine — or possibly neuter — it is too much trouble to look now. Therefore, it is either der (the) Regen, or die (the) Regen, or das (the) Regen, according to which gender it may turn out to be when I look. In the interest of science, I will cipher it out on the hypothesis that it is masculine. Very well — then the rain is der Regen, if it is simply in the quiescent state of being mentioned, without enlargement or discussion — Nominative case; but if this rain is lying around, in a kind of a general way on the ground, it is then definitely located, it is doing something — that is, resting (which is one of the German grammar’s ideas of doing something), and this throws the rain into the Dative case, and makes it dem Regen. However, this rain is not resting, but is doing something actively, — it is falling — to interfere with the bird, likely — and this indicates movement, which has the effect of sliding it into the Accusative case and changing dem Regen into den Regen.” Having completed the grammatical horoscope of this matter, I answer up confidently and state in German that the bird is staying in the blacksmith shop “wegen (on account of) den Regen.” Then the teacher lets me softly down with the remark that whenever the word “wegen” drops into a sentence, it always throws that subject into the Genitive case, regardless of consequences — and that therefore this bird stayed in the blacksmith shop “wegen des Regens.”

N. B. — I was informed, later, by a higher authority, that there was an “exception” which permits one to say “wegen den Regen” in certain peculiar and complex circumstances, but that this exception is not extended to anything but rain.

There are ten parts of speech, and they are all troublesome. An average sentence, in a German newspaper, is a sublime and impressive curiosity; it occupies a quarter of a column; it contains all the ten parts of speech — not in regular order, but mixed; it is built mainly of compound words constructed by the writer on the spot, and not to be found in any dictionary — six or seven words compacted into one, without joint or seam — that is, without hyphens; it treats of fourteen or fifteen different subjects, each inclosed in a parenthesis of its own, with here and there extra parentheses which reinclose three or four of the minor parentheses, making pens within pens: finally, all the parentheses and reparentheses are massed together between a couple of king-parentheses, one of which is placed in the first line of the majestic sentence and the other in the middle of the last line of it — after which comes the VERB, and you find out for the first time what the man has been talking about; and after the verb — merely by way of ornament, as far as I can make out — the writer shovels in “haben sind gewesen gehabt haben geworden sein,” or words to that effect, and the monument is finished. I suppose that this closing hurrah is in the nature of the flourish to a man’s signature — not necessary, but pretty. German books are easy enough to read when you hold them before the looking-glass or stand on your head — so as to reverse the construction — but I think that to learn to read and understand a German newspaper is a thing which must always remain an impossibility to a foreigner.

Yet even the German books are not entirely free from attacks of the Parenthesis distemper — though they are usually so mild as to cover only a few lines, and therefore when you at last get down to the verb it carries some meaning to your mind because you are able to remember a good deal of what has gone before. Now here is a sentence from a popular and excellent German novel — which a slight parenthesis in it. I will make a perfectly literal translation, and throw in the parenthesis-marks and some hyphens for the assistance of the reader — though in the original there are no parenthesis-marks or hyphens, and the reader is left to flounder through to the remote verb the best way he can:

“But when he, upon the street, the (in-satin-and-silk-covered-now-very-unconstrained-after-the-newest-fashioned-dressed) government counselor’s wife met,” etc., etc. [1]

1. Wenn er aber auf der Strasse der in Sammt und Seide gehüllten jetzt sehr ungenirt nach der neusten Mode gekleideten Regierungsräthin begegnet.

That is from The Old Mamselle’s Secret, by Mrs. Marlitt. And that sentence is constructed upon the most approved German model. You observe how far that verb is from the reader’s base of operations; well, in a German newspaper they put their verb away over on the next page; and I have heard that sometimes after stringing along the exciting preliminaries and parentheses for a column or two, they get in a hurry and have to go to press without getting to the verb at all. Of course, then, the reader is left in a very exhausted and ignorant state.

We have the Parenthesis disease in our literature, too; and one may see cases of it every day in our books and newspapers: but with us it is the mark and sign of an unpracticed writer or a cloudy intellect, whereas with the Germans it is doubtless the mark and sign of a practiced pen and of the presence of that sort of luminous intellectual fog which stands for clearness among these people. For surely it is not clearness — it necessarily can’t be clearness. Even a jury would have penetration enough to discover that. A writer’s ideas must be a good deal confused, a good deal out of line and sequence, when he starts out to say that a man met a counselor’s wife in the street, and then right in the midst of this so simple undertaking halts these approaching people and makes them stand still until he jots down an inventory of the woman’s dress. That is manifestly absurd. It reminds a person of those dentists who secure your instant and breathless interest in a tooth by taking a grip on it with the forceps, and then stand there and drawl through a tedious anecdote before they give the dreaded jerk. Parentheses in literature and dentistry are in bad taste.

The Germans have another kind of parenthesis, which they make by splitting a verb in two and putting half of it at the beginning of an exciting chapter and the other half at the end of it. Can any one conceive of anything more confusing than that? These things are called “separable verbs.” The German grammar is blistered all over with separable verbs; and the wider the two portions of one of them are spread apart, the better the author of the crime is pleased with his performance. A favorite one is reiste ab — which means departed. Here is an example which I culled from a novel and reduced to English:

“The trunks being now ready, he DE- after kissing his mother and sisters, and once more pressing to his bosom his adored Gretchen, who, dressed in simple white muslin, with a single tuberose in the ample folds of her rich brown hair, had tottered feebly down the stairs, still pale from the terror and excitement of the past evening, but longing to lay her poor aching head yet once again upon the breast of him whom she loved more dearly than life itself, PARTED.”

However, it is not well to dwell too much on the separable verbs. One is sure to lose his temper early; and if he sticks to the subject, and will not be warned, it will at last either soften his brain or petrify it. Personal pronouns and adjectives are a fruitful nuisance in this language, and should have been left out. For instance, the same sound, sie, means you, and it means she, and it means her, and it means it, and it means they, and it means them. Think of the ragged poverty of a language which has to make one word do the work of six — and a poor little weak thing of only three letters at that. But mainly, think of the exasperation of never knowing which of these meanings the speaker is trying to convey. This explains why, whenever a person says sie to me, I generally try to kill him, if a stranger.

