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_S.P.E._
_TRACT No. V_
THE ENGLISHING OF FRENCH WORDS
By Brander Matthews
THE DIALECTAL WORDS IN BLUNDEN'S POEMS
etc. by Robert Bridges
_At the Clarendon Press_ MDCCCCXXI
FRENCH WORDS IN THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE
I
The English language is an Inn of Strange Meetings where all sorts and
conditions of words are assembled. Some are of the bluest blood and of
authentic royal descent; and some are children of the gutter not wise
enough to know their own fathers. Some are natives whose ancestors were
rooted in the soil since a day whereof the memory of man runneth not to
the contrary; and some are strangers of outlandish origin, coming to us
from all the shores of all the Seven Seas either to tarry awhile and
then to depart for ever, unwelcome sojourners only, or to settle down
at last and found a family soon asserting equality with the oldest
inhabitants of the vocabulary. Seafaring terms came to us from
Scandinavia and from the Low Countries. Words of warfare on land crossed
the channel, in exchange for words of warfare at sea which migrated from
England to France. Dead tongues, Greek and Latin, have been revived to
replenish our verbal population with the terms needed for the sciences;
and Italy has sent us a host of words by the fine arts.
The stream of immigrants from the French language has been for almost a
thousand years larger than that from any other tongue; and even to-day
it shows little sign of lessening. Of all the strangers within our gates
none are more warmly received than those which come to us from across
the Straits of Dover. None are more swiftly able to make themselves
at home in our dictionaries and to pass themselves off as English.
At least, this was the case until comparatively recently, when the
process of adoption and assimilation became a little slower and more
than a little less satisfactory. Of late French words, even those long
domiciled in our lexicons, have been treated almost as if they were
still aliens, as if they were here on sufferance, so to speak, as if
they had not become members of the commonwealth. They were allowed to
work, no doubt, and sometimes even to be overworked; but they laboured
as foreigners, perhaps even more eagerly employed by the snobbish
because they were foreigners and yet held in disrepute by the more
fastidious because they were not truly English. That is to say, French
words are still as hospitably greeted as ever before, but they are now
often ranked as guests only and not as members of the household.
Perhaps this may seem to some a too fanciful presentation of the case.
Perhaps it would be simpler to say that until comparatively recently a
foreign word taken over into English was made over into an English word,
whereas in the past two or three centuries there has been an evident
tendency to keep it French and to use it freely while retaining its
French pronunciation, its French accents, its French spelling, and its
French plural. This tendency is contrary to the former habits of our
language. It is dangerous to the purity of English. It forces itself
on our attention and it demands serious consideration.
II
In his brief critical biography of Rutebeuf, M. Cledat pointed out that
for long years the only important literature in Europe was the French,
and that the French language had on three several occasions almost
established itself as the language of European civilization--once in the
thirteenth century, again in the seventeenth, and finally when Napoleon
had made himself temporarily master of the Continent. The earlier
universities of Europe were modelled on that of Paris, where Dante had
gone to study. Frederick the Great despised his native tongue, spoke it
imperfectly, and wrote his unnecessary verses in French. Even now French
is only at last losing its status as the accredited tongue of diplomacy.
The French made their language in their own image; and it is therefore
logical, orderly, and clear. Sainte-Beuve declared that a 'philosophical
thought has probably not attained all its sharpness and all its
illumination until it is expressed in French'. As the French are noted
rather for their intelligence than for their imagination, they are the
acknowledged masters of prose; and their achievement in poetry is more
disputable. As they are governed by the social instinct, their language
exhibits the varied refinements of a cultivated society where
conversation is held in honour as one of the arts. The English speech,
like the English-speaking peoples, is bolder, more energetic, more
suggestive, and perhaps less precise. From no language could English
borrow with more profit to itself than from French; and from no language
has it borrowed more abundantly and more persistently. Many of the
English words which we can trace to Latin and through Latin to Greek,
came to us, not direct from Rome and Athens, but indirectly from Paris.
And native French words attain international acceptance almost as easily
as do scientific compounds from Greek and Latin. _Phonograph_ and
_telephone_ were not more swiftly taken up than _chassis_ and _garage_.
