At this point in my telling, gracious reader, your faithful narrator finds herself in something of a quandary, one that requires some explanation, and for which I ask your forgiveness.
It had been my intent, since the very first moment I was approached by the Weekly Post to write a serial recounting of these dramatic and noteworthy events in my life, to be as forthright in my account as is humanly possible, ensuring that you are presented with only the most veracious and reliable exposition. As a subscriber to the Post, you have come to expect no less of your reading in this esteemed journal, for what possible value can there be in reportage that willfully distorts the truth of the events it claims to describe? Such brazen inaccuracy is both manipulative and malicious, and is below both the high expectations of the Post and the standards you and I surely share.
In some prior instances, I will freely admit to have been less than direct in conveying the specific language of some of the personages who have spoken; for instance, many of the utterances of the rapacious Caddiganites were of a notably more vile and profane nature than the recollections I shared with you. In these instances, my care not to trouble your genteel sensibilities was of clear value and justifiable purpose, for these were but minor players in my tale; further, I have only made such revisions and modifications after explicit consultations with my perspicacious editor.
Diego, however, is another matter. He is and will be among the central players to my story; this, of course, you already know from the Post’s contemporary reportage of the actual events I hereby recount, and Diego remains a familiar name to all who serve the Crown. His manner of speech, however, did not and does not still lend itself easily to repetition in polite company, and is frequently…particularly when he is excised…of such a rough and scandalous nature that it sears the ear.
This is not a factor of a monstrous or evil disposition, as shall come to be apparent; rather, the pungency of Diego’s language and that of his comrades rises from a fundamental cultural distinction between the Peerage and commoners. It is, if I might venture a relevant historical analogue, much the same as the distinct language that coloured the speech of sailors in days of old; they were of tremendous service to Queen and country, and yet their vocabulary was often as salty as the waters they plied.
It is also, I am convinced, an evidence of two other factors: First, a slightly stunted capacity with the use of language, one that rises from a lack of exposure to proper education and the concomitant absence of refinement, and; second, the propensity of individuals who prioritise passion and “authenticity” over the elegance of reason and restraint to assume that peppering one’s discourse with obscenity is somehow a mark that a person is more “real.” This is utterly preposterous, of course, as if a soul is naturally more inclined to reason and restraint, they can only be true to themselves if they express themselves in a refined manner.
With all of this established, the question before both myself and my editors was this: how to represent Diego to our readers. We struggled mightily with this conundrum, and had at first attempted to bowdlerise his speech into a more tame and acceptable idiom. This, however, proved unacceptable to my person, as it rendered many of our conversations either incoherent or inaccurate, and I could not countenance how profoundly they failed to represent the reality of my tale and the character of his relationship with myself.
Ultimately, after my editor and I took the issue before the entire editorial board of the Post, we together determined that the best course of action was the one that you have before you; we would simply obscure the offending text, in the manner of a traditional censor. This allows those of us who understand such words to glean their nature from context, for many of the most exalted Ladies have their own Dark Vocabularies, which rest forever unspoken in society. For those whose sensibilities do not lend themselves to such understanding… here I think of small children, the simple, and Baptists…you have been spared any indignity, and may fill in those blanks with the gentlest words of your own choosing.
Again, dearest reader, please do forgive this necessary excursus, and I pray that our considered choice meets with your approval; let us now return to the telling.
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