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The English Insult


July 18, 2002

Majoring in English literature, which many consider an impractical preparation for life’s struggles, had at least one positive effect on me: it made me an incurable Anglophile. I adore the English, not least for their way with the English language.

Space precludes an exhaustive review of English literature, so I will concentrate on one special aspect of it here: the English insult. The English have a fine tradition of putting each other down, and unlike many other races they manage to do it without dragging their mothers into it. Wives, yes; but mothers are off-limits.

The English insult, though often deadly, is genteel; the victim may not even feel the blade going in. But he generally does. John Henry Cardinal Newman said that a gentleman might be defined as one who never hurts another’s feelings; Oscar Wilde amended the definition with a single adverb: “A gentleman is one who never hurts another’s feelings unintentionally.”

One of the most famous is John Wilkes’s retort to the Earl of Sandwich, who predicted that Wilkes would die “either on the gallows or of a loathsome disease.” Wilkes instantly replied, “That depends, my lord, whether I embrace your principles or your mistress.”

Wilkes was nothing if not quick. A young man once said to him, “Would you believe it? I was born on midnight of January the first!” “Certainly I believe it,” Wilkes replied. “You could only have been conceived on April the first.”

[Breaker quote: A living 
tradition]It used to be a merry sport for boaters on the Thames River to insult each other as they passed. Samuel Johnson replied to one such insult, “Sir, your wife, under pretense of keeping a bawdy-house, is a receiver of stolen goods!”

Johnson’s wit could leave bruises; he couldn’t resist an opportunity for an insult, even, at times, when the victim didn’t deserve it. Upon leaving church one Sunday morning, a companion observed that the sermon had been excellent. “That may be,” Johnson replied, “but it is impossible that you should know it.”

On another occasion, at a small gathering, a young companion laughed so raucously at Johnson’s every witticism that Johnson finally said in annoyance, “What excites your risibility, sir? Have I said anything you understand? If so, I ask pardon of the rest of the company.”

Benjamin Disraeli, the great Tory leader, and William Gladstone, the great Liberal, were parliamentary antagonists, but Disraeli held a distinct edge in wit. Asked to distinguish between a misfortune and a calamity, he said, “If Gladstone fell into the Thames, that would be a misfortune. If someone pulled him out, that would be a calamity.”

Another master of the quick riposte was F.E. Smith, a brilliant lawyer. When a judge told him, “I have read your brief, and find myself none the wiser,” Smith rejoined, “Possibly not, my lord, but far better informed.”

Smith once darted into a posh men’s club to relieve his bladder. As he emerged from the loo, as they say, a butler asked him, “Pardon me, sir, are you a member of the club?” Smith, feigning surprise, asked, “Oh, is there a club here too?” (If that one takes you a moment, he was implying that he regarded the august establishment only as a public urinal. Smith was not only quick but subtle.)

Richard Brindsley Sheridan, the playwright and politician, replied to an opponent in Parliament, “The honorable gentleman is indebted to his memory for his jests, and to his imagination for his facts.” The same objection has been raised against me, at times, but never so elegantly.

Winston Churchill was renowned for his deadly wit in Parliament. He began a speech on the military budget with a line from Virgil: “Arma virumque cano — ‘I sing of arms and men.’” The opposition leader interrupted, “Shouldn’t that be translated, ‘I sing of arms and the man’?” Churchill paused, staring at the man with imperious scorn: “Little did I expect assistance in a classical matter from such a quarter.”

These are old examples, but the great tradition of the English insult is very much alive. A friend in London tells me of a recent instance; I hope I’m quoting it accurately. A speaker insolently told his audience that he was casting “pearls before swine.” A heckler shouted, “Fake pearls!” The speaker answered, “But real swine!”

Joseph Sobran

Copyright © 2002 by the Griffin Internet Syndicate,
a division of Griffin Communications
This column may not be reprinted in print or
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