Rest Easy

In our society, the word “Rest,” and most of its connotations, have a generally positive resonance. Even when it comes to the matter of being dead, it has a somewhat soothing aura. But watch your Latin grammar and spelling here. The expression “Requiescat in Pace” means “may he – or she – rest in peace.” But if you are talking about more than one person, the correct word is “Requiescant.”

Fortunately – and very conveniently for English-speakers (I’m not sure about all the other languages) – the same words have the same initial letters in both Latin and English. So, instead of writing (or painting, or carving) them all out, you need only put “R.I.P.” This saves stone-carvers much time on tombstones, and wherever else it’s appropriate to write epitaphs. (As a matter of peripheral interest, you may like to know that the town of Tombstone, Arizona, publishes a newspaper called “The Tombstone Epitaph.”) A few unlettered people may confuse those initial letters with the word “rip.” And there was actually a very successful actor whose name, Rip Torn, was no theatrical gimmick. He came from a family surnamed Torn, many of whose male members were nicknamed Rip.

But, getting back to our theme, the word rest has not only been a euphemism for Death, but also for using a toilet, as in “restroom.” This usage seems to have developed in America, not much longer ago than 1900. The British, meanwhile, preferred their own vocabulary, with such words as “lavatory” or “lav,” and less standard verbalizations, like “Loo.” (This may have derived from the French for “The water,” “L’Eau,” – because when people in that country emptied their “chamber pots” from an upper story into the street, they traditionally warned anyone who might be standing below with the cry “Gardez l’eau!” i.e. “Look out for the water!” The English also talked about “spending a penny” where there were coin-operated facilities.

Since I grew up in both countries, each side’s expressions have seemed slightly amusing to me. In places in the U.S. where supposedly comic postcards were available – mostly those places catering to tourists – I particularly enjoyed one card picturing the face of an irascible old female with the caption: “RESTROOM? HELL! – I AIN’T TIRED! – WHERE’S THE CAN?” 

But for many travelers on this nation’s highways, the signs indicating a “REST STOP” are always welcome. If they are on government property, they are generally well-maintained, but there may also be restrictions, such as forbidding overnight parking. Our word “restaurant,” has no direct connection with resting, but has more to do with restoring.

In Russian, however, there can be – for non-speakers of that language, such as American tourists – a different kind of mix-up, which is more alphabetical than linguistic. The Russian word for “restaurant” is, in pronunciation, very similar to our own word for the same thing. But in their “Cyrillic” alphabet, (the first thing you must learn when studying that language) the letters, as spelled out, look more like “PECTOPAN.”

The story is told of at least one American tour-group in Moscow, which became so accustomed to this resemblance that, around lunch-time, when they were looking for a place to eat—and they saw a sign bearing the Russian for “RESTAURANT” – would call out excitedly “PECTOPAN!” which had become their word for that kind of establishment.

This matter of different alphabets became spectacularly evident to me when I was on a river cruise, following the Danube from Bucharest for the last part of its course, where it ends by emptying into the Black Sea. In that final section, it completely separates the two countries of Romania and Bulgaria, enabling the passengers to visit both countries. But what I learned in doing so was that the river separates not only two political entities, and even speakers of two different languages, but also two different alphabets. Romania, as indicated by its name, was part of the Roman Empire, and its language shows very much its inclusion with the other “Latin” nations of Western Europe. On the other hand (and other side of the River) the people of Bulgaria were strongly influenced by their proximity to the Russian Empire, including its language, which used the script, or what we call an alphabet, known as “Cyrillic.” (Supposedly devised by a Ninth Century theologian called Saint Cyril of Jerusalem.)

But however you put it, my own comment is, I hope, just as pertinent (or impertinent). As expressed in one of my ten thousand epigrams: 

“I’m writing to tell you I have nothing to say.”