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Amuse-Bouche -- Explaining French to Americans

a sporadic column on the perils of learning French

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Saturday, January 1, 2011

Amuse-Bouche No. 30, but who’s counting? Numéros, nombres, et chiffres


by Julia Frey
julia.frey@aya.yale.edu

Un chiffre can also be a secret code.

Last night we spent la fête de Saint-Sylvestre (New Year’s Eve) with Michel in the country, and today, le jour de l’an (New Year’s Day), on a fait la grasse matinée (literally, everyone made a fat morning, i.e. slept late). One of the joys of gathering together over le brunch is discussing the night before, and teasing Michel, who, for mysterious reasons, insisted on dragging every girl in the room over to inspect “le gui l'an neuf” (the New Year’s mistletoe).  

01/01 (le 1er janvier) is a new beginning -- a good time for deciding what counts, and how to count it.  OK my strong suit isn’t les maths, but I know the difference between numéro, as in “That was quite a numéro you did last night, Michel,” nombre  as in “you drank un certain nombre (some, i.e. a large number) de verres, but who’s counting? (mais n'entrons pas dans les détails" or "à ce stade là, on ne compte plus),”and chiffre, as in “when you’re drunk you’re un zéro en chiffre (synonyme:  nul -- a real loser).” 

Un chiffre (figure, digit) is a number between 0 and 9 en chiffres arabes  (Arab numerals). XXX is an example of un chiffre romain, except when I sign a letter  “XXX, Julia.” Un chiffre has no value, it’s just a symbol, like a letter in the alphabet, unless it’s a chiffre (sum, total) calculated, say, by un homme-chiffre(numbers-cruncher) when preparing the mysterious chiffre d’affaires (sales figures) of a business. A monogram is also called un chiffre, because it’s usually complicated and hard to read, like un chiffre(cipher, encryption code) used by spies -- and by you, to unlock your cell phone. Which you’ll need, if you forget the code secret that gets you into a friend’s apartment building in Paris. 

 A chiffre becomes un nombre (number) when it takes on a meaning, just the way la lettre A becomes un mot in “il a”  (he has) or “A+” -- short for “à plus tard” (see you later). Un nombre describes a quantity, as in nombre atomique. It has a physical, or at least a mathematical sense, even when you don’t know exactly what it adds up to, as in un nombre incalculable d'étoiles, source of the metaphor un chiffre astronomique. If the quantity increases, you accumulate chiffres. Paradoxically, trente-six  (36) is considered a very large number of things. So if you get hit on the head, you see trente-six chandelles(candles, i.e. stars) which one hopes only happens tous les 36 du mois (never).

A similar impossibility, la semaine aux quatre jeudis (the week with 4 Thursdays) began as un voeu pieux (wishful thinking) because formerly on Thursday, French schools were closed. But if something happens "tous les 4 matins," it can be expected at frequent intervals.  Ordinarily, 4 is a small number. The French title of Bertolt Brecht’s The Three-penny Opera is L'Opéra de quat'sous. And if it plays to a nearly empty theatre, it attracts an audience of quatre pelés et un tondu” (four baldies and a skinhead).

numéro is different -- it’s a name made out of chiffres, usually to represent a position in a series. Its meaning is not related to quantity; it just identifies something, like un numéro de téléphone or un numéro de plaque (license plate). Though un numéro de vaudeville originally reflected the order of skits presented onstage, it has evolved into the expression faire un numéro (to put on an act), thus: “elle lui a fait son numéro de la cover-girl irrésistible.”  

Even numéros made out of chiffres can get confusing. “J'habite au numéro 12 bis (literally “number 12, a second time”) sounds like double talk to an unsuspecting étranger. Everybody knows that No. 12represents the twelfth house on the street. But who knew that No. 12 bis is an address added next door to No. 12, after the street was officially numbered? Consequently No. 12 ter -- “number 12, a third time” (if any) is the house later built next door to 12 bis.  