But _chassis_ and _garage_ still retain their French pronunciation, or
perhaps it would be better to say they still receive a pronunciation
which is as close an approximation to that of the French as our
unpractised tongues can compass. And in thus taking over these French
words while striving to preserve their Frenchiness, we are neglectful
of our duty, we are imperilling the purity of our own language, and we
are deserting the wholesome tradition of English--the tradition which
empowered us to take at our convenience but to refashion what we had
taken to suit our own linguistic habits.
'Speaking in general terms,' Mr. Pearsall Smith writes, in his outline
history of the English language, 'we may say that down to about 1650 the
French words that were borrowed were thoroughly naturalized in English,
and were made sooner or later to conform to the rules of English
pronunciation and accent; while in the later borrowings (unless they
have become very popular) an attempt is made to pronounce them in the
French fashion.' From Mr. Smith's pages it would be easy to select
examples of the complete assimilation which was attained centuries ago.
_Caitiff, canker_, and _carrion_ came to us from the Norman dialect of
French; and from their present appearance no one but a linguistic expert
would suspect their exotic ancestry, _Jury, larceny, lease, embezzle,
distress,_ and _improve_ have descended from the jargon of the lawyers
who went on thinking in French after they were supposed to be speaking
and writing in English. Of equal historical significance are the two
series of words which English acquired from the military vocabulary
of the French,--the first containing _company, regiment, battalion,
brigade, division_, and _army_; and the second consisting of _marshal,
general, colonel, major, captain, lieutenant, sergeant_, and _corporal_.
(Here I claim the privilege of a parenthesis to remark that in Great
Britain _lieutenant_ is generally pronounced _leftenant_, than which no
anglicization could be more complete, whereas in the United States this
officer is called the _lootenant_, which the privates of the American
Expeditionary Force in France habitually shortened to '_loot_'--except,
of course, when they were actually addressing this superior. It may be
useful to note, moreover, that while 'colonel' has chosen the spelling
of one French form, it has acquired the pronunciation of another.)
Dr. Henry Bradley in the _Making of English_ provides further evidence
of the aforetime primacy of the French in the military art. '_War_
itself is a Norman-French word, and among the other French words
belonging to the same department which became English before the end of
the thirteenth century' are _armour, assault, banner, battle, fortress,
lance, siege, standard_, and _tower_--all of them made citizens of our
vocabulary, after having renounced their allegiance to their native
land. Another quotation from Dr. Bradley imposes itself. He tells us
that the English writers of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries felt
themselves at liberty to introduce a French word whenever they pleased.
'The innumerable words brought into the language in this way are
naturally of the most varied character with regard to meaning. Many of
them, which supplied no permanent need of the language, have long been
obsolete.'
This second sentence may well give us heart of hope considering the
horde of French terms which invaded our tongue in the long years of the
Great War. If _camion_ and _avion, vrille_ and _escadrille_ supply no
permanent need of the language they may soon become obsolete, just as
_mitrailleuse_ and _franc-tireur_ slipped out of sight soon after the
end of the Franco-Prussian war of fifty years ago. A French modification
of the American 'gatling' was by them called a _mitrailleuse_;
and nowadays we have settled down to the use of _machine-gun_.
A _franc-tireur_ was an irregular volunteer often incompletely
uniformed; and when he was captured the Prussians shot him as a
guerrilla. It will be a welcome relief if _camouflage_, as popular five
years ago as _fin-de-siecle_ twenty-five years ago, shall follow that
now unfashionable vocable into what an American president once described
as 'innocuous desuetude'. Perhaps we may liken _mitrailleuse_ and
_franc-tireur, vrille_ and _escadrille, brisance_ and _rafale_, to the
foreign labourers who cross the frontier to aid in the harvest and who
return to their own country when the demand for their service is over.
III
The principle which ought to govern can be stated simply. English
should be at liberty to help itself freely to every foreign word which
seems to fill a want in our own language. It ought to take these words
on probation, so to speak, keeping those which prove themselves useful,
and casting out those which are idle or rebellious. And then those which
are retained ought to become completely English, in pronunciation, in
accent, in spelling, and in the formation of their plurals. No doubt
this is to-day a counsel of perfection; but it indicates the goal which
should be strived for. It is what English was capable of accomplishing
prior to the middle of the seventeenth century. It is what English may
be able to accomplish in the middle of the twentieth century, if we once
awaken to the danger of contaminating our speech with unassimilated
words, and to the disgrace, which our stupidity or laziness must bring
upon us, of addressing the world in a pudding-stone and piebald
language. Dr. Bradley has warned us that 'the pedantry that would bid
us reject the word fittest for our purpose because it is not of native
origin ought to be strenuously resisted'; and I am sure that he would
advocate an equally strenuous resistance to the pedantry which would
impose upon us words of alien tongue still clad in foreign uniform.