Now observe the Adjective. Here was a case where simplicity would have been an advantage; therefore, for no other reason, the inventor of this language complicated it all he could. When we wish to speak of our “good friend or friends,” in our enlightened tongue, we stick to the one form and have no trouble or hard feeling about it; but with the German tongue it is different. When a German gets his hands on an adjective, he declines it, and keeps on declining it until the common sense is all declined out of it. It is as bad as Latin. He says, for instance:

Nominative — Mein guter Freund, my good friend.
Genitive — Meines guten Freundes, of my good friend.
Dative — Meinem guten Freund, to my good friend.
Accusative — Meinen guten Freund, my good friend.
N. — Meine guten Freunde, my good friends.
G. — Meiner guten Freunde, of my good friends.
D. — Meinen guten Freunden, to my good friends.
A. — Meine guten Freunde, my good friends.

Now let the candidate for the asylum try to memorize those variations, and see how soon he will be elected. One might better go without friends in Germany than take all this trouble about them. I have shown what a bother it is to decline a good (male) friend; well this is only a third of the work, for there is a variety of new distortions of the adjective to be learned when the object is feminine, and still another when the object is neuter. Now there are more adjectives in this language than there are black cats in Switzerland, and they must all be as elaborately declined as the examples above suggested. Difficult? — troublesome? — these words cannot describe it. I heard a Californian student in Heidelberg say, in one of his calmest moods, that he would rather decline two drinks than one German adjective.

The inventor of the language seems to have taken pleasure in complicating it in every way he could think of. For instance, if one is casually referring to a house, Haus, or a horse, Pferd, or a dog, Hund, he spells these words as I have indicated; but if he is referring to them in the Dative case, he sticks on a foolish and unnecessary e and spells them Hause, Pferde, Hunde. So, as an added e often signifies the plural, as the s does with us, the new student is likely to go on for a month making twins out of a Dative dog before he discovers his mistake; and on the other hand, many a new student who could ill afford loss, has bought and paid for two dogs and only got one of them, because he ignorantly bought that dog in the Dative singular when he really supposed he was talking plural — which left the law on the seller’s side, of course, by the strict rules of grammar, and therefore a suit for recovery could not lie.

In German, all the Nouns begin with a capital letter. Now that is a good idea; and a good idea, in this language, is necessarily conspicuous from its lonesomeness. I consider this capitalizing of nouns a good idea, because by reason of it you are almost always able to tell a noun the minute you see it. You fall into error occasionally, because you mistake the name of a person for the name of a thing, and waste a good deal of time trying to dig a meaning out of it. German names almost always do mean something, and this helps to deceive the student. I translated a passage one day, which said that “the infuriated tigress broke loose and utterly ate up the unfortunate fir forest” (Tannenwald). When I was girding up my loins to doubt this, I found out that Tannenwald in this instance was a man’s name.

Every noun has a gender, and there is no sense or system in the distribution; so the gender of each must be learned separately and by heart. There is no other way. To do this one has to have a memory like a memorandum-book. In German, a young lady has no sex, while a turnip has. Think what overwrought reverence that shows for the turnip, and what callous disrespect for the girl. See how it looks in print — I translate this from a conversation in one of the best of the German Sunday-school books:

Wilhelm, where is the turnip?
She has gone to the kitchen.
Where is the accomplished and beautiful English maiden?
It has gone to the opera.”

To continue with the German genders: a tree is male, its buds are female, its leaves are neuter; horses are sexless, dogs are male, cats are female — tomcats included, of course; a person’s mouth, neck, bosom, elbows, fingers, nails, feet, and body are of the male sex, and his head is male or neuter according to the word selected to signify it, and not according to the sex of the individual who wears it — for in Germany all the women either male heads or sexless ones; a person’s nose, lips, shoulders, breast, hands, and toes are of the female sex; and his hair, ears, eyes, chin, legs, knees, heart, and conscience haven’t any sex at all. The inventor of the language probably got what he knew about a conscience from hearsay.

Now, by the above dissection, the reader will see that in Germany a man may think he is a man, but when he comes to look into the matter closely, he is bound to have his doubts; he finds that in sober truth he is a most ridiculous mixture; and if he ends by trying to comfort himself with the thought that he can at least depend on a third of this mess as being manly and masculine, the humiliating second thought will quickly remind him that in this respect he is no better off than any woman or cow in the land.

In the German it is true that by some oversight of the inventor of the language, a Woman is a female; but a Wife (Weib) is not — which is unfortunate. A Wife, here, has no sex; she is neuter; so, according to the grammar, a fish is he, his scales are she, but a fishwife is neither. To describe a wife as sexless may be called under-description; that is bad enough, but over-description is surely worse. A German speaks of an Englishman as the Engländer; to change the sex, he adds inn, and that stands for Englishwoman — Engländerinn. That seems descriptive enough, but still it is not exact enough for a German; so he precedes the word with that article which indicates that the creature to follow is feminine, and writes it down thus: “die Engländerinn,” — which means “the she-Englishwoman.” I consider that that person is over-described.

Well, after the student has learned the sex of a great number of nouns, he is still in a difficulty, because he finds it impossible to persuade his tongue to refer to things as “he” and “she,” and “him” and “her,” which it has been always accustomed to refer to it as “it.” When he even frames a German sentence in his mind, with the hims and hers in the right places, and then works up his courage to the utterance-point, it is no use — the moment he begins to speak his tongue flies the track and all those labored males and females come out as “its.” And even when he is reading German to himself, he always calls those things “it,” where as he ought to read in this way:

2. I capitalize the nouns, in the German (and ancient English) fashion.

It is a bleak Day. Hear the Rain, how he pours, and the Hail, how he rattles; and see the Snow, how he drifts along, and of the Mud, how deep he is! Ah the poor Fishwife, it is stuck fast in the Mire; it has dropped its Basket of Fishes; and its Hands have been cut by the Scales as it seized some of the falling Creatures; and one Scale has even got into its Eye, and it cannot get her out. It opens its Mouth to cry for Help; but if any Sound comes out of him, alas he is drowned by the raging of the Storm. And now a Tomcat has got one of the Fishes and she will surely escape with him. No, she bites off a Fin, she holds her in her Mouth — will she swallow her? No, the Fishwife’s brave Mother-dog deserts his Puppies and rescues the Fin — which he eats, himself, as his Reward. O, horror, the Lightning has struck the Fish-basket; he sets him on Fire; see the Flame, how she licks the doomed Utensil with her red and angry Tongue; now she attacks the helpless Fishwife’s Foot — she burns him up, all but the big Toe, and even she is partly consumed; and still she spreads, still she waves her fiery Tongues; she attacks the Fishwife’s Leg and destroys it; she attacks its Hand and destroys her also; she attacks the Fishwife’s Leg and destroys her also; she attacks its Body and consumes him; she wreathes herself about its Heart and it is consumed; next about its Breast, and in a Moment she is a Cinder; now she reaches its Neck — he goes; now its Chin — it goes; now its Nose — she goes. In another Moment, except Help come, the Fishwife will be no more. Time presses — is there none to succor and save? Yes! Joy, joy, with flying Feet the she-Englishwoman comes! But alas, the generous she-Female is too late: where now is the fated Fishwife? It has ceased from its Sufferings, it has gone to a better Land; all that is left of it for its loved Ones to lament over, is this poor smoldering Ash-heap. Ah, woeful, woeful Ash-heap! Let us take him up tenderly, reverently, upon the lowly Shovel, and bear him to his long Rest, with the Prayer that when he rises again it will be a Realm where he will have one good square responsible Sex, and have it all to himself, instead of having a mangy lot of assorted Sexes scattered all over him in Spots.