French literary snobs use bis in the Latin aphorism, “bis repetita placent”  (things repeated are pleasing), leading us to the verb bisser -- yelling “Bis !  Bis !” (Encore! Encore!) at the end of a concert. I have to admit I’ve never actually heard an audience say that. When French audiences like a performance, they clap rhythmically,  causing prickly confusion (embarrassment) for any Americans present. In the U.S., slow-clapping is an insult. We only do that if we hate the show.

But back to the word neuf (nine, new), as in l’an neuf, which can prêter à confusion (be misleading). Le pont Neuf  for example, is not the newest bridge in Paris --  that’s la passerelle Simone de Beauvoir, a footbridge completed in 2006. It’s not the ninth bridge either. Depending on whether you count Paris’s 37 bridges beginning upstream or downstream, le pont Neuf is either No. 12  or No. 17. In fact, although it has recently been restored, le pont Neuf is, en chiffres ronds, 400 years old -- the oldest bridge in town. It was named when they began building it in 1567. Apparently they still considered it new when they finished it, 36 years later, in 1603. 

Bonne année !

© Julia Frey 2011

Thursday, December 30, 2010

Amuse-Bouche No. 29: Striking differences- Il y a grève dans le RER, et manif chez Chanel


by Julia Frey
julia.frey@aya.yale.edu

Il y a grève dans le RER, et manif chez Chanel

Il y a grève (there’s a strike). Encore ! (Again!) C’est la énième fois ! (It’s the nth time! ) In Marseille, garbage hasn’t been picked up for days; in Paris the RER (Réseau Express Régional d'Île-de-France: suburban train system) is on service minimum, and worse, the petroleum industry has called a rupture de stock (delivery stoppage), causing a pénurie d’essence(gasoline shortage). C’est la galère (literally, the galleys, where people are enslaved to hard labor⎯i.e., it’s pure hell). Huge, unruly lines wait for hours outside the stations service (gas stations). Fights break out. For certains (some people), essence feels essential.

La nation is paralyzed. This isn’t even une grève générale (a general strike). It’s a grève partielle,sometimes called une grève bouchon (logjam), where key industries partially close down, provoking just enough disruption to drive the population générale around the bend. We, for example, were supposed to take the TGV (train à grande vitesse: fast train) to Paris this weekend. Manque de pot(tough luck⎯as in losing the pot in poker). Nous sommes coincés (we’re stuck). You can no longer get there from here. The verb coincer is also used when you pinch your finger in a door, or when theflics (police) close their dragnet on a crook; if you feel coincé/e, you’re uptight.

But back to la grève. Historically, the noun la grève means shore or beach. In Paris, the square in front of l’Hôtel de Ville, at the edge of the Seine, was originally a wide beach called La Place de Grève, created by silt washed up from the river. It held un gibet (gallows) and un pilori (stocks), popularly known as une justice et une échelle (ladder). These were used for public entertainment⎯like decapitations, hangings, the rack, etc. Life’s a beach.

Etymology, though, is a slippery slope. Apparently faire grève took on its current meaning during the Industrial Revolution when travailleurs quit work and went into the streets (or marched to La Place de Grève) to insist on a raise. Before that, faire grève meant the opposite: to be out in the street looking for a job.

Curiously, although there’s abundant legislation in France to determine when it’s legal to strike, the law contains no official definition of une grève. My dictionary says it’s a prolonged collective work stoppage used as a means to acquire professional, economic or moral benefits. This last concept⎯striking for a moral cause⎯is virtually unknown in the United States. But in France, la grève politique, pressuring the government to correct perceived social inequities, is very common. And a lot of the time it works.

Many Americans don’t get this principle. When people in the US go on strike, it’s labor against owners, which was the case in the 2009 French strike of the Chanel fashion industry employees. But in 1981, when there was a national air-traffic controllers strike in the United States, then-President Ronald Reagan fired anyone who wasn't back at work within 48 hours. After that, air-traffic controllers, if they were lucky, could just about get a job at the dime store. In France, on the other hand, millions nationwide march in des manifs (demonstrations) to protest raising the minimum retirement age from 60 to 62. (Paradoxically, before President François Mitterrand lowered it to age 60 in 1982, French retirement age was 65.) And in the United States a year later, when full retirement age was raised from 65 to 67, nobody went on strike! It wasn’t that Americans liked it. They were just emberlificotés (bamboozled). If you weren’t an employee of the Social Security Administration, how could you go on strike against it? In France and plenty of other countries, this is a minor detail. If enough people don’t like something, nobody goes to work at all; you just close down the country.