Mark Twain once remarked that 'everybody talks about the weather and
nobody does anything about it'. And many people think that we might as
well hope to direct the course of the winds as to order the evolution
of our speech. Some words have proved intractable. In the course of the
past two centuries and a half, scores and even hundreds of French words
have domiciled themselves in English without relinquishing their French
characteristics. Consider the sad case of _elite_ (which Byron used a
hundred years ago), of _encore_ (which Steele used two hundred years
ago) of _parvenu_ (which Gifford used in 1802), of _ennui_ (which
Evelyn used in 1667), and of _nuance_ (which Walpole used in 1781).
No one hesitates to accept these words and to employ them frequently.
_Ennui_ and _nuance_ are two words which cannot well be spared, but
which we are unable to reproduce in our native vocalization. Their
French pronunciation is out of the question. What can be done? Can
anything be done? We may at least look the facts in the face and govern
our own individual conduct by the results of this scrutiny. There is no
reason why we should not accept what is a fact; and it is a fact that
_ennui_ has been adopted. So long ago as 1805 Sidney Smith used it as a
verb and said that he had been _ennuied_. Why not therefore frankly and
boldly pronounce it as English--_ennwee_? Why not forswear French again
and pronounce _nuance_ without trying vainly to preserve the Gallic
nasality of the second n--_newance_? And as for a third necessary word,
_timbre_. I can only register here my complete concurrence with the
opinion expressed in Tract No. 3 of the Society for Pure English--that
the 'English form of the French sound of the word would be approximately
_tamber_; and this would be not only a good English-sounding word, like
_amber_ and _chamber_, but would be like our _tambour_, which is
_tympanum_, which again is _timbre_'.
Why should not _seance_ (which was used by Charles Lamb in 1803)
drop its French accent and take an English pronunciation--_see-ance_?
Why should not _garage_ and _barrage_ rhyme easily with _marriage_?
_Marriage_ itself came to us from the French; and it sets a good example
to these two latest importations. Logic would suggest this, of course;
but then logic does not always guide our linguistic practices. And here,
again, I am glad to accept another suggestion which I find in Tract No.
3, that _naivety_ be recognized and pronounced as an English word, and
that 'a useful word like _malaise_ could with advantage reassume the
old form "malease" which it once possessed'.
I have asked why these thoroughly acclimated French words should not
be made to wear our English livery; and to this question Dr. Bradley
supplied an answer when he declared that 'culture is one of the
influences which retard the process of simplification'. A man of culture
is likely to be familiar with one or more foreign languages; and perhaps
he may be a little vain of his intimacy with them. He prefers to give
the proper French pronunciation to the words which he recognizes as
French; and moreover as the possession of culture, or even of education,
does not imply any knowledge of the history of English or of the
principles which govern its growth, the men of culture are often
inclined to pride themselves on this pedantic procedure.
It is, perhaps, because the men of culture in the United States are
fewer in proportion to the population that American usage is a little
more encouraging than the British. Just as we Americans have kept alive
not a few old words which have been allowed to drop out of the later
vocabulary of the United Kingdom, so we have kept alive--at least to a
certain extent--the power of complete assimilation. _Restaurant_, for
example, is generally pronounced as though its second syllable rhymed
with 'law', and its third with 'pant'. _Trait_ is pronounced in
accordance with its English spelling, and therefore very few Americans
have ever discovered the pun in the title of Dr. Doran's book, 'Table
Traits, and something on them'. I think that most Americans rhyme
_distrait_ to 'straight' and not to 'stray'. _Annexe_ has become
_annex_; _programme_ has become _program_--although the longer form
is still occasionally seen; and sometimes _coterie_ and _reverie_ are
'cotery' and 'revery'--in accord with the principle which long ago
simplified _phantasie_ to _fantasy_. _Charade_ like _marmalade_ rhymes
with _made_. _Brusk_ seems to be supplanting _brusque_ as _risky_ is
supplanting _risque_. _Elite_ is spelt without the accent; and it is
frequently pronounced _ell-leet_. _Cloture_ is rarely to be discovered
in American newspapers; _closure_ is not uncommon; but the term commonly
employed is the purely English 'previous question'.