There, now, the reader can see for himself that this pronoun business is a very awkward thing for the unaccustomed tongue. I suppose that in all languages the similarities of look and sound between words which have no similarity in meaning are a fruitful source of perplexity to the foreigner. It is so in our tongue, and it is notably the case in the German. Now there is that troublesome word vermählt: to me it has so close a resemblance — either real or fancied — to three or four other words, that I never know whether it means despised, painted, suspected, or married; until I look in the dictionary, and then I find it means the latter. There are lots of such words and they are a great torment. To increase the difficulty there are words which seem to resemble each other, and yet do not; but they make just as much trouble as if they did. For instance, there is the word vermiethen (to let, to lease, to hire); and the word verheirathen (another way of saying to marry). I heard of an Englishman who knocked at a man’s door in Heidelberg and proposed, in the best German he could command, to “verheirathen” that house. Then there are some words which mean one thing when you emphasize the first syllable, but mean something very different if you throw the emphasis on the last syllable. For instance, there is a word which means a runaway, or the act of glancing through a book, according to the placing of the emphasis; and another word which signifies to associate with a man, or to avoid him, according to where you put the emphasis — and you can generally depend on putting it in the wrong place and getting into trouble.

There are some exceedingly useful words in this language. Schlag, for example; and Zug. There are three-quarters of a column of Schlags in the dictionary, and a column and a half of Zugs. The word Schlag means Blow, Stroke, Dash, Hit, Shock, Clap, Slap, Time, Bar, Coin, Stamp, Kind, Sort, Manner, Way, Apoplexy, Wood-cutting, Enclosure, Field, Forest-clearing. This is its simple and exact meaning — that is to say, its restricted, its fettered meaning; but there are ways by which you can set it free, so that it can soar away, as on the wings of the morning, and never be at rest. You can hang any word you please to its tail, and make it mean anything you want to. You can begin with Schlag-ader, which means artery, and you can hang on the whole dictionary, word by word, clear through the alphabet to Schlag-wasser, which means bilge-water — and including Schlag-mutter, which means mother-in-law.

Just the same with Zug. Strictly speaking, Zug means Pull, Tug, Draught, Procession, March, Progress, Flight, Direction, Expedition, Train, Caravan, Passage, Stroke, Touch, Line, Flourish, Trait of Character, Feature, Lineament, Chess-move, Organ-stop, Team, Whiff, Bias, Drawer, Propensity, Inhalation, Disposition: but that thing which it does not mean — when all its legitimate pennants have been hung on, has not been discovered yet.

One cannot overestimate the usefulness of Schlag and Zug. Armed just with these two, and the word also, what cannot the foreigner on German soil accomplish? The German word also is the equivalent of the English phrase “You know,” and does not mean anything at all — in talk, though it sometimes does in print. Every time a German opens his mouth an also falls out; and every time he shuts it he bites one in two that was trying to get out.

Now, the foreigner, equipped with these three noble words, is master of the situation. Let him talk right along, fearlessly; let him pour his indifferent German forth, and when he lacks for a word, let him heave a Schlag into the vacuum; all the chances are that it fits it like a plug, but if it doesn’t let him promptly heave a Zug after it; the two together can hardly fail to bung the hole; but if, by a miracle, they should fail, let him simply say also! and this will give him a moment’s chance to think of the needful word. In Germany, when you load your conversational gun it is always best to throw in a Schlag or two and a Zug or two, because it doesn’t make any difference how much the rest of the charge may scatter, you are bound to bag something with them. Then you blandly say also, and load up again. Nothing gives such an air of grace and elegance and unconstraint to a German or an English conversation as to scatter it full of “Also’s” or “You knows.”

In my note-book I find this entry:

July 1. — In the hospital yesterday, a word of thirteen syllables was successfully removed from a patient — a North German from near Hamburg; but as most unfortunately the surgeons had opened him in the wrong place, under the impression that he contained a panorama, he died. The sad event has cast a gloom over the whole community.

That paragraph furnishes a text for a few remarks about one of the most curious and notable features of my subject — the length of German words. Some German words are so long that they have a perspective. Observe these examples:


These things are not words, they are alphabetical processions. And they are not rare; one can open a German newspaper at any time and see them marching majestically across the page — and if he has any imagination he can see the banners and hear the music, too. They impart a martial thrill to the meekest subject. I take a great interest in these curiosities. Whenever I come across a good one, I stuff it and put it in my museum. In this way I have made quite a valuable collection. When I get duplicates, I exchange with other collectors, and thus increase the variety of my stock. Here are some specimens which I lately bought at an auction sale of the effects of a bankrupt bric-a-brac hunter:


Of course when one of these grand mountain ranges goes stretching across the printed page, it adorns and ennobles that literary landscape — but at the same time it is a great distress to the new student, for it blocks up his way; he cannot crawl under it, or climb over it, or tunnel through it. So he resorts to the dictionary for help, but there is no help there. The dictionary must draw the line somewhere — so it leaves this sort of words out. And it is right, because these long things are hardly legitimate words, but are rather combinations of words, and the inventor of them ought to have been killed. They are compound words with the hyphens left out. The various words used in building them are in the dictionary, but in a very scattered condition; so you can hunt the materials out, one by one, and get at the meaning at last, but it is a tedious and harassing business. I have tried this process upon some of the above examples. “Freundschaftsbezeigungen” seems to be “Friendship demonstrations,” which is only a foolish and clumsy way of saying “demonstrations of friendship.” “Unabhaengigkeitserklaerungen” seems to be “Independencedeclarations,” which is no improvement upon “Declarations of Independence,” so far as I can see. “Generalstaatsverordnetenversammlungen” seems to be “General-statesrepresentativesmeetings,” as nearly as I can get at it — a mere rhythmical, gushy euphuism for “meetings of the legislature,” I judge. We used to have a good deal of this sort of crime in our literature, but it has gone out now. We used to speak of a things as a “never-to-be-forgotten” circumstance, instead of cramping it into the simple and sufficient word “memorable” and then going calmly about our business as if nothing had happened. In those days we were not content to embalm the thing and bury it decently, we wanted to build a monument over it.