France has a creative range of strike possibilities: A grève perlée (literally, like a string of beads) is a work slowdown, considered illegal. In une grève du zèle, each employee zealously follows all work orders to the letter, producing the same effect but within legal bounds. So as to spread the effort, sectors sometimes organize une grève tournante, in which different groups take turns stopping work, one at a time. Alternatively, in une grève ponctuelle all work stops briefly at specific times⎯as when, say, in une grève de solidarité, (also illegal), the contrôleurs aériens (air traffic controllers) stop work for five minutes an hour, closing down all the airports. Similar results are achieved withune grève sur le tas (on location), also known as des bras croisés (with folded arms). Employees are physically present, but don’t do anything. Sometimes, in labor disputes, businesses organize their own kind of illegal strike⎯un lock-out (verb: lock-outer). They collectively lock shops and quit paying their employees.

But back to the grève des retraites (retirement pensions) that recently provided such great photo ops for the TV. Students marching next to their striking teachers. Violent adolescent casseurs (rioters: from casser, to break) busting shop windows and burning cars. And everywhere the walking masses, chanting and carrying banderoles (banners) with slogans of wonderful verbal richness. One announces “LA RETRAITE AVANT L’ARTHRITE” (retirement before arthritis). Another, playing on the familiar expression “métro, boulot, dodo” (subway, workday, hit the hay⎯i.e., the monotony of everyday life), changes it to “METRO BOULOT CAVEAU” (cemetery vault). Another reads “ BOUCLIER POUR LES UNS, BOUCLEZ-LA POUR LES AUTRES” (for some, shields from tax / for the rest, shut your traps).

A little obscenity always serves to pimenter (spice up) a manif. One banderole refers to current president Nicolas Sarkozy’s wife: “CARLA, ON EST COMME TOI, ON S’EST FAIT NIQUER PAR LE CHEF D’ETAT” (Carla, we’re like you, we’ve been screwed by the head of state). The chants are good too: “Pour ceux d’en haut, des couilles en or, pour ceux d’en bas, des nouilles encore” . This contrepèterie (spoonerism) translates approximately “those on top have golden cojones, the lower classes live on macaroni.”

Still, I’m taken aback when on the evening news, a little gray-haired lady who has been waiting an hour and a half to gas up her car announces, “Ils nous font chier!” (literally, “they [the strikers] are making us crap.”) Now MY mother wouldn’t be caught dead using the English equivalent ("pissing us off", or "fucking us up")⎯at least not on national TV. Can "faire chier" be used in normal conversation? I check with Gérard. His reply is swift and unambiguous. Only if you’re an ado’(teenager). A polite alternative would be faire suer (making us sweat), because suer conveniently sounds a little like chier, but smells better. The vieille dame indigne (undignified elderly lady) must have been very indignée (indignant, upset).

© Julia Frey 2010

Wednesday, November 3, 2010

Amuse-Bouche No. 28: Couples Troubles


by Julia Frey
julia.frey@aya.yale.edu

Amuse-Bouche No. 28: Couples Troubles -- Bilingual love can be murky ...


Chantal, une ado (adolescent) who speaks excellent English with virtually no accent, is just back from two weeks as a paying guest with an English family who promised une immersion totale in English living. She got more than she paid for. She’s fallen madly in love with her hosts’ teenage son! Proud of her linguistic skills, Chantal now uses them to decipher daily love letters from Archibald, sent by mél (also written mail, synonyms: courriel, e-mail. But not émail, which means enamel.)