In the final quarter of the nineteenth century an American adaptation of
a French comic opera, 'La Mascotte', was for two or three seasons very
popular. The heroine of its story was believed to have the gift of
bringing luck. So it is that Americans now call any animal which has
been adopted by a racing crew or by an athletic team (or even by a
regiment) a _mascot_; and probably not one in ten thousand of those who
use the word have any knowledge of its French origin, or any suspicion
that it was transformed from the title of a musical play.
I regret, however, to be forced to confess that I have lately been
shocked by a piece of petty pedantry which seems to show that we
Americans are falling from grace--at least so far as one word is
concerned. Probably because many of our architects and decorators have
studied in Paris there is a pernicious tendency to call a 'grill' a
_grille_. And I have seen with my own eyes, painted on a door in an
hotel _grille_-room; surely the ultimate abomination of verbal
desolation!
I may, however, record to our credit one righteous act--the perfect
and satisfactory anglicizing of a Spanish word, whereby we have made
'canyon' out of _canon_. And I cannot forbear to adduce another word for
a fish soup, _chowder_, which the early settlers derived from the French
name of the pot in which it was cooked, _chaudiere_.[1]
[Footnote 1: No doubt all these variations of American from British
usage will be duly discussed in Professor George Philip Krapp's
forthcoming _History of the English Language in America_.]
IV
As the military vocabulary of English is testimony to the former
leadership of the French in the art of war, so the vocabulary of fashion
and of gastronomy is evidence of the cosmopolitan primacy of French
millinery and French cookery. But most of the military terms were
absorbed before the middle of the seventeenth century and were therefore
assimilated, whereas the terms of the French dressmaker and of the
French cook, chef, or _cordon bleu_, are being for ever multiplied in
France and are very rarely being naturalized in English-speaking lands.
So far as these two sets of words are concerned the case is probably
hopeless, because, if for no other reason, they are more or less in the
domain of the gentler sex and we all know that
'A woman, convinced against her will,
Is of the same opinion still.'
The terms of the motor-car, however, and those of the airplane, are in
the control of men; and there may be still a chance of bringing about a
better state of affairs than now exists. While the war correspondents
were actually in France, and while they were often forced to write at
topmost speed, there was excuse for _avion_ and _camion, vrille_ and
_escadrille_, and all the other French words which bespattered the
columns of British and American, Canadian and Australian newspapers.
I doubt if there was ever any necessity for _hangar_, the shed which
sheltered the airplane or the airship. _Hangar_ is simply the French
word for 'shed', no more and no less; it does not indicate specifically
a shed for a flying-machine; and as we already had 'shed' we need not
take over _hangar_.
When we turn from the gas-engine on wings to the gas-engine on wheels,
we find a heterogeny of words in use which bear witness to the fact that
the French were the first to develop the motor-car, and also to the
earlier fact that they had long been renowned for their taste and their
skill as coach-builders. As the terminology of the railway in England
is derived in part from that of the earlier stage-coach--in the United
States, I may interject, it was derived in part from that of the earlier
river-steamboat--so the terminology of the motor-car in France was
derived in part from that of the pleasure-carriage. So we have the
_landaulet_ and _limousine_ to designate different types of body.
I think _landaulet_ had already acquired an English pronunciation; at
least I infer this because I cannot now recall that I ever heard it fall
from the lips of an English-speaking person with its original French
pronunciation of the nasal _n_. And _limousine_, being without accent
and without nasal _n_ can be trusted to take care of itself.
There are other technical terms of the motor-car industry which present
more difficult problems. _Tonneau_ is not troublesome, even if its
spelling is awkward. There is _chauffeur_ first of all; and I wish that
it might generally acquire the local pronunciation it is said to have in
Norfolk--_shover_. Then there is _chassis_. Is this the exact equivalent
of 'running gear'? Is there any available substitute for the French
word? And if _chassis_ is to impose itself from sheer necessity what
is to be done with it? Our forefathers boldly cut down _chaise_ to
'shay'--at least my forefathers did it in New England, long before
Oliver Wendell Holmes commemorated their victory over the alien in the
'Deacon's Masterpiece', more popularly known as the 'One Horse Shay'.