But in our newspapers the compounding-disease lingers a little to the present day, but with the hyphens left out, in the German fashion. This is the shape it takes: instead of saying “Mr. Simmons, clerk of the county and district courts, was in town yesterday,” the new form put it thus: “Clerk of the County and District Courts Simmons was in town yesterday.” This saves neither time nor ink, and has an awkward sound besides. One often sees a remark like this in our papers: “Mrs. Assistant District Attorney Johnson returned to her city residence yesterday for the season.” That is a case of really unjustifiable compounding; because it not only saves no time or trouble, but confers a title on Mrs. Johnson which she has no right to. But these little instances are trifles indeed, contrasted with the ponderous and dismal German system of piling jumbled compounds together. I wish to submit the following local item, from a Mannheim journal, by way of illustration:

“In the daybeforeyesterdayshortlyaftereleveno’clock Night, the inthistownstandingtavern called `The Wagoner’ was downburnt. When the fire to the onthedownburninghouseresting Stork’s Nest reached, flew the parent Storks away. But when the bytheraging, firesurrounded Nest itself caught Fire, straightway plunged the quickreturning Mother-stork into the Flames and died, her Wings over her young ones outspread.”

Even the cumbersome German construction is not able to take the pathos out of that picture — indeed, it somehow seems to strengthen it. This item is dated away back yonder months ago. I could have used it sooner, but I was waiting to hear from the Father-stork. I am still waiting.

“Also!” If I had not shown that the German is a difficult language, I have at least intended to do so. I have heard of an American student who was asked how he was getting along with his German, and who answered promptly: “I am not getting along at all. I have worked at it hard for three level months, and all I have got to show for it is one solitary German phrase — `Zwei Glas'” (two glasses of beer). He paused for a moment, reflectively; then added with feeling: “But I’ve got that solid!”

And if I have not also shown that German is a harassing and infuriating study, my execution has been at fault, and not my intent. I heard lately of a worn and sorely tried American student who used to fly to a certain German word for relief when he could bear up under his aggravations no longer — the only word whose sound was sweet and precious to his ear and healing to his lacerated spirit. This was the word Damit. It was only the sound that helped him, not the meaning; [3] and so, at last, when he learned that the emphasis was not on the first syllable, his only stay and support was gone, and he faded away and died.

3. It merely means, in its general sense, “herewith.”

I think that a description of any loud, stirring, tumultuous episode must be tamer in German than in English. Our descriptive words of this character have such a deep, strong, resonant sound, while their German equivalents do seem so thin and mild and energyless. Boom, burst, crash, roar, storm, bellow, blow, thunder, explosion; howl, cry, shout, yell, groan; battle, hell. These are magnificent words; the have a force and magnitude of sound befitting the things which they describe. But their German equivalents would be ever so nice to sing the children to sleep with, or else my awe-inspiring ears were made for display and not for superior usefulness in analyzing sounds. Would any man want to die in a battle which was called by so tame a term as a Schlacht? Or would not a consumptive feel too much bundled up, who was about to go out, in a shirt-collar and a seal-ring, into a storm which the bird-song word Gewitter was employed to describe? And observe the strongest of the several German equivalents for explosion — Ausbruch. Our word Toothbrush is more powerful than that. It seems to me that the Germans could do worse than import it into their language to describe particularly tremendous explosions with. The German word for hell — Hölle — sounds more like helly than anything else; therefore, how necessary chipper, frivolous, and unimpressive it is. If a man were told in German to go there, could he really rise to thee dignity of feeling insulted?

Having pointed out, in detail, the several vices of this language, I now come to the brief and pleasant task of pointing out its virtues. The capitalizing of the nouns I have already mentioned. But far before this virtue stands another — that of spelling a word according to the sound of it. After one short lesson in the alphabet, the student can tell how any German word is pronounced without having to ask; whereas in our language if a student should inquire of us, “What does B, O, W, spell?” we should be obliged to reply, “Nobody can tell what it spells when you set if off by itself; you can only tell by referring to the context and finding out what it signifies — whether it is a thing to shoot arrows with, or a nod of one’s head, or the forward end of a boat.”

There are some German words which are singularly and powerfully effective. For instance, those which describe lowly, peaceful, and affectionate home life; those which deal with love, in any and all forms, from mere kindly feeling and honest good will toward the passing stranger, clear up to courtship; those which deal with outdoor Nature, in its softest and loveliest aspects — with meadows and forests, and birds and flowers, the fragrance and sunshine of summer, and the moonlight of peaceful winter nights; in a word, those which deal with any and all forms of rest, repose, and peace; those also which deal with the creatures and marvels of fairyland; and lastly and chiefly, in those words which express pathos, is the language surpassingly rich and affective. There are German songs which can make a stranger to the language cry. That shows that the sound of the words is correct — it interprets the meanings with truth and with exactness; and so the ear is informed, and through the ear, the heart.

The Germans do not seem to be afraid to repeat a word when it is the right one. they repeat it several times, if they choose. That is wise. But in English, when we have used a word a couple of times in a paragraph, we imagine we are growing tautological, and so we are weak enough to exchange it for some other word which only approximates exactness, to escape what we wrongly fancy is a greater blemish. Repetition may be bad, but surely inexactness is worse.

There are people in the world who will take a great deal of trouble to point out the faults in a religion or a language, and then go blandly about their business without suggesting any remedy. I am not that kind of person. I have shown that the German language needs reforming. Very well, I am ready to reform it. At least I am ready to make the proper suggestions. Such a course as this might be immodest in another; but I have devoted upward of nine full weeks, first and last, to a careful and critical study of this tongue, and thus have acquired a confidence in my ability to reform it which no mere superficial culture could have conferred upon me.

