Giving a fig

The man who is ostentatious of his modesty is twin to the statue that wears a fig-leaf.

Mark Twain

Figs, to most British people, are rarely encountered except in a packet of fig rolls. They occasionally make an appearance at Christmas time, when they materialise after Christmas dinner along with dates, nuts and expressions of mistrust, or else through importunate carol singers demanding ‘bring us a figgy pudding’ when they belt out ‘We wish you a Merry Christmas’. However, figs have a long and impressive pedigree. The common fig is believed to be one of the first plants that was cultivated by humans. Fossilised figs found in a Stone Age settlement in the Lower Jordan Valley have been dated back to over 11,000 years ago – preceding cereal domestication by around 1,000 years. Fig leaves were also sewn together to cover the modesty of Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden, so must have a strong claim to be the first clothes worn by humans. With such a venerable past, you might have thought that the fig would be accorded a commensurate level of respect, rather than the denigration and smut that it’s my sorry duty to relate, with unbecoming relish, in this rather orificial offering.

Old English took fic ‘fig, fig-tree’ from Vulgar Latin *fica ‘fig’ and then reborrowed the word as fig from French figue in the medieval period. Vulgar Latin *fica is derived from Latin ficus ‘fig-tree’, which is thought to be a descendant of a Semitic source, possibly Phoenician 𐤐𐤂  (pagh) ‘half-ripe fig’ or Classical Hebrew פַּגָּה‎ (paggā) ‘early fallen fig’. Another Semitic root, possibly Hebrew שִׁקְמָה‎ (šiqmā) ‘sycamore fig’ was borrowed by Greek as σῦκον (sukon) ‘fig’, from which the compound form σῡκοφᾰ́ντης (sukophantes) < σῦκον (sukon) ‘fig’ + φαίνω (phainō) ‘show’ was derived. A person who ‘showed the fig’ was therefore a sycophant, initially ‘informer, talebearer’, and later ‘spreader of malicious gossip’, but also ‘lickspittle, servile flatterer’, its most common sense today. The supposed link is that sycophants, by making defamatory accusations, insulted the slandered third party in a manner comparable to making the fig sign or showing the fig. It is thought that politicians in Ancient Greece would encourage their devoted followers to taunt their opponents by making this vulgar gesture.  Showing the fig involves sticking the thumb between two closed fingers (or into the mouth, a variation used by Shakespeare in the opening scene of Romeo and Juliet where retainers of the Capulet household ‘bite the thumb’ at their Montague counterparts), to resemble a fig, which itself symbolises a vulva. In fact, σῦκον and Italian fica both mean ‘vagina’ as well as ‘fig’, apparently because of the appearance of a ripe fig when split in two. Showing the fig is still commonly used as an insult, especially in Mediterranean and Slavic countries, though it was also used to ward off the evil eye or malevolent spirits of the dead in the past. French faire la figue and Spanish dar la higa ‘give the fig’ are both still used to mean ‘make an obscene gesture, insult someone’, an early variant of flipping the bird or giving someone the finger.

Being shown the fig may be particularly offensive to the people of Milan, due to the fig’s prominent, though unsavoury, role in a degrading episode they were forced to endure after getting on the wrong side of the Holy Roman Emperor (1155-1190), Frederick Barbarossa. Barbarossa had subdued Milan in 1158 when it revolted against imperial authority, and his wife, the Empress Beatrice, remained there when Barbarossa turned his attention to other riotous northern Italian cities. However, Beatrice was treated with great disrespect by the Milanese, who forced her to sit backwards on a mule and then drove her out of the city. Barbarossa returned and laid siege to Milan in 1162, determined to avenge this insult and to put down the rebellious city once and for all. When Milan was overwhelmed by Frederick’s army, he gave its male citizens a stark choice: you can be beheaded, or you can receive the Emperor’s mercy by taking a fig out of the anus of a mule using only your teeth. Those opting for the latter would need to remove the fig and show it to the executioner while announcing ‘ecco la fica’ (‘here is the fig’), with the fig still in their mouth. The executioner would then direct them to reinsert the fig in the anus of the mule, again using only their teeth, ready for the next victim’s ritual humiliation. A few Milanese refused to suffer this debasement and were duly beheaded, but the majority succumbed – only to be mocked by citizens of other cities, who would make the sign of the fig at them for centuries afterwards.

Shakespeare, no shrinking violet, also uses fig as a verb in Henry IV, Part 2, when Pistol insists that he is telling the truth about Henry IV’s death and that if he is found to be lying, his listeners should ‘fig me, like the bragging Spaniard’. He then proceeds to make the fig sign. The contemptuous phrase a fig for … , as in a fig for your opinion used to belittle something or say it is without value – not worth a fig – combines the vulgar origins of showing the fig with the euphemistic replacement of fuck with fig. This is even more evident in the minced oath I don’t give a fig, of course. The verb fig away was also used in the 16th and 17th centuries, when an effective way of disposing with your enemies was to give them what was known as a Spanish fig or Italian fig (it was foreign, so was to be regarded with suspicion – how times have changed in our Brexit wonderland!). The fig in question would be liberally dosed with poison and offered to the unsuspecting party. Bishop William Barlow, one of the highest-ranking Anglican clergymen in the turbulent reign of James I, was a dedicated advocate of figging away Catholics. He openly recommends the practice in his 1609 volume An answer to a Catholike English-man, which seems a bit underhand for a man who was Bishop of Lincoln and had been one of the eminent contributors to the translation of the Authorised Version of the Bible.

I’m starting to feel a bit sorry for the poor old fig now. According to Asser, the biographer of Alfred the Great, the king suffered terribly from haemorrhoids, which were known as ficus, seemingly because they resemble figs in shape. Asser states that Alfred ‘contracted the disease of piles through God's gift; struggling with this long and bitterly through many years, he would despair even of life’. Apparently, Alfred saw his ficus as a divine reward which helped to curb his carnal desire. Call me curmudgeonly, but I’ve received better presents. In the same, er, ballpark, syrup of figs has been used as an effective laxative since its invention in 1879, which has undoubtably been a bonus to those suffering from constipation, but again is not going to provide figs with the most glamorous of images. Other negative fig associations include another use of fig as a verb from the 16th and 17th centuries, when it meant ‘pick pockets’ in criminal slang, fig-leaf defence for flimsy excuses and wafer-thin alibis, and the term moldy fig, used most frequently in American English (hence mouldy loses its u). A moldy fig was originally a term given to those adherents of the oldest styles of jazz and blues who rejected the later bebop style. These traditionalists were seen as old-fashioned and staid, and the term has since been applied to anyone with very conservative or anachronistic views – it might not be unreasonable to call Jacob Rees-Mogg a mouldy fig, for example.

The fig does have some more positive associations, however. It gains redemption in the personage of Luis Figo, literally ‘Luis Fig’. One of the greatest ever footballers to grace a football pitch, Figo played 127 times for Portugal, and won multiple league titles with Barcelona, Real Madrid and Inter Milan, as well as the Champions League in 2002. Furthermore, the Portuguese city of Figueira da Foz ‘fig-tree at the place of discharge’ (in this case, the point where the River Mandego meets the Atlantic Ocean), is a truly lovely little city. It is named after a fig-tree which was located by the fishermen’s quay. Most importantly, the fig remains a very tasty and nutritious fruit, in spite of its bad rep. The fig figures unfigettably in some classic dishes: Parma ham and figs, ricotta with honeyed figs and Moroccan tagines are all delicious and something we can all really give a fig about.