Demijohn

The comments of Anna are unsurpassably laconic, but very inspiring. Like the one with which she urged us to compose the first tale of River Wang. Or the one she has recently sent to the Hungarian version of the bear & wine post: “A damigiana az demizson?” (The Italian damigiana is the same as the Hungarian demizson?”) It made me think upon.

To me the word demizson has recalled so much my grandfather, the thick glasses encased in wickerwork in which he had brought the wine from his vineyard in Mándok when he came to spend the winters in the city in his daughter’s home that I was unconsciously convinced that this was a Hungarian word, what is more, a word from my grandfather’s dialect of Szabolcs county. So when I as an interpreter heard for the first time the word damigiana on an Italian farm I had a strange feeling of déjà vu, similar to the one I felt when in the army I lived in a room with boys from the Upper Tisza region who spoke exactly like my grandfather did twenty years earlier.


This is a tricky word. I do not know whether I would correctly guess its origin if in a game show I should choose the only right one among four answers:

first: A traditional English liquid measure of French or Provençal origin, “half John,” about one gallon.
second: A large bottle of Provençal origin called “Reine Jeanne” and then “Dame Jeanne” in honor of Queen Jane of Naples.
third: A humorous term of French sailors: “dame-jeanne,” “Lady Jane” for the large wine bottles “clothed” in wickerwork and recalling the shape of a corpulent lady.
fourth: A term of Persian origin, from the name of the city of Damaghan famous for its glass industry. It came via Arabic mediation to French and to other European languages.

I would probably accept the first answer as the most logical one. Demi means ‘half’ in French, and a traditional English measure called “John” is so plausible. The other answers include too many unknown factors. But it is also highly possible that one of the less probable versions is the correct one. If I were allowed to ask for help by phone, on the other side of the line they would probably read to me the relative entry of the Historical and etymological dictionary of the Hungarian language:

demizson 1904: „demijohn… (dömidson) gyékényfonásos nagy palaczk” (Radó: IdSz.); – demizson (Bp. Hirlap 1936. júl. 8. 9: NSz.); debizson, demijon, devizsonra gr., dëvizsony, dimizsával gr. (ÚMTsz.). J: 1904: ’nagy, öblös hasú, fonott burkolatú üveg; große Korbflasche, Demijohn’ (l. fent).
Vándorszó; vö. ang. demijohn; ném. Demijohn; sp. damajuana; fr. dame-jeanne; ol. damigiana; cseh, szlk. demižón; arab dāmajānah: ’demizson’. A francia tengerésznyelvből terjedt el. Forrása valószínűleg a fr. R. dame Jeanne ’Janka asszony’ kifejezés; a névadás tréfás indítékon alapulhat; vö. m. N. vörös gyurkó ’korsó’, mihók ’ua.’ (l. mihók a.). – A magyar szó vagy az angolból, vagy a németből származik. A demijon alakváltozat j-je (németes vagy) magyaros betűolvasás eredménye.
Nagy J. B.: MNy. 26: 313; Prohászka: Nyr. 80: 476; Tamás: UngElRum. 293. (Krueger: EigGatt. 15; Sainéan: ZRPh. 30: 308; Skeat: EtDict.⁴ 162; Gamillscheg: ZRPh. 40: 518; Migliorini: NPr. 296; Dauzat: DictÉtFr.⁷ 228; Corominas: DiccCrítEt. 2: 106; Partridge: Or. 146; Bloch-Wartburg DictÉtFr.⁴ 177.)

that is: “An international loan word, cf. English demijohn, German Demijohn, Spanish damajuana, French dame-jeanne, Italian damigiana, Czech and Slovakian demižón, Arabic dāmajānah. It comes from the French sailor language. Its origin is probably the French term dame Jeanne “Lady Jane,” coined probably out of wit; cf. Hungarian vörös gyurkó (“red George”: jug), mihók (“Mike”: the same). ― The Hungarian word comes either from English or from German.