In the first place, I would leave out the Dative case. It confuses the plurals; and, besides, nobody ever knows when he is in the Dative case, except he discover it by accident — and then he does not know when or where it was that he got into it, or how long he has been in it, or how he is going to get out of it again. The Dative case is but an ornamental folly — it is better to discard it.

In the next place, I would move the Verb further up to the front. You may load up with ever so good a Verb, but I notice that you never really bring down a subject with it at the present German range — you only cripple it. So I insist that this important part of speech should be brought forward to a position where it may be easily seen with the naked eye.

Thirdly, I would import some strong words from the English tongue — to swear with, and also to use in describing all sorts of vigorous things in a vigorous ways. [4]

4. “Verdammt,” and its variations and enlargements, are words which have plenty of meaning, but the sounds are so mild and ineffectual that German ladies can use them without sin. German ladies who could not be induced to commit a sin by any persuasion or compulsion, promptly rip out one of these harmless little words when they tear their dresses or don’t like the soup. It sounds about as wicked as our “My gracious.” German ladies are constantly saying, “Ach! Gott!” “Mein Gott!” “Gott in Himmel!” “Herr Gott” “Der Herr Jesus!” etc. They think our ladies have the same custom, perhaps; for I once heard a gentle and lovely old German lady say to a sweet young American girl: “The two languages are so alike — how pleasant that is; we say `Ach! Gott!’ you say `Goddamn.'”

Fourthly, I would reorganize the sexes, and distribute them accordingly to the will of the creator. This as a tribute of respect, if nothing else.

Fifthly, I would do away with those great long compounded words; or require the speaker to deliver them in sections, with intermissions for refreshments. To wholly do away with them would be best, for ideas are more easily received and digested when they come one at a time than when they come in bulk. Intellectual food is like any other; it is pleasanter and more beneficial to take it with a spoon than with a shovel.

Sixthly, I would require a speaker to stop when he is done, and not hang a string of those useless “haben sind gewesen gehabt haben geworden seins” to the end of his oration. This sort of gewgaws undignify a speech, instead of adding a grace. They are, therefore, an offense, and should be discarded.

Seventhly, I would discard the Parenthesis. Also the reparenthesis, the re-reparenthesis, and the re-re-re-re-re-reparentheses, and likewise the final wide-reaching all-inclosing king-parenthesis. I would require every individual, be he high or low, to unfold a plain straightforward tale, or else coil it and sit on it and hold his peace. Infractions of this law should be punishable with death.

And eighthly, and last, I would retain Zug and Schlag, with their pendants, and discard the rest of the vocabulary. This would simplify the language.

I have now named what I regard as the most necessary and important changes. These are perhaps all I could be expected to name for nothing; but there are other suggestions which I can and will make in case my proposed application shall result in my being formally employed by the government in the work of reforming the language.

My philological studies have satisfied me that a gifted person ought to learn English (barring spelling and pronouncing) in thirty hours, French in thirty days, and German in thirty years. It seems manifest, then, that the latter tongue ought to be trimmed down and repaired. If it is to remain as it is, it ought to be gently and reverently set aside among the dead languages, for only the dead have time to learn it.
A Fourth of July Oration in the German Tongue, Delivered at a Banquet of the Anglo-American Club of Students by the Author of This Book

Gentlemen: Since I arrived, a month ago, in this old wonderland, this vast garden of Germany, my English tongue has so often proved a useless piece of baggage to me, and so troublesome to carry around, in a country where they haven’t the checking system for luggage, that I finally set to work, and learned the German language. Also! Es freut mich dass dies so ist, denn es muss, in ein hauptsächlich degree, höflich sein, dass man auf ein occasion like this, sein Rede in die Sprache des Landes worin he boards, aussprechen soll. Dafür habe ich, aus reinische Verlegenheit — no, Vergangenheit — no, I mean Höflichkeit — aus reinische Höflichkeit habe ich resolved to tackle this business in the German language, um Gottes willen! Also! Sie müssen so freundlich sein, und verzeih mich die interlarding von ein oder zwei Englischer Worte, hie und da, denn ich finde dass die deutsche is not a very copious language, and so when you’ve really got anything to say, you’ve got to draw on a language that can stand the strain.

Wenn haber man kann nicht meinem Rede Verstehen, so werde ich ihm später dasselbe übersetz, wenn er solche Dienst verlangen wollen haben werden sollen sein hätte. (I don’t know what “wollen haben werden sollen sein hätte” means, but I notice they always put it at the end of a German sentence — merely for general literary gorgeousness, I suppose.)

This is a great and justly honored day — a day which is worthy of the veneration in which it is held by the true patriots of all climes and nationalities — a day which offers a fruitful theme for thought and speech; und meinem Freunde — no, meinen Freunden — meines Freundes — well, take your choice, they’re all the same price; I don’t know which one is right — also! ich habe gehabt haben worden gewesen sein, as Goethe says in his Paradise Lost — ich — ich — that is to say — ich — but let us change cars.

Also! Die Anblich so viele Grossbrittanischer und Amerikanischer hier zusammengetroffen in Bruderliche concord, ist zwar a welcome and inspiriting spectacle. And what has moved you to it? Can the terse German tongue rise to the expression of this impulse? Is it Freundschaftsbezeigungenstadtverordnetenversammlungenfamilieneigenthümlichkeiten? Nein, o nein! This is a crisp and noble word, but it fails to pierce the marrow of the impulse which has gathered this friendly meeting and produced diese Anblick — eine Anblich welche ist gut zu sehen — gut für die Augen in a foreign land and a far country — eine Anblick solche als in die gewöhnliche Heidelberger phrase nennt man ein “schönes Aussicht!” Ja, freilich natürlich wahrscheinlich ebensowohl! Also! Die Aussicht auf dem Königsstuhl mehr grösser ist, aber geistlische sprechend nicht so schön, lob’ Gott! Because sie sind hier zusammengetroffen, in Bruderlichem concord, ein grossen Tag zu feirn, whose high benefits were not for one land and one locality, but have conferred a measure of good upon all lands that know liberty today, and love it. Hundert Jahre vorüber, waren die Engländer und die Amerikaner Feinde; aber heute sind sie herzlichen Freunde, Gott sei Dank! May this good-fellowship endure; may these banners here blended in amity so remain; may they never any more wave over opposing hosts, or be stained with blood which was kindred, is kindred, and always will be kindred, until a line drawn upon a map shall be able to say: “This bars the ancestral blood from flowing in the veins of the descendant!”

