Wolfgang Mieder’s “«Laissez faire à Georges» and «Let George do it»: A Case of Paremiological Polygenesis” (Paremia 22 [2013]:17-29) is an astonishing example of coincidence, the kind of thing that should be kept at the tip of one’s brain to confute those who take resemblance for proof of origin. The abstract:
While polygenesis appears to be a rare phenomenon with proverbs, the French proverb «Laissez faire à Georges» from the end of the fifteenth century and the American proverb «Let George do it» from the last quarter of the nineteenth century do in fact have two different origins. This is shown by numerous references from French and Anglo-American proverb collections and dictionaries. Even though some paremiographers and lexicographers continue to insist on a monogenetic relationship between the two proverbs, the argument for two separate origins has steadily gained acceptance. The two «Georges» of the proverbs have no relationship to each other, and it would have made little sense for the old French idiom with its relationship to Georges d’Amboise to have been adopted by the Anglo-American world. Clearly the American proverb is based on another George, namely the generic name given to emancipated slaves who were employed as African American porters on the Pullman railroad cars during the second half of the nineteenth century and beyond. While the French proverb has long been out of use, the American proverb is still in use today.
Anatoly Vorobey, from whom I got the link, compares the Russian use of Pushkin as the universal doer, and confesses that he only just learned that the English noun saw ‘saying, proverb’ has nothing to do with the homophonous noun meaning ‘tool with a toothed blade’ but is related to the verb say (it is, in fact, a doublet of saga).
Old saws with new teeth. In genetics this is called convergent evolution, as I have understood it.
Anatoly Vorobey, from whom I got the link, compares the Russian use of Pushkin as the universal doer, and confesses that he only just learned that the English noun saw ‘saying, proverb’ has nothing to do with the homophonous noun meaning ‘tool with a toothed blade’ but is related to the verb say (it is, in fact, a doublet of saga).
From now on I’ll bore people with that fact every time they pull out an old saw, and then insist on calling them “old sagas”.
The “monogenesis” idea may be a misunderstanding of the fact that George(s) is/was a common name.
A guy who lives in a garret of my apartment building rejoices in the name of Marspet Movsisyan. I know this from all the packages delivered for him that DHL leaves in the stairwell, and now from checking the names on the mailboxes. I thought: I have no idea what the origins of that name might be. And immediately found Marspet Movsisyan in the ‘net.
Coincidence ? Monogenesis ? I think I’ve seen him in the building, but didn’t look closely because he seemed to be skittish. At any rate not scrumptious, more scrawny and homely.
I am a bit skeptical that a new American idiom/proverb arising from the specific circumstances of Pullman cars and their porters no earlier than probably the 1870’s would have popped up in use in London by the mid-1880’s. Two related points:
1. Note the valiant-if-jocular historical efforts of the https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Society_for_the_Prevention_of_Calling_Sleeping_Car_Porters_%22George%22.
2. By the late Seventies I was familiar, via radio play, with Steve Goodman’s song “City of New Orleans,” probably in Arlo Guthrie’s 1972 hit version. It has a lovely bit in the second verse that goes “And the sons of Pullman porters / And the sons of engineers / Ride their fathers’ magic carpet made of steel.” I at that point in my life lacked the historical knowledge that would have been obvious to listeners with personal memories of pre-Amtrak train travel that the sons of the porters would have all been black men and the sons of the engineers all white men, although all getting along harmoniously enough by the time in which the song was set (playing cards in the club car w/o keeping very good score and passing around a bottle in a paper bag).
“Pushkin”
Usually in the form of a question. E.g. “have you done X?” “No” “And who will do it? Pushkin?”
The Master and Margarita has, “And who’s going to pay the rent—Pushkin?” Part of the joke is that the character who says things like that a lot has no clue who Pushkin (whom Bulgakov revered) even was.
@drasvi
https://www.pinterest.com/pin/pushkin-will-do-it–37788084364773779/
From now on I’ll bore people with that fact every time they pull out an old saw
If that’s the drill, people will indeed get tired of that bit. Quelle scie!
On another tack, I’d like to know where Mencken got “Laissez faire à Georges” and why earlier Americans couldn’t have gotten it from the same place. I’d say Mieder’s arguments suggest a separate origin but don’t prove it.
Though it’s not impossible that someone may find a causal link, the article evidences rather good due diligence.
And George is a fairly common name. Even related to my family name.
@Staffan Göransson: Please explain.
Though it’s not impossible that someone may find a causal link, the article evidences rather good due diligence.
