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 (m’achever). 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

Amuse Bouche No. 2: What's in a name? (bis) -- Le Name Dropping

by Julia Frey
Even as they dump conventional first names (see Amuse-bouche No. 1), the French remain obsessed with le nom de famille

Camille’s  bobo (bourgeois-bohème) parents never got around to getting married. Déclarée (legally recognized) by her father, she bears his surname (not surnom -- which means nickname). But seventeen, and status-conscious, Camille wanted the ultimate snobisme, a two-part name. Her mother’s nom de famille includes the preposition de (known as the particule). World-wide, les snobs are impressed by la particule. French snobs even distinguish between noblesse d'Empire, whose titles merely were bestowed by Napoleon, and ancien Régime nobles who somehow survived the Révolution. So Camille combined both her parents’ last names (which I have changed to protect the guilty). She’s now dite (called) Camille Bidule de Machin-Chouette (Thingamajig of Whatsherface). Not everyone is impressed. Bobos and hoi polloi treat double names like clumsy furniture: un nom à tiroir (a name with a drawer in it), à rallonge (with a table extension), à charnière (with a hinge), or qui se devisse (which can be unscrewed). She can always unscrew -- It’s just a nom d’usage. Legally she’s still Camille Bidule.

Although it’s considered vulgar to ask what you do for a living, in France people want to know your family tree before they decide if they like you. In some circles, being just plain folks ( petites gens - mysteriously feminine in this context) or du peuple (proletarian) is a source of pride. It’s particularly chic to say you come from paysans (peasants) or ouvriers, (workers) if you’re really an intellectuel/le.

Certain women will marry a man who is cruel, stupid, unethical and unemployed just for his aristocratic name. Rich American families like the Vanderbilts used to purchase titles for their daughters by marrying them to impoverished nobles. Less well-heeled social climbers, like Honoré de Balzac’s father, just slipped in  la particule when they thought nobody was looking.

These days, you can’t casually adopt a new  nom de famille. Too bad if you’re stuck with a moniker like Marc Deposay (homonym: marque déposée -- trademark) , not to mention Poubelle (garbage can) or Guillotine, both named for their inventors. Luckily the death penalty has been abolished, and poubelles are no longer allowed in the streets for fear of terrorist bombs. All you find when you look for a place to park your gum is a lidded metal hoop with a green plastic bag attached.

Don’t think marriage can save a French woman from an unfortunate name. Her identity papers bear her maiden name all her life, adding the name of her husband along with details of her marital status. Thus Aude Wessel (homonym:  eau de vaisselle -- dishwater), when she marries, becomes Aude Wessel épouse (wife of) Fosse (drainage ditch). If the marriage dissolves, she is Aude Wessel divorcée Fosse, or if he kicks the bucket, she’s Aude Wessel veuve Fosse. If she remarries, she’s still Aude Wessel, now épouse Bidet.

You may envy  les people (pronounce: laypeePOLE) -- the folks you see in les médias, but a famous name is also a mixed blessing. Sara was once married to Pablo Picasso’s son Claude. “It was astonishing,” she said. “From the moment I became Sara Picasso, I ceased to exist. People only cared about my name.“ (Picasso himself complained people bought his paintings for the signature.) She was very young. The marriage didn’t last. Sara existed again. The name is still worth money. In 1998, Claude sold the signature to the French auto maker Citroën, and named their mid-sized model the “Xsara Picasso”. Sara assumes he named the car after her: ex-Sara Picasso!

©Julia Frey 2011

P.S. Julia Frey (pronounced: fry), an ex-French professor, was amused to discover her students called her “French Frey”.