In Conclusion

A couple of my favorites as I’m fond of language play.

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About E.M.Smith

A technical managerial sort interested in things from Stonehenge to computer science. My present "hot buttons' are the mythology of Climate Change and ancient metrology; but things change...
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23 Responses to Mark Twain on German and English

  1. Petrossa says:

    Now i remember why i failed German in highschool. The only worse language is Tsjech with 7 conjugations.

  2. Bloke down the pub says:

    I had a German girlfriend for a while. Having been useless with foreign languages at school, I thought it a good idea to have another bash so as to show willing. Needless to say, it was a good job she spoke passable English. Even so, the main reason we broke up was the frequent misunderstandings caused when something was lost in translation. I wonder what Gerda is doing now? As a member of the Green party, I don’t suppose she’ll be visiting here anytime soon.

  3. p.g.sharrow says:

    I had a similar problem with English. Far too many rules with exceptions. Seemed much easier to sort of speak the language and ignore the literary legal system. Victor Borga, a Swedish comic of the mid 1900s, had a routine about learning English. The punch line at the end was that the way one spelt “fish” was “phugch” 8-) . There is nothing wrong with modern spelling of English words, It is the modern Western American pronunciation that is in error! The laws were created by “Old Literary Lawyers” that are way behind the curve of usage. Modern English is being bastardized into a world wide language as it is the most flexible and we can ignore the “legal” system. Just communicate. pg.

  4. j ferguson says:

    Bloke, very interesting. me too. I think i was ultimately rejected for being insufficiently aristocratic – i tend a bit in the direction of slob.

    Her family immigrated to US in early ’50s. Her dad was a truly wonderful guy, had been a stress analyst at Junkers during the disputes. After the war concluded, he became involved in reviving engineering education in Deutschland specifically at Mannheim (IIRC). The problem was that all of the potential students were veterans whose studies had been interrupted and so credentials could not be the basis for admission. The usual battery of tests could qualify candidates, but there were more than the school had room for – what to do?

    The answer was to include a request to draw a bicycle as part of the qualifying exams. It worked, too. Not everyone who wanted to be an engineer could get the steering and rear wheel support right. He believed that you had no business in engineering if you didn’t understand a bicycle.

    He did not ask the candidates about the spandex, though. Too bad Petrossa.

  5. w.w.wygart says:

    So now I know which side of the family I get it from – the tendency towards unnecessarily complex sentence structure, over- parenthification, ad hoc word creation, and the propensity towards hyper-hyphenation; however, for example, I could refer to you as a ‘slope-browed-retro-troglodyte’ when I could just as well be brief and call you a ‘jerk’, except that you might be confused and think that I was aiming to insult you when all I really meant to do was describe you – the German side!

    Now all I have to do is determine from which side of the family I inherited the immoderation in alliteration.

    Gotta love Twain.


  6. philjourdan says:

    @Petrossa – I heard it was Finnish that was the worst. German has 16 definite articles (some of them repeated, but each for a different gender and case), while Finnish had 25.

    But good old Mark Twain is correct about the good parts of the German Language. As stupid as some rules are, there are no exceptions. That is why girl is neuter (all words ending in Chen are neuter – Madchen). Also, syllables are always divided between vowel and consonant, so Zeitung (which means newspaper – Zeit being news) is divided Zei-Tung. Also S never precedes H without an intervening C except in compound words.

    If they got rid of the gender of nouns, German could be mastered quickly and easily.

  7. MacG says:


    The European Commission has just announced an agreement whereby
    English will be the official language of the European Union rather
    than German, which was the other possibility.

    As part of the negotiations, the British Government conceded that
    English spelling had some room for improvement and has accepted a 5
    year phase-in plan that would become known as “Euro-English”.

    In the first year, “s” will replace the soft “c”. Sertainly, this will
    make the sivil servants jump with joy. The hard “c” will be dropped in
    favour of “k”. This should klear up konfusion, and keyboards kan have
    one less letter.

    There will be growing publik enthusiasm in the sekond year when the
    troublesome “ph” will be replaced with “f”. This will make words like
    fotograf 20% shorter.

    In the 3rd year, publik akseptanse of the new spelling kan be expekted
    to reach the stage where more komplikated changes are
    possible. Governments will enkourage the removal of double letters
    which have always ben a deterent to akurate speling. Also, al wil agre
    that the horibl mes of the silent “e” in the languag is disgrasful and
    it should go away.

    By the 4th yer people wil be reseptiv to steps such as replasing “th”
    with “z” and “w” with “v”. During ze fifz yer, ze unesesary “o” kan be
    dropd from vords kontaining “ou” and after ziz fifz yer, ve vil hav a
    reil sensibl riten styl. Zer vil be no mor trubl or difikultis and
    evrivun vil find it ezi tu understand ech oza. Ze drem of a united
    urop vil finali kum tru. Und efter ze fifz yer, ve vil al be speking
    German like zey vunted in ze forst plas.

    – Anon

  8. E.M.Smith says:

    @Bloke Down The Pub & J. Ferguson:

    I made the mistake of telling my mechanic I had had a bit of German in school… I now get German lessons whenever I try to respond to something he says to me in German… Turns out the bits of German from the “Pennsylvania Dutch” line are very different from what I learned in school 40 years ago that is different from “Modern Street German” he speaks that is different from the “Swiss German” his Dad spoke that is… So even the Germans can’t all understand each other…

    @For P.G.:

    The nice thing about English is that we flushed most case endings and almost all “gender” (reserving it only for things WITH gender…) along with a load of other baggage. It is a “Pidgin” that grew up, so we are also pretty lose about rules anyway. Attempts to “back fit” rules and grammar have been avoided by the users at large. (We don’t mind a dangling participle nor a split infinitive nor…) Heck, compare “Queen’s English” to “Standard South Texan” and it’s hard to claim they’s even the same language…

    @Petrossa & Phil Jourdan:

    How hard a language is to learn depends on where you start from.
    (… from where you start. ;-)

    For English, the Defense Language Institute has graded them and gives different amounts of time to learn depending on the level. Per them:

    The Foreign Service Institute (FSI) of the U.S. Department of State has compiled approximate learning expectations for a number of languages for their professional staff (native English speakers who generally already know other languages). Of the 63 languages analyzed, the five most difficult languages to reach proficiency in speaking and reading, requiring 88 weeks (2200 class hours), are Arabic, Cantonese, Mandarin, Japanese, and Korean. The National Virtual Translation Center notes that Japanese is typically more difficult to learn than other languages in this group, while the Foreign Service Institute makes this statement about Korean.

