Thomas Carlyle’s House of Words (or 2 Cheers for Neologisms)
By William GermanoNovember 7, 2017
Whistler’s Thomas Carlyle
Thomas Carlyle (1795-1881) was many things, but apparently not a good listener.
At least that’s what one deduces from a visit to his extraordinarily well preserved home in London’s Chelsea. The Scottish historian, one of the towering intellects of the British 19th century, attracted the attention and admiration of many, all of whom had to be good listeners.
Or subscribe now to read with unlimited access for less than $10/month.
Don’t have an account? Sign up now.
A free account provides you access to a limited number of free articles each month, plus newsletters, job postings, salary data, and exclusive store discounts.
If you need assistance, please contact us at 202-466-1032 or help@chronicle.com.
Whistler’s Thomas Carlyle
Thomas Carlyle (1795-1881) was many things, but apparently not a good listener.
At least that’s what one deduces from a visit to his extraordinarily well preserved home in London’s Chelsea. The Scottish historian, one of the towering intellects of the British 19th century, attracted the attention and admiration of many, all of whom had to be good listeners.
Carlyle opined. At length.
ADVERTISEMENT
Does anyone other than specialists read Carlyle today? Sartor Resartus, that strange amalgam of fiction and philosophy, remains one of those famous titles known but rarely loved, even though admired by no less an authenticating figure than Borges himself. Short version: It’s a book about writing about a book that’s about. …
Carlyle’s odd sensibility reached back to some of the 18th century’s most imaginative writers and seems, if you look at it the right way, to connect with modern experimentalists.
Writers’ houses are often memorials patched together from period furnishings and good guesswork, but not Carlyle’s house, which is packed with things the writer, and his patient spouse, Jane, had, sat on, and made.
Jane Carlyle’s screen, a collage of images so fresh that it looks like a craft project from a century later, speaks to the visitor in ways the bound volumes of The French Revolution cannot quite. I am happy to visit the famous couple’s home, but grateful I was never a guest.
The curators of Carlyle’s house emphasize the recovery of the Carlyles’ own furnishings, the display of his published works, and Carlyle’s attempt to keep out distracting noises (painful irony: The house now lies directly beneath the aerial approach to Heathrow).
ADVERTISEMENT
He also created, or invigorated, words we no longer use, which brings me to the language-y bit of this post.
Carlyle said quotable things, many of which turn up on cards placed throughout his home.
With evident pride, the curators remind us that the Oxford English Dictionary credits Carlyle with the first occurrences of, among other words, craftsmanship, pretentious, gullible, open-minded, forgettable, manhunt, and elitist. (Academic party game: Choose seven words and build a one-page story. If you choose these seven the tale will probably wind up involving deception, naivete, skill, and murder.)
But it’s Carlyle’s other words — the ones the curators describe as those “that did not catch on” — that are the real fun.
Consider cursee or laughee. How often have I, or maybe you, been one or the other of these fine terms?
ADVERTISEMENT
What about heroarchy, quackle, or duncedom? Did Carlyle also deliver these words to us, hot from the forge?
Well, yes and no.
Carlyle did come up with heroarchy — “a government of Heroes” — though it couldn’t have meant as much before Dolby sound and CGI.
Carlyle used quackle in some sense related to the noises ducks make, but the OED gives a much older usage (1622) meaning “to choke,” which is, I think, nicer, and a good example of onomatopoeia in extremis.
As for duncedom, the sage of Cheyne Row was speaking disapprovingly of old-fashioned literature (meaning, I think, literature different from the odd kind his pen was producing).
ADVERTISEMENT
But surely – and with apologies to Mr. Wordsworth – Carlyle, thou should’st be living at this hour if you want to know what a duncedom looks like.
At least you could reload our vocabulary in a time of crisis.