Unfortunately, Chantal is about to be unappy in love. Like many teen-agers, she is a little fainéante(or more vulgarly, feignante: do-nothing, or lazy), so she only looks up the words she thinks she doesn’t know. If the English word looks like the French one, she assumes it means the same as well. Since about 70 percent of words in the two languages are similar or identical, she’s got a fair chance of guessing right. But this can be tricky. There are at least a thousand words which seem identical in our two languages, but actually (not actuellement, but réellement or more colloqually,en fait) they are what we all call “faux amis” (false cognates). In fact it’s the nearly bilingual who make the worst faux pas (false steps) because people assume they mean what they say — and understand what has been said to them.

Rank beginners are usually pardoned their innocent vocabulary errors. The Américaine who likes French food so much she frets that she’s becoming fate just gets a knowing smile for worrying that she’s “conceited” and draws a slightly broader grin if she announces after a big dinner that she’spleine (drunk, or alternatively, pregnant, if you’re an animal), when she means “full.” For that, she should have said “j’ai bien mangé.” A novice is even forgiven for saying she has la morale basse(low moral character) instead of le moral bas (low morale or spirits).

Chantal’s moral is dans les chaussettes (down in her socks) when she shows me the print-out of Archibald’s latest. Regarde ! (Look!) In English, the expressions she has underlined are adoringly flowery. Archibald obviously has been at the thesaurus again. Little does he suspect that the same words in French make his declarations seem downright injurieux (insulting).

Archie wrote:

For me your visit was not just some risqué affair. I was being candid when I said I love you. My life has been altered by meeting you. The very thought of you intoxicates me. Myaffection grows day by day. I am going to dispose of my relationships with girls I knew before I met you, as evidence of my firm defiance of chauvinist conventions.

Ah, Chantal, you’re so versatile! If I am blessed enough to have you in my life , yourfastidiousness and gregarious personality will surely help me achieve. Should weeventually marry, I’ll buy you an extravagant wedding dress with yards of chiffon and take you on a car trip around Europe for a honeymoon. We’ll have long discussions every night over dinner. I envision us living in luxurious affluence. We will have many adventuresand use our talents to raise hardy children.

Your loyal
Archibald





But bilingual love can be a murky business... this is what Chantal understood:

For me your visit was not just some risky business (affaire risquée). I was beingnaïve, ingenuous or idiotically credulous (candide) when I said I love you. My life has been changed for the worse (altérée) by meeting you. The very thought of you poisons me (m’intoxique). My illness (affection when used withintoxication) grows every day. I am going to keep at my disposal (disposer de) my relationships with girls I knew before I met you, as an obvious statement(évidence) of my mistrust (défiance) of nationalistic (chauviniste) agreements(conventions).
Ah, Chantal, you’re so indecisive (versatile)! If I am wounded (blessé) enough to have you in my life, your tedious (fastidieuse) and sheep-like (grégaire) personality will surely help finish me off (machever). Should we possibly(éventuellement) marry, I’ll buy you a crazy (extravagant) wedding dress with yards of old rags (chiffon) and take you on a bus (car - a car is a voiture) trip around Europe for a honeymoon. We’ll have long quarrels (discussions) every night over dinner. I envision us living in lustful (luxurieux) crowds of people(affluence). We will have many casual love affairs (aventures), and wear out(user) our talents to raise impudent (hardi) children.

Your honest (loyal)
Archibald

What a déception (disappointment)! Only a flip through the dictionary can save Chantal from a broken heart. For this is what Archie meant:

For me our love affair was not just sex. I was absolutely honest when I said I love you. Meeting you has changed my life. I‘m head over heels at the thought of you. I love you more every day. I’ve decided to cut off relations with all the women I knew before I met you, to show I’m not unfaithful like other men.
Ah Chantal, you do so many things well! If I have the good fortune to make my life with you, your meticulousness and outgoing personality will surely help me to be highly successful. If in the end we marry, I’ll buy you an extremely expensive wedding dress made of yards of sheer silk, and take you motoring around Europe for our honeymoon. We’ll have longconversations every night over dinner. I’ll make sure we live in wealthy elegance and comfort. We will have many exciting experiences, and employ our gifts to raise strong, healthy children.
Your faithful
Archibald



©Julia Frey 2010