    Personally, I thought spoken Japanese was not that hard, but the written form is just crazy. 3 major spelling / writing systems! (And a 4th for special uses). Katakana, Hiragana, Kanji and Romaji. The last one being the use of Latin letter to write foreign words. Some are Chinese symbols that mean the same as in Chinese. Some are Chinese characters that mean the SOUND of that word. One is a unique Japanese syllable marking. All can be mixed together. Oh, and sometimes the use as ‘sound meaning’ vs ‘symbol meaning’ is up to you to work out.

    Then sprinkle in a load of “adoptions”, some of which are abbreviations, too. So you are reading along in Chinese Characters, figuring out which are pictograms and which are just the sounds, and hit: O.L. Smack in the middle. That is “Office Lady”. The Secretary sort who also gets tea and greets folks at the door. It may be spoken “Offishe Rady” or the equivalent Japanese word meaning may be spoken. Biru gets you a beer… All in all it’s a mess.

    Finnish only ranks 3 out of 4 levels on the DLI scale. I think Hungarian, in the same language family, is worse. It has more cases and inflections than any language deserves.

    Just the “overview” list. These things get mixed in a product of tables of endings along with more for number and all.

    Accusative: -t
    Dative: -nak/nek
    Illative: -ba/be
    Inessive: -ban/ben
    Elative: -ból/ből
    Allative: -hoz/hez/höz
    Adessive: -nál/nél
    Ablative: -tól/től
    Sublative: -ra/re
    Superessive: -n
    Delative: -ról/ről
    Instrumental: -val/vel
    Causal-final: -ért
    Terminative: -ig
    Temporal: -kor
    Translative: -vá/vé
    Kinds of: -féle
    Triads of movement
    Nominative (subject)
    Genitive (-é)

    Definite conjugation
    Indefinite conjugation
    Past tense
    Future tense; two verbs
    Repetition: -gat/get
    Usually: szokott
    Causative: -at/tat
    Need/must: kell
    Conditional: would
    Permission -hat/het
    Verbal prefexes
    Splitting coverbs
    Conjugation tables

    Finnish is related, so similar structures in some ways, but with some bizarre sound shifting rules and with lots of “loans” from Swedish and related. Basically, it’s more messed up but simplified a bit in the process.

    I also didn’t find Arabic all that hard gramatically (very regular and almost mathematical) but the number of dialects makes your head spin and they can have very different meanings for similar words. ( Three letter consonants give the core, vowels sort the minor meanings; but the dialects use different vowels… So you might think you are saying “magazine” and are really saying “novel”…) The alphabet they use is hard for me to pick out the letters too.

    At one point I was on a quest to find “The best language in which to think” and looked at some odd dozens of languges in some depth. Not the point of being able to speak them all, but to the point of understanding the structures and orthography and sounds. And able to say a few pattern sentences. My conclusion at the end of it all was “Whatever language you grew up speaking”… with a minor nod toward the Finnic / Hungarian group and the Germanic / Romance groups just behind. (Russian doesn’t have enough past tenses for decent sorting of history, while French has too many, and not enough future tenses ;-)

    I suspect Sanskrit would also be a very good language, but again the written form is a bear. That, and it is a bit artificial. Like it was “made up”. And way too many syllables for some words. Not a very fast language… More cases and genders and whatnot that most of the rest of the Indo-European family. They are thought to ‘descend’ from it with loss of bits, but the reality is that it looks like some monks added some bits “for completion” to Sanskrit. So it’s more complete, full, and symmetrical, but lots of unused complexity in normal things…

    At the end of the day, I realized that English had a certain trim and elegant spare speed to it. All the baggage tossed out. All the ‘rules for rules sake’ tossed and trampled. Just raw linguistic horsepower and no frills. Yes, it has some “exceptions” to learn. Far less than a table of 6000 gender endings and 8000 conjugated verbs ( 2000 verbs at 4 conjugations). Yes, thanks to LOTS of ‘loan words’ from other languages, we have many meanings layers on some words. (Chinese is worse, btw, the list of meanings for one word has no sense to it at all far more often that I like. For us, you can at least map to the origin languages… largely either Germanic or French / Latin with the odd Greek tossed in.)

    The other conclusion I came to was that all languages are a mess. They all evolve. They all collect cruft from the yard sale of words at the next country over. They all are just a heap of history stewed in misunderstandings and bogus non-order masquerading as structure. That’s WHY the best is “the one you grew up speaking”. You already know all the land mines.

    Digression on artificial languages:

    A load of folks have tried fixing this with created languages. They all fail. Either they are so sterile you can’t do what needs doing, or they are rapidly mutated into something just like all the other natural languages, and for the same reasons. Esperanto had an obligate case that just about nobody but Polish used (the creator was Polish) and so it begat Ido that left it out that begat … )

    FWIW, my general favorites, sort of in order, are:

    English, French, Spanish, Interlingua, Latin (though I’m not good at it), and Breton (it would be Irish, but Breton is about the same and the spelling makes sense…)

    German is fine, if you get rid of the bits Mark Twain didn’t like ;-) But then it would be more like English… ;-)

  9. Doug Jones says:

    I had a lot of fun reading this with another tab open to Google Translate. It was stumped by many of the compound words, but throwing in a few spaces helped. Interactive bilingual Mark Twain- better living through technology!

  10. philjourdan says:

    @E. M. – re: “hey all evolve. They all collect cruft from the yard sale of words at the next country over. ”

    Except French – they try to keep their language pure and will fine you for any English idiom you use instead of the artificially crafted French word.

  11. philjourdan says:

    As far as speaking, I doubt English is one of the hardest as well. However WRITING it is another matter entirely. Even native speakers cannot get the difference between to, too, and two or its and it’s. And those are the easy ones.

    My favorite is affect and effect. Find someone that knows the difference, and you either have an English major or someone with sore knuckles (I am the latter).

  12. j ferguson says:

    My career required the concocting of scores of proposals. Some, as required by the potential client, could be lengthy. I enjoyed messing with the English after the first 10 or 15 pages. Using effect and affect as verbs was one of my tricks. i found i had to lock in the text to prevent one of our ignorant young pedants from rewriting it.

    Once during the interview (Q&A to some, T&A to others), we were asked if the author of the “experience” section was present. I was. I was congratulated for making something usually tedious to read fun.