That’s it. It is as clear as noonday. Number three is the correct answer. How logic, if one thinks it well. And in top of all that, if a meticulous person is sitting on the other end of the line who even checks the origin of the Hungarian word in the most thorough A comprehensive etymological dictionary of the English language by Ernest Klein (1966), he will find the same explanation:

demijohn, n., a large bottle covered with wickerwork. – Alteration of F. dame-jeanne, for Dame Jeanne, ‘Lady Jane’, a name used humorously to denote a bottle; see dame and Jane. The alteration of F. dame to demi in English demijohn is due to a confusion with F. demi, ‘half’ (see demi-).

So I was confounded by a confusion. My intuition was a false etymology, for this word has nothing to do with demi (half). The etymology of Klein is also confirmed by the fact that Mexicans also derive the Spanish damajuana from a certain corpulent Dama Juana of Tijuana.


But what if the Etymological Dictionary is not at hands on the other end of the line? Then this person will quickly search for this word in the Wikipedia. The Hungarian version does not include it, but both the French and the Italian version have an entry for it, both writing exactly the same (I don’t know which one translated it from the other):

According to the legend, in 1347 [in the reality in 1348] Queen Jane fled Naples and went to her countship of Provence [as she, being an Angevin, was also the Countess of Provence.] On the way between Grasse and Draguignan they were surprised by a storm, and they took refuge in a small castle of the village of Saint Paul la Galline Grasse, whose lord also practised glass making. Having spent the night in the castle, the Queen wanted to see the lord of the house at work. As she unexpectedly entered the workshop, the lord, assisted by some servants, was engaged in glass-blowing. Surprised by the arrival of the Queen, he blew too strongly in the tube, thus producing an enormous glass of about ten liters in capacity, greatly acclaimed by those standing around. The lord immediately decided that he would produce more of this type, and wanted to call it “reine-Jeanne” after the Queen. However, the modest sovereign proposed him to call it only “dame-Jeanne.” This is where Italian damigiana also came from.

By this way even Hungarians have contributed to the birth of this word, for the modest sovereign, having killed her husband Prince Andreas of Hungary, fled Naples from the Hungarian troops of his elder brother Louis the Great, the Angevin King of Hungary. What is more, Hungary is also distantly connected with the name of this place, for until 1824 Saint-Paul belonged to the town of Fayence which gave origin to the word ‘faience,’ glazed earthenware, also adopted in Hungarian as fajansz. This story is also supported by the fact that glass industry has flourished in Saint-Paul since the Middle Ages, and according to various French web forums its inhabitants still boast of having made the first demijohns. No doubt: number two is the correct answer.


But if this person is just as meticulous as in the previous case, he will want to check the authentic origin of “dame-jeanne” in the French etymological dictionary as well. Unfortunately neither the great dictionary of Bloch and Wartburg, nor that of Dauzat is available at home. However, in the bibliography of the entry “dame-jeanne” of the Larousse dictionary his eyes are caught by the title of Les mots français dérivés de l’arabe (1890) by the great Islamist of Liban, the Jesuit Henri Lammens, which is also available on the net. In this we read:


That is, the French word comes from Arabic where it has been used in the form “damaghana” or “damanghana.” The غ ‘gh’ is a typical guttural of which Lammens proves with several examples to change into ‘j’ when taken over in French ― just like in this case. He also mentions that according to his Arabic sources this word comes ultimately from Persian.

The Persian origin of this word was developed by 19th-century English school. The English, entering with their Northern Indian conquests into the Persian cultural sphere, were enchanted by the refinement, the subtle literature and the widespread use of Persian, called “the French of the East” ― for this was the language of the courts, culture, literature and commerce from Istanbul to Delhi. Persian language was taught in English schools of diplomacy, Persian literature was extensively translated, and a veritable “Persian Renaissance” swept over Victorian England, leading among others to the “rediscovery” of Omar Khayyam. The results of the Persian dictionaries and grammars composed at this time and in use even today were soon built into the linguistic literature of the period. The widespread New Word-Analysis Or, School Etymology of English Derivative Words (1879) by William Swinton includes ‘demijohn’ among the words coming from Persian. And the excellent little The fortunes of words: Letters to a Lady (1887) by Federico Garlanda which popularized the science of etymology in the saloons also indicated its exact origin, explicitly sniffing at the explanation we have just accepted as the correct one:

