By Anatoly Liberman
Like culprit, discussed last week, scoundrel surfaced in English books in the modern period. The OED has no citations of it prior to 1589. Given this date, an etymologist faces familiar questions. A borrowing from Scandinavian or Old French should theoretically have turned up in texts long before the end of the 16th century (for example, rascal, from French, was current already in 1330), while if it is a native coinage, one might expect some ties with other native words, but those are questionable, to say the least. However, names for all kinds of despicable characters often originate in such obscure slang that we have no chance of discovering their sources. The 15th and 16th centuries were rich in so-called canting words, as evidenced, among many others, by the history of Engl. rogue. Some such words exist “underground” for hundreds of years before they become known to the rest of the world and make their way into print. This is what may have happened to German Schurke “villain” and Engl. punk. All in all, scoundrel, in which only the suffix is transparent (compare wastrel), will probably defy our efforts and remain a word of “uncertain origin.”
The earliest conjecture about the derivation of scoundrel belongs to Stephen Skinner, the author of an excellent etymological dictionary (1671; it appeared posthumously). Naturally, his scholarship reflected the state of the art reached by roughly 1650, but Skinner was a resourceful and circumspect philologist and made many interesting suggestions. He cited Italian scondaruolo “blindman’s buff” (misprinted as scondamolo); hence “a hider.” The connection is not good: a scoundrel’s most conspicuous feature would not have been his hiding from the law. But the root of scondaruolo is the same as in abscond, from Old French, from Latin (abs- is a variant of ab “away,” and condere means “put together, stow”). The OED would have agreed to trace scoundrel to Anglo-French escondre “abscond,” but for the late date of its first occurrence. Even if we dismiss scondaruolo as not related directly to scoundrel, we should admire Skinner for coming so close to what may have been the right solution.
With minor amusing variations (for instance, a scoundrel is one, “who, conscious of his baseness, hides himself”: are scoundrels habitually torn by remorse?), Skinner’s etymology occupied a place of honor until the appearance of Skeat’s dictionary (1882), but there was no lack of other proposals: from Old Engl. sconde “disgrace” (and scondlic “base, ignominious, disgraceful”), from scummer (scoundrel = scum), from German Schandkerl “villain” (that is, Schand-kerl; Kerl means “fellow”), and even from two Scottish Gaelic roots: sgon “bad, vile, worthless” and droil (or droll) “idler.” Those were shots in the dark. But one etymology should be quoted almost in full: “I rather take it [scoundrel] to come from the A.-S. [Anglo-Saxon] onscunian or scunian, to shun…, and to be connected with the Scotch to scouner or scunner, and the substantive scunner, one of the meanings of which given by Jamieson is an object of loathing, any person or thing which excites disgust. Scoundrel will then be scunnerel, a diminutive of scunner.” F.J.V., the author of this derivation, refers to other examples of inserted d (c
By Anatoly Liberman
As follows from the title, my first unpleasant character is CULPRIT; naturally, I am interested in the origin of the word rather than in the culprit’s behavior. What the OED says on the subject may be final, but the story will allow me to make a point not directly connected with guilt and crime. At first glance, culprit, with its root culpa (Latin for “fault”), is the most transparent word one can imagine. But what about -prit? English abounds in so-called disguised compounds. For example, marshal goes back to mara- (or some similar form) “mare” and skalk “slave.” The original marshal looked after horses. Then the word passed into Old French and returned to English with its lofty Romance meaning. Another horsy noun is henchman: hench- continues heng(e)st- “stallion.” Taking care of a lord’s horses gave status to medieval attendants. Marshal is disguised so well that we no longer recognize its old structure. In henchman, the presence of -man reminds us of the word’s initial composition, but hench- makes no sense to a modern speaker. In culprit, -prit baffles languages historians. However, no one ever doubted that we are dealing with a (thinly) disguised compound or word group.
In some early dictionaries, culprit was spelled culprit (1715), cul prit (1718), and cul-prit (1719). The word was relatively new at that time. It first occurred in a legal formula (see it below), but later acquired the sense “the accused” and still later “felon.” In texts, no occurrence of culprit “felon” predates 1700. I often refer to Nathaniel Bailey’s 1721 dictionary. Here is a passage from it: “Culprit, a formal word, used by the Clerk of the Arraignments, in Tryals [sic], to a Person indicted for a Criminal Matter, when he has register’d the Prisoner’s Plea, Not Guilty, and proceeds to demand of him, (Culprit) How wilt thou be Tried? Culprit seems to be compounded of two Words, i.e., Cul and Prit, viz., Cul of Culpabilis, and is a Reply of a proper Officer, on behalf of the King, affirming the Party to be Guilty after he hath pleaded Not Guilty; the other word Prit is derived of the French Word Prest, i.e., Ready, and is as much as to say, that he is ready to prove the Party Guilty. Others again derive it from Culpa, a fault, and Prehensus, taken, L. i.e., a Criminal or Malefactor.” (Note the prepositions: derived of, derive it from.) Bailey borrowed his etymology from Thomas Blount’s Law Dictionary and expanded it, but his dictionary had a much broader readership than Blount’s. Except that the OED found actual examples of cul. prit. in legal documents, Blount and Bailey’s explanation still stands.
Strangely, Samuel Johnson derived culprit from French qu’il paroit “let it appear” and took no notice of Blount’s or Bailey’s comments. In the early decades of the 19th century, correspondents to The Gentleman’s Magazine debated the origin of culprit anew, again without reference to Blount or Bailey, and vacillated between qu’il paroit, culp-prist “taken (supposed, suspected) to be guilty,” and Latin culpaereus (or culpae reus) “arraigned for a crime.” Some of them misunderstood the combination culpabilis prest as allegedly meaning “already guilty,” though it meant “guilty and (we are) ready to prove the defendant’s guilt” (“What! are our laws so severe and their procedure so preposterous as to declare a pers