I agree that Mieder did good research (though I don’t like his style), but I think his conclusions are a little too strong.
If that’s the drill, people will indeed get tired of that bit. Quelle scie!
A bracing remark, indeed.
I saw what you did there.
“I am a bit skeptical ”
JWB, the author too. The claim begins with “Сlearly, …”
The word means: “I’m unable to trace the connection”.
Aha!
He expands on it:
“alas, up till now I have not been able to locate any references of the proverb in the impressive literature” QED
There I was, thinking that I was the only one who used “clearly” to mean “obviously not.”
Eheu: nil sub sole novum.
Perhaps I should mention the unofficial Faciat Georgius medal awarded by the US Marines. It commemorates the 1942 Guadalcanal campaign, in which the US Navy delivered Marines to the island and then, having perceived that the Japanese Navy were also present, departed before all the supplies on board had been unloaded, leaving the Marines with only half what they needed plus whatever they could capture from the Japanese.
It shows a hot potato being dropped into the hands of a Marine, and a cow with its rear end facing an electric fan. The perhaps unexpected erudition of the motto was contributed by an English coastwatcher who was present on the island.
I had supposed that George might have been a common appellation for Marines, like Tommy for English soldiers or Jocks for Scots, but apparently not.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Faciat_Georgius
“2. the meaning of the French proverb is somewhat different from the English «Let George do it», with the French text suggesting that one should or could hand over a difficult task to a more experienced person and the English text usually referring to a situation where someone unwilling to take on a task is pushing it off to another person;”
Well, yes, but….
I can think of three ways of using it.
(1) (hypothetically, I don’t think people do that often) you can say so yourself, when you want someone else to do the job.
(2) you can tell about someone (real or imaginary, specific or generic) who says “let George do it” with reference to a certian “it”
(3) you can use it as a label or symbol for a certain attitude.
I think the author is mostly discussing (3). It does not exactly need the listener to know the expression to get what you mean, but still people use it as a recognisable phrase.
(2) is what you can come up with on your own, basically. You don’t need/expect it to be recognisable, though the name “George” is not random. And it does not “symbolise” anythign: your attitude to the decision and the reason for it are described explicitly. It means what it means in normal English, that someone does not want to do the job and instead wants George to do it.
Both of his earliest examples are of the 2nd kind, and both times* the person wants someone more experienced to do the job.
(But I don’t think that it means that his examples were influenced by French.)
* also
@DE, actually “obviously” is my prototype.
I found myself in the role of a math teacher (or rather an assistant) for the first time when I was 15. I described a couple of times how the system works: someone (often but not always a working mathematician) “runs” the class and several people (from university students to adults) are helping him (I know one instance when it was “her” but she’s an asshole). Most of teaching is done in the form of problems, and solutions/proofs are presented orally.
So what I discovered very quickly is that “obviously” is what kids say when they can’t prove something plausible, even intuitive. As these specific kids are “good at math”, usually this happens because they failed to prove a false statement. (which of course would authomatically make the statement extremely interesting if it were science: when researchers expect other researchers to take a false claim as granted, the claim is authomatically interesting). But other times it is insteresting as well. It frequently happens to those difficult to prove true claims where either the claim or often the proof itself (or its method) is going to be very important for the theory.
More experienced children, of course, learn to take their own “obviously” as a sign of what I just described even before uttering it – so with them it can mean “we both know that I know how to prove it” (but usually it is something like “it is understood that …” instead. “It’s understood that… Is it understood?” “Well, you’ll say that … and from that will follow that … Well, yes, it is understood.”).
When I began reading scientific articles I at first read “obviously” the same way with due giggling. And then continued to do so without giggling, because authors do behave like those children. Unsurprisingly, because in fields where nothign can be proven researchers are exactly as inexperienced at proofs as inexperienced math students are.
Reminds me of
https://hsm.stackexchange.com/questions/7247/in-a-popular-anecdote-who-took-20-minutes-to-decide-that-a-thing-was-obvious
I myself first heard of it attributed to G H Hardy; if the anecdote is actually true of anybody at all, it was probably him, on the grounds that (a) it fits his character and (b) he’s not an obvious attribution magnet like Einstein or Pauli.
The first time I heard that anecdote it was about Paul Dirac — it fits his character too.
The version I heard was attributed to von Neumann, who asserted at the board that some proposition was obvious. A student raised a hand and asked if he could give another proof with more details. vN supposedly stared at the board for a minute, said OK, and then continued as before.