Also a queer etymology was given of the word ‘demijohn.’ This kind of vessel is called in Italian ‘damigiana,’ and owes its name to the city of Damaghan, in Persia, once famous for its glassworks. In French it is called ‘dame-jeanne,’ which literally means ‘Lady Jane.’ Hence a mythical Lady Jane was invented to explain this little mythical and less poetical ‘demijohn.’

English dictionaries since the end of the 19th century have passed this definition hand from hand. Thus we read for example in the 1996 edition of Webster’s Revised Unabridged Dictionary:

Demijohn, n. [F. dame-jeanne, i.e., Lady Jane, a corruption of Ar. damaj[=a]na, damj[=a]na, prob. fr. Damaghan a town in the Persian province of Khorassan, once famous for its glass works.] A glass vessel or bottle with a large body and small neck, inclosed in wickerwork.

Thus it is clear that number four is the correct answer. This word comes from Persian, from the name of the city of Damaghan, the famous glass-blowing center. This is also supported by the Arabic form in Lammens and his reference to the Persian origin, just like by the entry “Demijohn” in Meyers Konversationslexikon (Leipzig-Wien, 1885-1892) indicating this German word as of “Indian English” origin. And – I say – also by the fact that in Persian the verb “blow” sounds very similar: دمیدن damidan. Is it possible that this is the source of the name of the town?

There is a small problem, however. Namely that this city of Khorassan is not called Damaghan, but Damghan in Persian. The form ‘Damaghan’ exclusively occurs in Victorian dictionaries. And there is a bigger problem as well. Namely that Damghan has never been the center of glass industry, but rather that of pistachio producing.

Inscription at the bottom: “Damghan, Pistachio Square”

The name of the town is not even mentioned in the entry “Glass” of the Encyclopedia Iranica, and we have not read it either at the fascinatingly rich exhibition of the Glass and Ceramics Museum in Tehran. However, we have seen a lot of beautiful glasses from Nishapur, the town of Omar Khayyam and Attar. For this town was the center of glass industry of Khorassan and the whole Iran.

A green glass demijohn from Nishapur.
From the 10th century, just like the Mallorcan Arabic wine bottle of a similar shape.
In the 1943 January issue of Metropolitan Museum of Art Bulletin it figures as a “demijohn.”

The Persian origin is also contradicted by the fact that in Turkey, the country laying the closest to Persia, this word was borrowed twice. First in the French form “damacan” as it is used today, and earlier from Italian in the form “mancana,” but they know no “damaghan” version that would have conserved the Persian-Arabic guttural.

The above video illustrates bot the modern Turkish name and use of demijohn. The ‘c’ in the inscription of the shopboard is pronounced as ‘j’. The video’s final title “Bana bir şey olmaz deme, okey mi?” means: “Don’t assume you’ll be fine, okey?” [and it’s a condom advertisement]


Thus it is understandable if the modern Origins. A short etymological dictionary of modern English by Eric Partridge does not force the Persian origin. Instead of it – what a luck – it conveys the proposal of the French etymological dictionary by Alfred Dauzat which has been otherwise unaccessible to us:

demijohn: f/e for late EF-F dame-jeanne, dame Jeanne, Lady Jane: either a witticism in the same order as F dial Christine and Jacqueline (B & W) and perh as E jeroboam and rehoboam, or, in F, a jocular comparison of fat, wicker-dressed bottle to fat, overdressed lady (EW). Dauzat derives F damejeanne from Prov damajano, itself perh from Prov demeg, a half, reshaped by f/e; his is the most ingenious, perh the best, explanation.

