Judging from my experiences, there are two kinds of people in this world: those who want everything to do with the French and those who want nothing to do with them. OK*, perhaps that's a slight oversimplification, but I'm sure you've seen it play out. For centuries, the French have been celebrated as sexy, sophisticated, stylish and classy — all of the things that are inherently "un-American" and inspire dishes like freedom fries and toast.
At the other extreme lie those who find such despicable, un-American traits rather attractive, and, mind you, you can find said person in any upper-level class on campus, be it the professor or the student in the row right in front of him. Said person, whom we'll call "X," will always know the mot juste to drop at every occasion. Whether over hors d'oeuvres at a soiree or a confidential tête-à-tête, X will point out every double entendre alluded to with rolling R's, sans a hint of embarrassment.
It is only logical that most languages borrow words from one another, given that a secondary language oftentimes carries the perfect expression — "le mot juste," as it were — for something you can only begin to hint at in your mother tongue. These words are not cheating devices but legitimate parts of the language called loanwords (a loanword itself from the German "Lehnwort," meaning a word that is translated from one language to another and naturalized into the latter). After all, whom else could we rely on for the German "schadenfreude" or the Modern Hebrew "chutzpah?"
Sometimes, though, when words are traded back and forth, their meanings get a little fudged. Everyone knows that the English word "entrée," for example, originates from the French word with the same spelling. Even the Microsoft Word 2004 Edition knows to place the French "accent aigu" over the penultimate e. But in France, the "entrée" actually refers to the course that precedes the main dish — the American "hors d'oeuvre," another loanword — rather than the main dish itself, "le plat principal."
What's even more curious, however, is the phenomenon of re-borrowing words. And at this point, X would be saddened to find that some of the words he's been using to flaunt his French are only loosely derived from French words, having in fact been integrated into and then changed by the English language before moseying on over back to France.
For examples, X might like to order "le biftek" rather than plain old beefsteak when he goes out to dinner because it sounds French and sophisticated and un-American. But while the English word beef originally comes from the French "boeuf," the French "biftek" is nothing but a directly translated loanword from the English compound word "beefsteak."
Another favorite re-borrowing story of mine is the one behind "tennis." A game of French origin, tennis was originally played with the palm of one's hands rather than with racquets and was called "la paulme," the palm. However, the sport became more recognized for the verbal punches the players would throw at one another, often "tenez," take that! According to one etymological theory, the shouts were misunderstood as "tennis," which gained popularity in non-French languages and was only later adopted by the French to replace "la paume" as the formal name of the game.
Those who prefer Freedom to France probably don't care very much that not all of X's French words are quite as French as he might have thought. But Xs of the world fret not, these words make for a lovely soirée story in and of themselves. And as the French (and B*Witched) wisely put it, "c'est la vie."
*For an explanation, find this column in the Daily from three Wednesdays ago.
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Romy Oltuski is a junior majoring in English. She can be reached at Romy.Oltuski@tufts.edu.