And the men of old were even bolder when they curtailed _cabriolet_ to
'cab', just as their children have more recently and with equal courage
shortened 'taximeter vehicle' to 'taxi', and 'automobile' itself to
'auto'. Unfortunately it is not possible to cut the tail off _chassis_,
or even to cut the head off, as the men of old did with 'wig',
originally 'periwig', which was itself only a daring and summary
anglicization of _peruke_.
Due to the fact that the drama has been more continuously alive in the
literature of France than in that of any other country, and due also,
it may be, to the associated fact that the French have been more loyally
devoted to the theatre than any other people, the vocabulary of the
English-speaking stage has probably more unassimilated French words than
we can discover in the vocabulary of any of our other activities. We are
none of us surprised when we find in our newspaper criticisms _artiste,
ballet, conservatoire, comedienne, costumier, danseuse, debut,
denoument, diseuse, encore, ingenue, mise-en-scene, perruquier,
pianiste, premiere, repertoire, revue, role, tragedienne_--the catalogue
stretches out to the crack of doom.
Long as the list is, the words on it demand discussion. As to _role_ I
need say nothing since it has been considered carefully in Tract No. 3;
I may merely mention that it appeared in English at least as early as
1606, so that it has had three centuries to make itself at home in our
tongue. _Conservatoire_ and _repertoire_ have seemingly driven out the
English words, which were long ago made out of them, 'conservatory'
and 'repertory'. What is the accepted pronunciation of _ballet_? Is it
_bal-lett_ or _ballay_ or _bally_? (If it is _bally_, it has a recently
invented cockney homophone.) For _costumier_ and _perruquier_ I can see
no excuse whatever; although I have observed them frequently on London
play-bills, I am delighted to be able to say that they do not disgrace
the New York programmes, which mention the 'costumer' and the
'wigmaker'. 'Encore' was used by Steele in 1712; it was early made into
an English verb; and yet I have heard the verb pronounced with the nasal
_n_ of the original French. Here is another instance of English taking
over a French word and giving it a meaning not acceptable in Paris,
where the playgoers do not _encore_, they _bis_.
Why should we call a nondescript medley of dialogue and dance and
song a _revue_, when _revue_ in French is the exact equivalent of
'review' in English? Why should we call an actress of comic characters
a _comedienne_ and an actress of tragic characters a _tragedienne_,
when we do not call a comic actor a _comedien_ or a tragic actor a
_tragedien_? Possibly it is because 'comedian' and 'tragedian' seem
to be too exclusively masculine--so that a want is felt for words to
indicate a female tragedian and a female comedian. Probably it is for
the same reason that a male dancer is not termed a _danseur_ while
a female dancer is termed a _danseuse_. Then there is _diseuse_,
apparently reserved for the lady who recites verse, no name being
needed apparently for the gentleman who recites verse--at least, I am
reasonably certain that I have never seen _diseur_ applied to any male
reciter.
_Mise-en-scene_ is another of the French terms which has suffered a
Channel-change. In Paris it means the arrangement of the stage-business,
whereas in London and in New York it is employed rather to indicate the
elaboration of the scenery and of the spectacular accessories. An even
more extraordinary misadventure has befallen _pianiste_, in that it is
sometimes used as if it was to be applied only to a female performer.
And this blunder is of long standing; but I remember as lately as forty
years ago seeing an American advertisement of Teresa Carreno which
proclaimed her to be 'the greatest living _lady_ pianiste'. I have
also detected evidences of a startling belief of the illiterate that
_artiste_ is the feminine of 'artist'. Nevertheless I found recently in
a volume caricaturing the chief performers of the London music-halls a
foot-note which explained that these celebrities were therein entitled
_artistes_--because 'an artist creates, an _artiste_ performs'.
Still to be analysed are _premiere_ for 'first performance' or 'opening
night' and _debut_ for 'first appearance'; and I fear that it is beyond
expectation that these alien words will speedily drop their alien
accents and their alien pronunciations. The same must be said also of
_denoument_ and of _ingenue_--French words which really fill a gap in
our vocabulary and which are none the less abhorrent to our speech
habits. The most that is likely to happen is that they may shed their
accents and more or less approximate an English pronunciation,
_dee-noo-meant_, perhaps, and _inn-je-new_, an approximation which will
be sternly resisted by the literate. I well remember one occasion when I
overheard scorn poured upon a charming American actress who had happened
to mention the date of her own _deb-you_ in New York.