So this word comes from Provençal demeg (half) and damajano (“a half one”), which adapted itself so much to the various languages that now each of them requires for itself the glory of its origin. Thus it looks like answer number one is the correct one.

Or not?

Why should it be rather than the other three?


It is not my duty to do justice in the dispute in which the linguistic authorities of a century could not come to terms. Nevertheless let me express my conjecture as well. Namely, that with the unconscious veracity of children and fools it is the Hungarian etymological dictionary which stands the closest to the truth, saying that the word “comes from French sailor language”.

For this “sailor language” is nothing else than the lingua franca.

This term is used today in the sense of “mixed language; pidgin.” We usually do not consider that once there existed a language called like this, and even for a considerable span of time. From the first millenary to the middle of the 19th century it was spoken from the Eastern to the Western end of the Mediterranean as the intermediary language of Levantine commerce, sailors and merchants’ colonies. In some regions, for example along the Northern African coast it was so deeply rooted that in 1830 a special dictionary of it had to be composed for the French army occupying Algeria. Its expressions infiltrated into high literature from the Middle Ages to Cervantes and Molière. Its words, just as if they had been polished by the sea and made easily fitting to every Mediterranean language, even today are felt by every people as their own, so much that since the Renaissance their etymologies are derived from their own languages. Such word is the Spanish ferreruelo, Italian ferraiuolo, Portuguese ferragoulo, Greek φεραρόλι, Northern African Arabic فریول feryûl, Mosarabic pallyûl meaning “mantle” in all languages, whose meandering way flanked by multiple transmissions, adaptations, contaminations and false etymologies was followed by John Corominas in his study of 1948 with the eloquent title: The importance of the study of the Lingua Franca for Romance etymology. And it seems that demijohn is such a word, too.


I intend to write more later about lingua franca, this hardly researched language. Now I only want to appetize you with a lingua franca loan text included into a highly succesfull play, Le Bourgeois Gentilhomme by Molière whose music was composed by Lully. This “play in the play” is the Turkish Ceremony during which Jourdain, the bourgeois gentleman finally obtains the rank so much desired by him – in the Turkish court. The ceremony itself is a caricature, but its language is really that lingua franca with strong Italian foundations and with Arabic, Turkish, French and Spanish enrichments which was used at that time in the diplomatic missions between France and Northern Africa. Although nowadays this play is seldom performed with the original music, its opening orchestral piece, the Turkish March will be certainly known from Jordi Savall’s Tous les matins du monde, where the mature Marais conducts it at the court of Versailles. In the two-parts caravaggiesque version below we see it in the 2004 performance of the Poème Harmonique, directed by Vincent Dumestre. The video is of no great quality, but the original recording is also available in an excellent quality here.

Les Turcs Alla, Alla, Alla, Alla, Alla, Alla, Alla, Alla, Alla alègue vert. Le Mufti Se ti sabir, Ti respondir ; Se non sabir, Tazir, tazir. Mi star Mufti : Ti qui star ti ? Non intendir : Tazir, tazir. Dice mi, Turque, qui star quista. Anabatista, anabatista ? Les Turcs Ioc. Le Mufti Zuinglista ? Les Turcs Ioc. Le Mufti Cofista ? Les Turcs Ioc. Le Mufti Ussista ? Morista ? Fromista ? Les Turcs Ioc. Ioc. Ioc. Le Mufti Ioc. Ioc. Ioc. Star pagana ? Les Turcs Ioc. Le Mufti Luterana ? Les Turcs Ioc. Le Mufti Puritana ? Les Turcs Ioc. Le Mufti Bramina ? Moffina ? Zurina ? Les Turcs Ioc. Ioc. Ioc. Le Mufti Ioc. Ioc. Ioc. Mahametana, Mahametana ? Les Turcs Hei valla. Hei valla. Le Mufti Como chiamara ? Como chiamara ? Les Turcs Giourdina, Giourdina. Le Mufti Giourdina ? Les Turcs Giourdina. Le Mufti Giourdina ? Giourdina ? Giourdina ? Les Turcs Giourdina ! Giourdina ! Giourdina ! Le Mufti Mahametta per Giourdina Mi pregar sera e matina : Voler far un Paladina De Giourdina, de Giourdina. Dar turbanta, e dar scarcina Con galera e brigantina Per deffender Palestina. Star bon Turca Giourdina ? Les Turcs Hei valla. Hei valla. Le Mufti Hu la ba ba la chou, ba la ba ba la da. Les Turcs Hu la ba ba la chou, ba la ba ba la da.