    We got the project and the client was a very good one.

    i used to imagine that one could filter out the morons with crafty writing – the sort that would fly over most people’s heads but provoke a phone call from someone you’d like to know. i think it works. I don’t know how possible this is with other languages, but English does seem to equip one quite well for this sort of mischief.

  13. philjourdan says:

    @J Ferguson – An acquaintance of mine was a Spanish Poetry Scholar. I read some of his stuff (which never translates well) and found that while English has a plethora of words, many other languages have a dirth. If you want both choices? in Spanish it is Los Dos – which is literally “the two”. They do not have a word for both.

  14. j ferguson says:

    I can remember from Spanish 101, that their word for pencil sharpener, was something like “machine to put a point on a pencil”

    It could be that this is a more appropriate form given that “sharp” might not be the best descriptor for a well-pointed pencil.

    But then German words often include the entire manufacturing sequence.

  15. Steve C says:

    And nary a mention of that useful (to the English speaker) German noun for a log – das Scheit. How many times have I been caused problems because some little Scheit in an office insists on implementing some Scheit he’s received from the government … ;-)

    One of my Philosophy lecturers (an Austrian) observed that the trouble with German is that by the time you’ve constructed one of those sentence-words for some nebulous concept, it can seem afterwards, especially to other people, that such a splendidly named concept must exist. Failure to realise this, he reasoned, was one of the main reasons why so much German philosophy seems so obscure and difficult to read. Si non e vero, e molto ben trovato!

  16. E.M.Smith says:

    @Steve C:

    Very good points! ;-)

    I’ve sometimes wondered if the source of so many “German Problems” is that by the time they reach the end of one of those very long, and often meandering, with many digressions and sub-sentences, covering so much ground, sentences; if perhaps, also to include the ‘sentences as compound words inclusions’ that are used so liberally and found all through the prior sentences; each requiring an ‘unwind and interpret’: if by the end of all that, the original intent and the veracity along with the truth or even any ability to rationally challenge the veracity and logically unwind and inspect such elements, lost is.


    French tries to stay static. It doesn’t work. Even the use of invented neologism is change.

    I once started wandering through one of those giant “unabridged” dictionaries in the library. One of those huge things the size of a briefcase. It was an experience. We (English users) have way more words than any person can use. Oh, and that does not include all the words left out of the “unabridged” dictionaries including various forms of jargon…

    As a result, we have lots of subtle choices…

    One of the more interesting “shifts” comes from the Norman Invasion. The older German words became “low class and crude” while the French terms became “upscale and swank”. So we can choose between those effects by effectively shifting language. Swine vs pig vs pork. Ox vs cow. Many of our curse words are just the German form (like the F-bomb that just means ‘to beat together’ similar to heartbeats).

    Then we went through a phase where the ‘intellectuals’ were actively trying to win a dictionary size race, so crammed English with a load of Latin and Greek.

    Basically, we have a dictionary that consists of a merger and then “sort to new uses for overlaps” of German, French, Latin, Greek, and a load of misc. absorptions like “algebra” from Arabic…

    @J. Ferguson:

    I once congratulated someone on their (mediocre) singing ability in front of some other ‘more bright’ folks by saying I was “impressed with her imaginative note selection!”… She was happy and the others were smiling ;-)

    It’s an art form ;-)

  17. j ferguson says:

    flying below the radar isn’t so much fun when its below everyone’s radar.

    When I realized that i could write ringtones for my Motorola Razr V3, I thought this would be an opportunity to use something droll that would be known only to interesting people, who on hearing it would recognize it and marvel at my wit, maybe even buy me a drink.

    Alas! Hopes dashed.

    The chosen ringtone was the one used in the movie “The President’s Analyst” when Godfrey Cambridge as president wished the counsel of James Coburn (our man Flint), the analyst. I cannot recommend this film too highly. But I’ve been disappointed. It has never been recognized.

    It may be that a 1967 film is too remote, and then it may also be that few have the ability to remember the sounds made by a particular telephone forty years ago. It surely was one of the very first distinguishable ring-tones.

    I suppose I might have done better with Third Man Theme – zither and all.

  18. E.M.Smith says:

    @J. Ferguson:

    “The President’s Analyst” !

    Someone else who has a) seen it and b) recognized it as whit!

    A film that is hard to explain and well worth the watching…

    Wonder if….

    yes, it still ‘has a following’…|0/The-President-s-Analyst.html

    Fortunately the dawn of DVD and new widescreen transfers for TV broadcast cleared up the music issue dilemma, and The President’s Analyst was restored for new audiences to finally experience it in its full, utterly deranged glory.

  19. tckev says:

    ich kennen nich,
    Ich verstehe nicht.

  20. DirkH says:

    E.M.Smith says:
    12 March 2013 at 5:55 pm
    “Many of our curse words are just the German form (like the F-bomb that just means ‘to beat together’ similar to heartbeats). ”

    Well the German word would be “ficken”; as in “Fick Dich doch selbst!” and has the exact same meaning as the English word with the ‘u’… I am lost about your “to beat together”; but a literal translation would be “zusammenschlagen”, which means “to beat someone to a pulp”. A separable verb, BTW.
    as in “Ich schlug jemanden auf dem Weg nach Hause zusammen.”

    And that Mark Twain essay is just hilarious. Made my day.

  21. E.M.Smith says:


    Goes back a ways before modern German. In particular more the low-German / Dutch areas that populated early England:

    Via Germanic

    The word has probable cognates in other Germanic languages, such as German ficken (to fuck); Dutch fokken (to breed, to strike, to beget); dialectal Norwegian fukka (to copulate), and dialectal Swedish fokka (to strike, to copulate) and fock (penis). This points to a possible etymology where Common Germanic fuk– comes from an Indo-European root meaning “to strike”, cognate with non-Germanic words such as Latin pugnus “fist”. By reverse application of Grimm’s law, this hypothetical root has the form *pug–.

    That’s from the wiki. I’ve also seen “strike” replaced by “beat” and then an explanation that the particular “beat” meant in modern English was as in “beating together” or “beating heart” (as opposed to other English meanings / interpretations like Beatnik or Beat -Tired or…) . Don’t have a link for that, though.

    But the point is just that it is held to be vulgar in English. Much as swine are dirty but pork is good. Ox is “dumb as an” while ‘beef steak’ is good. So it goes.

  22. PhilJourdan says:

    @tckev – Sgt. Schultz?

  23. tckev says:

    I really don’t know.

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