Turks Allah, Allah, Allah, Allah, Allah, Allah, Allah, Allah, Allah be with us. The Mufti If you understand You reply If you understand not You silent, silent I be Mufti You be who? If you understand not You silent, silent. Tell me, Turk, who be this: Anabaptist? Anabaptist? The Turks No. The Mufti Zwinglian? The Turks No. The Mufti Coptic? The Turks No. The Mufti Hussite? Moor? Pietist? The Turks No. No. No. The Mufti No. No. No. Be pagan? The Turks No. The Mufti Lutheran? The Turks No. The Mufti Puritan? The Turks No. The Mufti Brahmin? Monophysite? Syriac? The Turks No. No. No. The Mufti No. No. No. Mohamedan? Mohamedan? The Turks Oh yes. Oh yes. The Mufti How call he? How call he? The Turks Giurdina. Giurdina. The Mufti Giurdina? The Turks Giurdina. The Mufti Giurdina? Giurdina? Giurdina? The Turks Giurdina! Giurdina! Giurdina! The Mufti Mohamed to Giurdia I call evening and morning: I want make a count palatine Of Giurdina, of Giurdina. Give turban, give sabre With galeon and brigantine To defend Palestine. Be good Turk Giurdina? The Turks Oh yes. Oh yes. The Mufti [Allah is my father (?)] The Turks [Allah is my father (?)]

Les Turcs Hou, hou, hou, hou, Hou, hou, hou, hou, Hou, alègue vert. Le Mufti Ti non star furba ? Les Turcs No, no, no. Le Mufti Non star forfanta ? Les Turcs No, no, no. Le Mufti Donar turbanta, donar turbanta. Les Turcs Ti non star furba ? No, no, no. Non star forfanta ? No, no, no. Donar turbanta, donar turbanta. Le Mufti Ti star nobile, non star fabola. Pigliar schiabola. Les Turcs Ti star nobile, non star fabola. Pigliar schiabola. Le Mufti Dara, dara, bastonara, bastonara, bastonara. Les Turcs Dara, dara, bastonara, bastonara, bastonara. Le Mufti Non tener honta : Questa star l'ultima affronta. Les Turcs Non tener honta : Questa star l'ultima affronta. Le Mufti Star bon Turca Giourdina ? Les Turcs Hei valla. Hei valla. Le Mufti Hu la ba ba la chou, ba la ba ba la da. Les Turcs Hu la ba ba la chou, ba la ba ba la da. Alla, Alla, Alla, Alla, Alla, Alla, Alla, Alla, Alla alègue vert.

The Turks Hu, hu, hu, hu, Hu, hu, hu, hu, Hu, be with us. The Mufti Not you be impostor? The Turks No, no, no. The Mufti Not you be swindler? The Turks No, no, no. The Mufti Give turban, give turban. The Turks Not you be impostor? No, no, no. Not you be swindler? No, no, no. Give turban, give turban. The Mufti You be noble, this is no fable. Take sabre. The Turks You be noble, this is no fable. Take sabre. The Mufti Give, give, beat, beat, beat. The Turks Give, give, beat, beat, beat. The Mufti You be no shame: This is last trial. The Turks You be no shame: This is last trial. The Mufti Be good Turk Giurdina? The Turks Oh yes. Oh yes. The Mufti [Allah is my father (?)] The Turks [Allah is my father (?)] Allah, Allah, Allah, Allah, Allah, Allah, Allah, Allah, Allah, be with us.

the 19th-century French demijohns are from here